Information Cloud: Science fiction and fantasy series (Tales of Cinnamon City Book 1)

by Peter James West

  'What's happening,' Harris said through her comms unit.

  Rachel kept her eyes on the pillar. 'Something's wrong,' she said.

  'What is it?'

  Rachel threw herself onto the ground just as the stall behind her erupted into dancing splinters, and the bowls and ladles bounced around her, riddled with bullet holes.

  When she looked up, she saw a stocky man standing on the opposite side of the street, holding an impact pistol in each hand. He lowered his aim as she crawled across the street towards him, but she rolled onto her side before he could get a clean shot. Rachel reached beneath her robe, pulling out her own impact pistol, and returned fire, hitting him twice in the chest as his eyes stared back in shock. He staggered back against the wall behind him, slumping down into a sitting position with his arms hanging loose by his sides.

  The crowds dispersed in a flash. A woman screamed and dashed down a side street, dragging her young boy behind her. All the market stall owners ducked out of sight. Some even threw wire mesh blankets across their stalls to protect their wares from flying bullets. Rachel watched as the people fled down narrow alleys and disappeared through open doorways. Within a few seconds, the streets were empty except for the Security Forces who were standing next to abandoned stalls on both sides of the street, wearing identical robes and trying not to look at each other.

  A small black disc bounced across the ground, rolling past Rachel's arm. She didn't have time to think. She scrambled to her feet and started sprinting up the street. The explosion ripped through the stalls behind her, throwing broken bowls and burning silk flying through the air. The shock wave threw her off her feet, lifting her up into the air with her robe tangled around her. Rotating her arms for balance, she twisted in mid-air, trying to land on her feet rather than her head. It felt like she was flying forever, but when her boots hit the ground, sending a spray of dust out in front of her, she crouched down and tried not to think about the burning feeling across the back of her neck.

  She looked up, just as a young man in a grey jacket fired a hand-held proton cannon from the roof of a nearby building. A tight red particle beam ripped through the air, severing a lock of hair from just above her left ear. Rachel darted to her right, picking up pace as she ran towards the building. She ducked beneath its low wooden roof, counting her strides as she ran, and after four strides, she turned and fired twice through the roof. The man cried out, dropping his weapon before falling with a soft thud on the roof above her.

  Rachel fell backwards, carried by her momentum, but managed to roll onto her feet once more, holding her impact pistol close to her shoulder. She heard the man's body rolling across the roof above her until it fell, landing heavily on the street in front of her. Stepping forwards, she gave him a good hard kick and nodded when there was no response.

  To her left, Harris approached with his impact pistol held loose in one hand. He looked at the bodies lying in the street, but said nothing. To her right, Rachel caught a glimpse of movement near the tall stone pillar. Barker stuck his head out, and seeing Rachel and Harris standing over the dead man's body, he turned and ran in the opposite direction.

  Rachel didn't hesitate. She sprinted after him, her legs pumping hard as adrenaline filled her veins. She tried to relax her shoulders as her heavy black boots pounded along the dusty street and her robe trailed behind her in the gusting wind. She caught up with him quickly, and when he glanced over his shoulder, she saw that look in his eyes - the look that said you can't possibly be here already - but he was wrong.

  Rachel slammed into him, sending them both tumbling onto the ground. They rolled across the dusty street, coming to a halt with Rachel straddled on top of him.

  Barker snarled, jerking his head from side to side until he managed to throw her off to one side. Rachel started climbing to her feet but he lunged towards her, swinging his fist high and catching her with a half-blow across the chin. Her head whipped back as another blow struck her high on the temple. Rachel stumbled, shoving him away from her.

  Barker seemed to have regained his confidence now that he was back on his feet. He stood facing her in the middle of the street, frowning as he glanced over her shoulder. Rachel saw Harris approaching in the reflection of Barker's eyes.

  A crow swooped low, flying between them with a loud cawing noise. Barker stepped back in surprise. He pulled an impact pistol from his pocket and pointed it straight at Rachel's face. Panic rose up inside her. Her mind exploded outwards with a sudden force that she couldn't explain.

  Barker's wrist bent backwards with a sudden crack. His impact pistol slipped from his grip and tumbled onto the ground between them. His eyes were wide, staring at his broken wrist, but Rachel didn't give him time to recover. She threw two short punches between Barker's upturned hands, catching him off guard. His nose cracked under the impact of the first punch, and the second sent him sprawling across the ground. He landed on his side, bouncing like a limp doll.

  Harris came to a sudden halt beside her, breathing hard. He aimed his impact pistol at Barker's head until he realised that there wasn't any point. The messenger was out cold.

  Lowering his weapon, Harris turned towards her with a furrow across his brow. 'That was some run,' he said. 'I thought I was a fast runner until I saw you tearing up the street like that.'

  'I got the messenger,' Rachel said.

  'You almost got yourself blown up too. What happened to his wrist?'

  Rachel shook her head. Her heart was racing. She hadn't had time to think about what had happened. Barker had almost killed her. She didn't know what she had done to him. 'I don't know,' she said. 'Maybe he hurt his wrist when he fell.'

  Rickworth jogged towards them, panting with a red, sweaty face, 'I'm here,' he said, spinning around and looking in all directions at once. 'Where did they go?'

  'That's all of them,' Rachel said.

  Harris turned towards her. 'You should have waited for the rest of us. You didn't need to take these guys down on your own. That's why you have a team behind you.'

  Rachel brushed a hand through her short black hair. 'Teams trust each other,' she said. 'They share information.'

  Harris folded his arms, 'I trust you, Rachel. Remember it was me that requested you for this operation.'

  'So why won't you tell me who the source was?'

  'It's not my decision. Admiral Gail Thompson told me to keep my mouth shut and that's what I intend to do.'

  Harris turned towards Rickworth who had found Barker's sack nearby and had started unfastening the straps.

  'What the hell did he do to his hand?' Rickworth said, looking at Barker's wrist. It was bent backwards so badly that he was pointing at himself.

  'Never mind that,' Harris said. 'What's he got in that sack?'

  Rickworth unfastened a short cord and then slipped his hand inside the sack, rummaging around inside it. He stared through the small opening, squinting to see what was inside it.

  'Memory cubes,' he said. 'There are some credits and munitions as well.'

  'I hope there's something useful on those memory cubes,' Harris said. 'Bring the sack with you. We'll take it back to the towers to investigate further.'

  Rickworth nodded, fastening the cord once more before lifting the sack onto his back. The two of them stood waiting for Rachel as she straightened her lower back and squeezed her stiff shoulder with one hand.

  'Are you okay?' Harris said.

  'I'm fine,' Rachel said. 'But something's bothering me.'

  Rickworth gave her a blank expression.

  Rachel wiped a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth, 'They knew we were coming.'

  'What?' Harris said.

  'They knew we were coming.'

  Two days later.

  Beacon Station (715DS)

  To the south of the Orange Zone, far from Cinnamon City, the Skybreaker Mountains rose high into the sky. The jagged grey rock turned black where it extended above the Dome Shield, but the lower slopes featured grassy mounds a
nd colourful hardy flowers, growing from tiny cracks in the rock. Fields of wheat and maize filled the lowland planes just north of the mountains, and on the northern edge of the wheat fields, fifty kilometres south of Cinnamon City, the first of Central Command's outlying stations stood alone on a raised platform.

  Beacon Station was a modest construction, standing only three levels above the ground. Each level was a flat black disc that sat off centre on the levels beneath it, forming an asymmetric shape that was at odds with everything around it. The station's external walls were clad with shiny black armour that reflected in the setting sun. The upper levels were where the crew quarters were located, along with the cafeteria, logistics and administration sections. Below ground, the loading bays housed the RS6 personnel carriers with enough supplies and munitions to scrape by for at least three months.

  Blue lights flashed at intervals along the edge of Beacon Station's flat roof, warning that the external shields were still active. A thick brown stain marked the place where the shield touched the ground.

  It was late in the day and Beacon Station was unusually quiet after a long day of constant patrols. Figures could still be seen moving around behind the tinted windows on the second level.

  A series of low hums and distant clanking noises was all that Rachel could hear as she walked up the slow incline from Beacon Station's loading bay. She had returned from Cinnamon City a little later than she had intended, but at least she had managed to avoid Gail Thompson during her short stay. A day without Thompson was a day well spent.

  'Hi.'

  Rachel looked up and saw Major Alan Fredericks standing in a doorway on the upper ramp above her. He was one of the older officers, not far from retirement age, but he kept in good shape apart from the few extra pounds that he carried around his waist. He was smiling in an odd way, as he did sometimes when he was just too tired to think of any other expression. The ramp's pale blue lights made him look even more mysterious than usual. Rachel nodded as she walked up the steep ramp towards him.

  'I heard you were back,' he said, staring at her with blurry eyes. He looked tired but determined as always.

  Rachel came to a halt beside him, rubbing her left shoulder with her right hand as she tried to straighten out some muscle cramps in her neck. 'Yes, I just landed,' she said.

  'They let you have a Wasp Drone?'

  'It wasn't for me. They were shipping some supplies this way and I hitched a ride. I couldn't face a long ride in a Cage Carrier again. Those things don't have any suspension. They're more suited to smooth flat roads in the city than the rough tracks we have to deal with out here.'

  'It's been a long time since we had any supplies. What did you bring? Munitions? Food?'

  Rachel shook her head. 'Nothing so useful. It's just chemical pellets for the crops, to nullify some of the toxins again. The Farmers Guild sent it even though I told them we don't have the manpower to do things like that.'

  Fredericks' face sagged. He must have been hoping for some cigarettes or something more exciting to eat, but as usual there was no good news for Beacon Station. They were one of the forgotten stations. Central Command only ever called when they wanted something.

  'You must be tired,' he said. 'I don't want to delay you.'

  Rachel nodded, realising that he was right. She turned to head towards her quarters but Fredericks placed a hand on her arm as she tried to pass him. She paused, glancing down at the small, wrinkled hand on her arm and then met his gaze once more. There was something in his eyes that she hadn't noticed before.

  'What is it?' she said.

  'I probably shouldn't bother you with these things at this late hour.'

  'Go ahead. If there's something bothering you then you might as well tell me now.'

  'It's just Rickworth.'

  Rachel frowned. 'What about him?'

  'He's been saying things. He talks to a lot of people - you know how he is. I don't think he means any harm, but he just can't stop himself from running off at the mouth.'

  'What kind of things?'

  'He has friends here in Beacon Station. He talked to some of them on the comms link while you were away, and now there are rumours going around the station. The men are talking. I don't like it. It's bad for the station. It's bad for all of us. I thought you should know.'

  'Men will always talk about something. I can't stop them talking. I'm not going to even try.'

  Fredericks shook his head. 'Well I don't think it's right.'

  'What isn't right? Don't tell me half of the story. Tell me what this is really about.'

  Fredericks averted his eyes, examining the ceiling as though he expected to find his answers written there. He rubbed his chin with one hand and then let out a short sigh. 'Rickworth has been telling the men that you're a freak.'

  Rachel felt heat rising in her face. She wouldn't let her emotions get the better of her. She pushed them down and stared straight ahead. She looked straight through Fredericks as though he wasn't there. 'Go on,' she said.

  'He said you broke some a man's wrist without even touching him. He said you recognised people when you couldn't possibly know who they were. I don't listen to such things, Rachel. I don't even pretend to know what he's talking about, and I don't want to know either, but some of the men have more empty space in their heads than sense. He should show you more respect. The guys should know better than to listen to such nonsense, but it's true what my mother used to say - every fool has his audience.'

  Rachel patted Fredericks on the arm. She didn't know what to say to him. He looked uncomfortable, despite what he had said about not listening to the rumours. If he had come for reassurances then he would leave with none.

  'I thought you should know,' he said with a curt nod.

  'Thanks, Fredericks. Now I know. Go get some sleep. It won't be long before the alerts start again. You look like you could use some rest.'

  Fredericks lowered his eyes. He hesitated and then stepped through a doorway behind him and walked away with quiet, shuffling steps.

  Synthesized Food

  Major Collin Edwards was on the early shift. He had slept well despite the frequent bangs and whirs coming from the underground hangars as patrols had come and gone during the night. Morning was still several hours away when he shuffled into the canteen and joined the small queue of Security Forces who were waiting to grab some breakfast. The queue wasn't that long. Most of the crew were still sleeping.

  It was a small cafeteria, nothing more than a square shaped room with a stone floor and a dozen tables arranged in the middle of it. A long metal bench had been set up against one of the walls. Steam rose from a row of black containers that were laid out on top of it. The guy at the front of the queue hadn't bothered to brush his hair. It was sticking up on one side and flat against his head on the other. He let out a long yawn as he stood staring down at the table in front of him.

  Edwards picked up a tray from an unbalanced pile and held it in a loose grip by his side. 'Oh come on, not synthesised vegetables again.'

  The guy with the unkempt hair walked off, rubbing his face with both hands. He looked like he might be heading back to his bunk. Major Fredericks stepped up to the front of the line, filling his tray with a ladle that he dipped into each container in turn. 'It's food isn't it,' he said.

  Edwards shook his head, 'It's shit is what it is.'

  At the back of the canteen, Major Tenik sat at a long table with Mason and Bennet. He looked up from his tray, hurrying to swallow his food, and half choking in the process. 'Why don't you try complaining for a change? That would be something new.'

  'Go screw yourself,' Edwards said.

  The queue moved forwards and a confused mixture of synthetic smells assaulted his senses. He filled his tray with three equal portions of slop, one green, one orange and one the colour of flesh mould. Muttering curses under his breath, he stared down at his tray and walked over to Tenik's table.

  'Hey, that wasn't an invitation to sit with me,' Tenik s
aid. His red hair was cut into a short fringe that formed a stark contrast against his pale white skin, and freckles covered every part of his flat, round face.

  Edwards shrugged, taking the seat opposite.

  Tenik sighed, lowering his head as though the table had suddenly become very interesting to watch.

  Edwards rubbed his neck while he examined the slop on his tray, 'Do we really have to eat this shit every day?'

  'You don't have to,' Tenik said. 'You could treat yourself to a handful of that dry bioengineered wheat outside.'

  Edwards sneered. 'There's some funny bastards in this room and you're the funniest of them all.'

  In the corner of his eye, he saw Fredericks approaching the table. He had put on a few pounds in the last couple of years. Edwards could never understand how anyone could put on weight in a place like this. The diners at Beacon Station's only cafeteria should have been the skinniest bastards in the Orange Zone. He decided that the foul pastes they served up must contain extreme amounts of calories to make up for the fact that nobody could stomach eating more than a few spoonfuls.

  Fredericks sat beside Tenik, placing his tray on the table and rolling up his shirtsleeves as though he meant business. Edwards was starting to see the problem. The food was piled so high on Edwards tray that it almost fell off onto the table.

  'Are you hungry?' Tenik said, rubbing his short, flat nose.

  'You could say that. I was on patrol all day yesterday and by the time I got back, the damned canteen had closed.'

  'I wish it would close for me sometime,' Edwards said under his breath.

  Bennet and Mason rose from their chairs at the same time. At six foot, five inches tall, Bennet stood a couple of hands taller than Mason. He towered over the table, casting a long shadow across its surface. His long limbs were not particularly muscular, but he had a reputation for being one of the stronger men around the station. Everyone wanted him on their squad whenever a combat operation was announced. He had a dry sense of humour, one that seemed to be getting worse over time. Mason was the average grunt. He liked to hang around with Bennet and seemed to have taken on the role of his sidekick in recent weeks. Edwards was sure they were going to make some comment on their way out.