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

by Peter James West

  Flicking through long lists of integration options on his console, he checked a couple of different configuration sets before he finally realised that the woodpecker was announcing an incoming message. Not many people had access to that channel. He wasn't able to trace the source of the transmission. Riser stared as the woodpecker continued striking the desk over and over in a demented frenzy.

  The mechanical bird's head rose up to face him, its beak wagging in time to an alien squawk. 'Comms code! Comms code!'

  Riser thought it sounded more like a mockery of a crow's call than a woodpecker, though he couldn't remember having ever heard either. He paid attention though, quickly grabbing a pencil from a nearby plate of half eaten food and making notes as the woodpecker squawked its urgent appeal.

  'Secure channel breach. Comms code. Central Command. D2398HK64T Message has been pooled.' The woodpecker closed its beak and sat back in a restful pose, one glass eye blinking as though in contemplation.

  'Yes!' Riser slammed his fist on the desk, sending stale sandwiches crashing to the floor. 'Yes!' This was wonderful news.

  What started as a chuckle turned into a deep belly laugh as he placed his hands on the flat metal keypad in front of him. He clattered the keys as though punishing them for some previous crime. His excitement filled the room with glee. It had been a long time since he had laughed so hard.

  A secure channel breach on Central Command! This was the big time. No more cheap pizzas and crap lager for Riser Trent. That asshole Neech could start by doubling his salary. A text box popped up on Riser's screen in answer to his typed commands. He typed in the comms code from his notes and hit return. The text box disappeared and was replaced with scrolling messages, long lists of codes, and then at the top of the screen he saw the heading:

  Central Command.

  Secure channel breach.

  No back trace.

  Message pooled.

  Riser raised his cheeks into what had once been a winning smile and let out a cackling laugh. 'No back trace!' This was too good to be true. His systems had breached a secure channel at Central Command and they hadn't even noticed! He bunched his fists and pounded them on the desk some more, his laughter filling the grim office until it seemed almost cheerful, despite the grey walls and startled spiders in the corners of the ceiling.

  When the woodpecker fell onto its back with all the excitement, Riser picked it up and placed it back on its feet, laughing even louder than before. This was going to be the start of something really special. He knew it!

  Wyser River

  Darkness had not yet passed but the black sky had faded to a lifeless grey as the sun threatened to rise from its slumber. An early morning hare paused in its foraging among the soft ploughed fields, sniffing the breeze as its long grey ears twitched with alarm. A low cry came from the bordering dark forest - a cry that didn't belong to any animal. The hare's nose trembled at the sound of branches bending and snapping. Wood splintered as trees toppled onto their sides. The noise drew closer, a dawn chorus that would not be denied.

  Brilliant white lights erupted all along the edge of the forest, revealing silhouettes of falling tree trunks, and sending enormous shadows chasing across the ground. As more trees fell, a trio of RS6 personnel carriers strode out onto a deserted field, illuminating it with their powerful spotlights. They moved in formation, trudging forwards and dragging up great swathes of turf with their feet as they lumbered towards Wyser River and the unused Gollard Mine beyond. What they lacked in grace they made up for in raw power. One giant metal claw stamped down, pounding the hypnotised hare into a flat paste as the RS6 passed by.

  Six lateral-jointed legs earned the RS6 personnel carriers their long-time nickname of Crocs. With strong, flexible legs and wide gripping feet, a Croc could traverse any kind of terrain without difficulty. Their low-slung armoured bodies were made up of three interchangeable modules, the default configuration consisting of a weapons module, a combined communications and navigation module, and a personnel module. They came with intermediate armour rating, top of the range shields, and proton cannons as standard. A Croc could carry up to fifteen crew, in addition to the pilot, but that number varied according to the pod configuration.

  Commander Nick Chambers sat up front in the lead Croc, K1. Outside the reinforced Perspex bubble of his command module, he could see Rachel and Major Edwards flanking him in their own Crocs, K2 and K3. Their heads were just visible, bobbing like porcelain dolls, in the brightly lit Perspex bubbles of their own carriers. All three were making steady progress, heading towards the coordinates that Central Command had sent Nick twenty-two minutes ago.

  Nick glanced up at a clear night sky. The Dome Shield was just visible as a hazy white pattern a kilometre above his head. He popped a stick of gum into his mouth and chewed slowly while checking his console. The status diagrams displayed three green blobs moving in formation towards the blue triangle that marked their destination. The E.T.A. stated at the bottom of the display was four minutes and eight seconds.

  A second console on his right showed a continuous update of the commands that were being entered by individual members of the team. Nick noted that Rachel was running diagnostics, and Edwards was just powering up his weapons systems - something that he was supposed to have done before leaving Beacon Station.

  A quick sweep through a series of known communications and scanning frequencies suggested that they were not being monitored by any unknown entities. It wasn't a guarantee that they were not being observed, but it did provide some confidence that no weapons systems had yet locked onto their position. Nick hadn't seen any enemy units or gun emplacements so far, but he was taking no chances.

  Right on time, the three green dots arrived at their destination. The E.T.A. readouts settled to zero and the console emitted a melodious chime, congratulating them on their timely arrival. Nick sent a confirmation message back to Central Command, reporting that his units were in position. They already knew this, of course. Several navigation centres tracked all Crocs across the Orange Zone. Central Command received a steady feed of information during all combat operations, but it was still considered polite protocol to report the obvious.

  Nick monitored his console as he adjusted the straps on his bucket seat. Crocs could get a little feisty at times. He wanted to make sure that he was ready for whatever happened next.

  Tapping his jacket collar, he opened an internal comms channel to the Croc's rear pod. 'How are we doing back there?'

  'Good,' Major Marko Tenik replied. He was one of eight crew strapped into the rear personnel pod.

  'Are you all sleeping?'

  A mixture of laughter and heckling filled Nick's ears. The men were as ready as they would ever be. Closing the channel, he stared out across the fields in front of him.

  Confirmation

  A short series of clicks announced the arrival of a new transmission from Central Command. It was an update from Admiral Gail Thompson adding more detail to the vague message that she had sent earlier. The new orders appeared as neat green lines of text on Nick's console causing him to curse out loud. The target was confirmed as a Kamari stronghold - possibly even their new HQ. Nick had half expected it, in the back of his mind, but he had still been hoping to be proved wrong.

  The Kamari had been growing from strength to strength in recent years. Originally a small political organisation, they had gone underground after several incidents of corruption and illegal arms trading. Since then, they had infiltrated many parts of Cinnamon City. Their members never publicly declared themselves, but it was known that they had representatives in every council and company boardroom throughout the city. There were persistent rumours that the Kamari even had agents within the Security Forces. Nick often wondered whether there were agents among the crew at Beacon Station. He did everything that he could to monitor internal communications, but if the Kamari were present, he probably wouldn't know about it until one of them put a bullet in the back of his head. It was pointles
s worrying about it. All he could do was remain vigilant like everyone else. If he did find a Kamari agent in Beacon Station, he would break their bloody arms before he handed them in to Central Command. He had no doubt about that.

  Although the Kamari were seldom seen out in the open, there was a feeling that they were never far away. In the last six months, things had taken a turn for the worse. There had been ambushes on patrols, and increasingly frequent attacks on the smaller outlying stations.

  Nick had been forced to transfer from Tower Five at Central Command, where he had lived in relative comfort for the best part of a decade, to Beacon Station, a desolate outpost to the South. Although he hadn't thought about it that way at the time, he now realised that Tower Five had been his home - in a way. Beacon Station would never be a home to anyone. It was nothing more than a place to eat and sleep between patrols. There wasn't time or space for much of anything else.

  The daily patrols took Nick far and wide across the Orange Zone. Some alerts took him south towards the Skybreaker Mountains, and some took him north towards Cinnamon City. He was often caught up in disturbances on the city streets. All too frequently he found himself fighting door-to-door, chasing Kamari agents through narrow gaps between the Old Quarter's multicoloured box cabins. Nick had lost several good men in those encounters, not just nameless soldiers, but men that he ate with every day.

  He knew some of the crew better than others, but he accepted responsibility for the lives of all of them. They were the ever-changing faces that formed the permanent crew of Beacon Station. Many had become friends. Many had died in combat operations. It was just one of the things that he had been forced to come to terms with when joining Beacon Station. When he sat down to eat, he knew that the faces around him might not be there the next day. Nick wondered how many of his crew would return from Havers Compound alive. Chewing his gum didn't help take away the bad taste in his mouth.

  The Croc's ventilation fans whirred softly beneath his feet, purifying the air and moderating the cockpit's internal temperature. Nick kept one eye on his console, checking for any sign of alerts. There were none, but it didn't stop him from worrying. Something just wasn't right about Havers Compound. The tense silence stretched out as he stared at the white stone building ahead.

  Time to listen

  Riser put on his best smile. He didn't care that there was nobody there in the cold basement to see it. Smiling put him in a better mood, making him feel more confident about what he had to do next. Taking one last look at the grey concrete walls around him, he opened a comms link to his boss and took long slow breaths as he tried to slow his racing pulse.

  Riser punched in a security code to encrypt the channel. His console beeped three times as the line secured itself against unwanted listeners. A high-pitched whine informed him that the channel was now ready for use. Riser fidgeted with his fingers, thinking about what he was going to say.

  'Ario Neech, CEO Mekinet News... Oh it's you. You better not be fucking wasting my time again Trent. I'm warning you. I'm getting sick and tired of your stupid bloody demands.'

  Riser leant back with a smile. The little shit was going to listen to him this time. He filled Neech in on the intercepted transmission, and wasted no time in making as many stupid demands as he could think of. Neech agreed to all of them without question.

  Special Envoy

  Admiral Gail Thompson sat in her small, plain office in Tower Four. She liked the way that her tight black jacket wrapped around her body in a way that was both feminine and formal. A dozen coloured strips adorned the front of her jacket, just a selection of the medals and distinctions that she had picked up over the years. She tilted her head backwards, her short dark hair falling about her prominent cheekbones in a tight bob cut. She could still hear that soft shuffling noise outside her door but she pretended not to notice.

  She enjoyed sitting in her new office, even though it had no windows, and it was rather smaller than she was used to. Her official office was palatial by comparison. It had so much space, and stunning views over Cinnamon City, but located on one of the higher levels of the White Spear, it was just too easy for people to find her there.

  When she worked in her official office, a constant stream of commanders, tacticians and advisers came to her door every day. It gave her no peace at all, making it difficult for her to attend to her many important duties. Her second office in Tower Four was much less well known. She was able to work in relative peace and quiet. Only a select few were granted details of its location. It was small office, lacking any kind of view, but the peace that it provided far outweighed any inconvenience she might suffer.

  Gail checked her impact pistol. It was still in its holster, strapped to her right thigh. It never left her side. Just because she was sat behind a desk didn't mean she was turning soft. She smiled at the thought. Pity the person who mistook her for a desk clerk.

  She heard that shuffling noise coming from the corridor again. Somebody was standing outside, deliberating about whether or not to enter. Gail found it amusing to think of them standing there, building up the courage to speak to her. The longer they waited, the harder she would be on them. She could use her security console to see who it was before she let them in, but that would kind of take the fun out of it. It was probably one of the new Commanders. Not one of them had a backbone to match her own.

  The door console buzzed, rousing Gail from her thoughts. So the mouse had found its courage? 'Who is it?' she said, trying to sound surprised.

  The door slid up into the ceiling, revealing Henry Willow standing in the corridor outside. He wore a bright blue robe and a wide smile that was well practised if not always genuine. His blue eyes were intelligent, staring back at her from a round, friendly face, and his bright white teeth looked as though they might have been re-engineered more than once.

  'Good morning, Admiral,' he said in a far too cheerful voice.

  Gail frowned. She could do without Willow today. She had other matters to attend to. She made no attempt to mask the irritation in her voice as she spoke. 'What is it, Willow?'

  Willow ducked his head, stepping into her office as though he had been invited. His smile expanded until it took over his whole face. He didn't seem to have picked up on her mood at all. Wasn't that the whole point of diplomats? They could turn any awkward situation into a glowing success, just by ignoring the inconvenient truth around them.

  'I trust you are well?' Willow said, approaching her desk.

  'Get to the point.'

  Willow nodded, spreading his hands out wide as though he meant to embrace the room with his jovial mood. 'Yes. Of course, Admiral. You are busy, I see. I'll waste not one moment of your time. I'll be briefer than a passing breeze.'

  Gail let out a short choking laugh. It died in her throat before it reached her lips. She felt no mirth at all. 'You? Brief? I will believe that when I see it. Tell me what you want. I only have two minutes. No more!'

  Willow clasped his hands in front of his ample belly. His long blue robe had silver embroidered spirals around the loose-cut sleeves and a heavy gold chain hung around his neck with a many-pointed star at its centre.

  'I bring important news, Admiral,' he said. 'Guildmaster Gumptor is here to see you.'

  'Oh good grief no. Tell him I'm not here. I don't want to see that man today or any other day.' Gail cringed at the thought of meeting any of the guildmasters again. She still remembered her last meeting with them. She had barely been able to stop herself from punching their arrogant faces. Her cheek twitched involuntarily as she recalled the memory. Pushing her short black hair away from her eyes, she considered her options.

  'Regrettably,' Henry said, 'I already informed him of your absence on two previous occasions this week. It was difficult to convince him that you were not here. This time he claims to have prior knowledge that you are definitely within the towers.'

  'How can he possibly know where I am? Is this not a secure building?'

  'I really couldn
't say, Admiral. Perhaps his claims are stretching the truth, though I suspect he is a little brighter than we give him credit for.'

  Gail sat back in her chair, resting her hands on the desk in front of her. Her mind was elsewhere. She needed to get rid of the Gumptor and Willow with him.

  'Perhaps I could speak to him on your behalf?' Willow said, his expression suggesting that this was some innocent and harmless idea that had just occurred to him.

  Gail folded her arms. She had no doubt that he had been planning and rehearsing this conversation for days if not weeks. Everything that he said was premeditated to further his own status, position and career. He was the most slippery man she had ever encountered. She was inclined to dismiss his suggestion and send him on his way, but maybe she could turn the situation in her favour? Maybe if she played along with his game of diplomacy she might be able to use his own tricks against him.

  'That is an excellent idea,' she said.

  Willow's expression didn't change at all. His frozen smile acted as a mask to cover his secret machinations. Did he really think that she didn't know how his mind worked?

  'I would need some title of course, some official capacity in which to represent you.'

  'I don't like the sound of that,' Gail said.

  'Guildmaster Gumptor would not feel satisfied, I am sure, if he were to be met by a simple diplomat. But perhaps if he were to meet with the Admiral's official economic spokesman that might sound better?'

  'My what? Not a chance, Willow. We do not decide economic policy. You know that. Even if we did, it would have nothing to do with you. The Council of Lords run the Orange Zone and its economy. We're here to serve the Council of Lords, nothing more. We also serve the people of course, not that they appreciate it.'