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

by Peter James West

  Rachel selected the closest Crab scanner and ran a diagnostic on it. It was still operational. The original goal of reaching Havers Compound had expired since the other scanners had already arrived at their destination and sent back all the data that was needed. Rachel ordered it to turn around and make its way towards the fallen net-feed droid. She configured part of her console to display a view from the Crab scanner's embedded visual log recorder.

  The Crab scanner was gazing out across the rough ploughed soil, stumbling in the vague direction of the net-feed droid on a circuitous route to avoid any large stones in its path. Each lump of soil looked like a boulder from its ground hugging perspective, though she knew they were no larger than the ones she had stepped on many times in the past. The scanner made slow progress, dragging itself along as its feet slipped and stumbled with every second step.

  As it approached the net-feed droid, she noticed that the droid's outer shell was cracked in several places. Selecting manual control, she steered it even closer. After a couple of minutes, the Crab scanner was close enough to peer through a large hole in the droid's cracked chassis. It had stopped smoking, but the casing was covered in black burn marks. Rachel raised the Crab scanner's extendable eyes on stalks, manoeuvring them until she could peer inside the droid's outer shell.

  It was dim inside, but she managed to control a small spotlight mounted on the Crab scanner's head and pan it across the internal components. She zoomed in to get a close up but didn't recognise much of what she was seeing. Maybe that was a good sign? The droid's internal components were black and twisted where they had been hit by the side gun's solid munitions.

  Rachel continued her search. She found what she was looking for on one particularly bent and twisted piece of metal. The droid's chassis code was stamped on it with small black letters that were embossed on a flat silver plate. The image from the Crab scanner was out of focus and hard to read. Rachel overrode the auto-focus settings and manually adjusted it to cope with the close proximity of what she was trying to see. With a little effort, the chassis code came into clear focus.

  MKN-37809

  That was all she needed to know. She opened a comms link to Nick and he answered this time.

  'I know who sent the net-feed droids,' she said.

  'Who?' Nick said, his voice sounding apprehensive as though he already knew what she was going to say.

  'Mekinet News.'

  Nick didn't reply.

  Missing Code

  Nick was trying to work out how damaged his shields really were but there was something wrong with the diagnostics software. It was impossible to calculate whether the shields were working correctly or not. He had no choice but to assume that they were damaged and unreliable. He triggered a shield recharge cycle, but it would take several hours, and he suspected that it would fail before completion. Nick didn't think that the Croc had enough energy reserves to be classed as combat ready anymore.

  In the corner of his eye, he noticed a white flashing light on his console. There was an incoming call. He switched it to voice.

  'Commander Chambers, this is Central Command operations room. We have been looking at the call you placed earlier, and we have identified the code you requested.'

  Nick tried to remember what they were talking about, 'Oh yes, the code,' he said. 'What does it mean?'

  'It took us a while to track it down. It's not very common these days. It's a warning.'

  'What kind of warning?' Nick said.

  'It means that one of the Crocs in your local network is making multiple connections to your systems from several different sources.'

  'I don't know what that means. Give me the summary.'

  'Normally each Croc in your local network will make only one connection to your network, unless it has two separate sections or an escape pod, then maybe it would make two connections.'

  Nick wasn't really sure where this was going. He figured that he would stick with it and hope it made sense soon. 'Okay. Go on.'

  'What I'm saying is that each Croc in your unit should only be making one - or at most two - connections to your local network, not thirty-three.'

  'Thirty-three? Where did that number come from?'

  'That's what the warning meant. Major Edwards' Croc was making thirty-three connections to your local network. We suspect that thirty-two of them were not actually him at all.'

  'Are you saying I've been hacked?'

  'Quite probably, yes. We couldn't identify where the other connections came from, but there's a lot of hi-tech droids flying around out there. They are packed full of top of the range equipment. It's quite likely that some of them are accessing your systems.'

  Nick couldn't believe it. As if it wasn't bad enough that these bloody droids were flying around, broadcasting live battle scenes, and putting lives at risk, it seemed that they had hacked into his local communications network as well.

  'Oh, come on. How is that possible? They're just bloody news droids.'

  'We're not exactly sure. Maybe they intercepted Edwards' encryption codes and broke them somehow. It's a typical man in the middle attack. They intercept transmissions meant for you, decode them, and then send them on to you as though they were from Edwards. Your systems then respond to the hacker instead of Edwards. It's a common strategy.'

  Nick groaned.

  'You might want to shut down his access privileges. There are still thirty-two inbound connections under his name.'

  Nick cursed, tapping at his console with heavy hands as he revoked all Edwards' privileges and disconnected the existing connections.

  'What information did they get?' Nick said.

  'No idea. You might be able to tell more from your own console.'

  'Sure.'

  'Sorry it took us so long to get back to you, Commander. It's an obscure code and we couldn't establish contact with you for a while there.'

  'Okay. Thanks for the help.'

  The connection was dropped from the other end.

  Nick rubbed his chin. Security had become a real mess lately. It was getting worse every day. He wondered what those droids were looking for. He hoped that whatever it was, he wouldn't suffer because of it.

  Inside Havers Compound

  The lights flickered, dimmed, and then shone brighter than before as the walls shuddered and lurched. A dozen Kamari soldiers pounded down the corridor, heading for the lift ahead of them. Between them, they carried heavy equipment packs and munitions in low-slung steel boxes. Their breathing came short and fast after the long jog from the east wing. Supplies were running low at this end of the compound, and their munitions were sorely needed by the other units.

  As they approached the lift, its double doors shook, and a thin spray of dust flew out around the edges. Before the soldiers could react, a loud bang came from behind the doors. Tortured metal groaned and cracked.

  The man nearest the doors came to a sudden halt, an emblem on his upper arm marking him out as a captain in the Kamari ranks. His name was Redwood. He had heard that the fighting had intensified in this area, so he kept himself low and ready for whatever was to come. The rest of the soldiers stopped in their tracks, cautiously spreading themselves across the corridor behind him. They held their weapons raised and ready. They had the look of men who had seen many things, and were ready to see some more.

  Silence filled the corridor. Nobody moved. The silence stretched on until it could stretch no more. The captain took a step forward, but waved a hand behind him, signalling for the others to stay back.

  Just as he moved, the steel doors blew outwards in twisted outrage. One of the doors spun sideways knocking the captain across the floor. He landed hard, his head slapping against the stone floor, and he stayed down.

  The other soldiers scattered. Some leapt aside, staying on their feet, but most were knocked flat by the shock wave and flying debris.

  Captain Redwood groaned, stretching out one leg as he attempted to rise to his hands and knees. His eyes were unfocussed
. A couple of the soldiers tried to help him up, but they were struggling too. The noise of the explosion still rang in many of their ears.

  Another soldier got to his feet and started firing his impact pistol towards a cloud of dust that billowed out from the exposed lift shaft. He stared intently into the dust, as though he could see something that the others couldn't.

  The sound of his repeated shots were interrupted by noises coming from the lift shaft. Crunching glass and creaking metal preceded the appearance of Bull Ranger striding out of the lifts. Standing at one and a half times the height of a man, its bulbous head jutted towards them like an anvil of vengeance. The crumbling ceiling hung only a few centimetres above its head.

  The other soldiers opened fire with their impact pistols. One of them shouted for someone to go and get help. The Bull Ranger ignored their low calibre weapons. The projectiles sprayed across its SP armour without bouncing off. Instead, the armour absorbed their kinetic energy entirely. The projectiles sank into the soft armour, decelerating to a complete halt. Moments later they emerged again and fell onto the floor around the droid's claw-like feet. The Kamari soldiers continued firing. The Bull Ranger's SP armour sucked in every shot, spitting them back out like apple pips.

  Captain Redwood was back on his feet, but leaning heavily to one side as he nursed a cracked rib. 'Get out of here,' he shouted to the others, but it was too late.

  The Bull Ranger stepped forwards, extending a thick fist towards them. The first rotated clockwise and a small opening at its tip flashed white as it expelled a burst of chaff. Hundreds of pieces of jagged hot metal sped across the corridor, slicing through flesh, and embedding themselves in the surrounding walls. One soldier went down holding his face as blood spurted out between his fingers. Another collapsed holding his stomach. They all fell at once, crying out and twisting to hold their wounds. Their cries faded quickly to groans, and most fell silent after only a few seconds, their blood pooling out across the floor.

  The Bull Ranger paused, scanning for any signs of life. It's bulbous head twisted to one side, listening to a rustling noise in a ventilation shaft, then it noticed a movement to one side. A soldier was trying to drag himself across the floor with a trail of slick blood behind him. The Bull Ranger dashed forwards, stepping on his back, and gradually applying its full weight until bones crunched and the soldier expelled his final breath. He didn't move again.

  The heavy droid scanned the corridor for any more signs of life, and finding none, headed through a doorway half a dozen paces beyond the fallen bodies. The concrete frame of the door wasn't wide enough for the Bull Ranger's powerful body so it battered the opening wider, forcing its way through with ease. Concrete crumbled, and dust poured down from the ceiling, as it strode through the newly enlarged archway, disappearing into the clouds of dust beyond.

  Blackout

  Darkness fell upon the basement of the Mekinet News building. The ventilation fans span down with a final whining sigh before silence ensued. Riser Trent cursed himself for not having an uninterruptible power supply. He wondered which one of today's two hundred and nineteen enemies had done this to him. One of the red flashing lights that he had been ignoring for so long must have lost their patience and taken matters into their own hands. How many of them had the authority and nerve to shut down the power of a major news network? Not many. That bastard Neech must have done this, but if it was him, his actions reeked of desperation. Maybe it was Central Command? They certainly had the necessary level of stupidity. Riser didn't know who had done this to him but he was bloody annoyed with whoever it was.

  The sudden loss of information from the sensor cap made him feel dizzy and nauseous. Silver flecks danced across his vision. The cap's disclaimers had not been far wrong. The beginnings of a headache lingered at the back of his mind. He forced himself to remain calm as he lifted the cap off his head and tried to place it on the desk in front of him. He missed the desk twice in the darkness, before banging his finger on the console.

  The total absence of stimuli felt like a bereavement after the full immersion of the Information Cloud, but he knew that it was only a temporary side effect of using the sensor cap. Already he was starting to feel a little better.

  He had always been good with machines. Whether it was a mech-tractor, a rack server, or a sensor cap, Riser knew that he would understand how to use it faster than anyone else. He wasn't bright, as such - nobody had called him that. He just intuitively knew how things worked, and that was good enough for most things. He would acclimatise to the sensor cap within a day or two and then he would be able to use it better than anyone.

  Rubbing his thick, curly beard, he sat in the darkness and thought about his situation. Pulling the power on him had been a stupid thing to do. It was probably standard procedure in some rule book sat on a shelf at Central Command, but it was still dumb. They couldn't really believe that pulling the plug would shut him down? Did they know so little about him? He wasn't about to pack up his toys and go home just yet. Riser knew people. He knew things. He knew what made the world tick, and he knew when some dumb fuck had just underestimated him. He was just getting started with all this. Whoever had decided to cross him still had a lot to learn.

  Reaching into a pocket of his crumpled combat trousers, he pulled out a net phone, and selected Damen's number. It was a long time before his brother answered.

  'What is it?' Damen said a deep, muffled voice that sounded half asleep.

  'I have a job for you,' Riser said. He tried to keep his voice neutral. He didn't want to get his brother too interested in what he was doing. He just needed to call in a favour and that was it.

  'Oh, it's you. Hold on.' Sounds of shuffling drifted away and then came back again. 'What do you want, Riser?'

  'I just need you to do something for me. It's a very simple task and I can pay you, but I need you to come right now. What were you doing just now?'

  'I was sleeping. You woke me up, you stupid fuck. Did you mention credits?'

  'Yes, but if you're too busy sleeping, maybe I should call someone else.'

  'Hmmm. No. I guess you're in luck. Paid jobs are the only kind of jobs I like.'

  'Don't I know it,' Riser let out a great belly laugh. 'Do you want to know what the job is or shall we just talk numbers?'

  'Let's get to the numbers. How many credits do you have? I'm not doing anything for less than a hundred. It's just not worth the time. I can make that in half an hour down in the Durban district.'

  Riser shrugged in the darkness. It was a hopeless gesture, but he couldn't help himself. His brother had always been greedy. Ever since Riser could remember, Damen had been asking for credits before he would do anything for anyone. By now he must have hoarded away a massive amount but he always seemed to be the same old Damen. He always wore the same creased blue boiler suit. He never seemed to progress. He had no ambition. That was Damen's problem.

  Riser decided to save time on negotiating and give him what he wanted straight away. Neech would pay for it anyway when all this was done.

  'Okay. If you do what I'm asking right now I'll give you 500 credits.'

  'I'm not killing anyone, Riser.'

  Riser barked a half laugh, 'I'm not asking you to kill anyone, you fat bastard. Just bring me power.'

  'What kind of power?'

  Damen knew him too well. He was suspicious, distrustful and greedy, as only a brother could be. Riser stifled another chuckle.

  'I'm not running for governor, that's for sure. Okay, I'll explain it to you, but it's very simple. I was busy doing some stuff, and Neech - or somebody else maybe, blacked out the building. All I need you to do is to bring some of your gear down here so I can power my systems back up again.'

  'Why did he shut the power down? What were you doing, Riser?'

  'Never you mind. Just bring the gear.'

  'Hmm.'

  'And Damen —'

  'What?'

  'If you get here in ten minutes I'll make it 1000 Credits.'r />
  Damen was silent for a moment. 'You don't really have any credits do you, Riser?'

  'Yes, I actually have, for once. It might be a rare thing in my life, but take it from me, today I'm a walking credit dispenser. That's all you need to know and that's all I'm going to tell you. Remember, you'll get more if you move your ass and bring me some power right now so I'd get moving if I was you, rather than asking any more stupid questions.'

  Riser thought about it, and then added in a softer tone, 'I'm not messing around, Damen. I need that gear.'

  'Okay, okay. I'm on my way. You'd better not be shitting me though. I have other things to do you know.'

  Damen Trent

  Damen Trent pushed his thick fingers between the blinds of his apartment, peering at the Mekinet News building across the street. The tower block was a shining example of what greed could accomplish if enough wealth was channelled from those who had none to one guy who had it all. Ario Neech had been Riser's boss for as long as Damen could remember. He wouldn't be at all surprised if all this had something to do with him.

  The sun was shining outside but that wouldn't be of much consolation to Riser down in the basement levels. If the power was out it would be pitch dark down there.

  Damen guessed it must be mid morning by the number of people on the streets. A group of them were standing on the pavement outside the Mekinet News building's main entrance, looking angry and confused. A woman in a dressing gown looked like she had started crying. It was obvious that something was not right about the whole situation. Damen knew his brother must be at the bottom of whatever was going on. But one thousand credits could do a whole lot to help a man forget about what he knew. How had Riser come into possession of so many credits? Uneasiness tugged at the back of Damen's mind. Riser was difficult to judge at the best of times.

  Damen didn't have to think too hard to recall several previous scrapes that he'd been caught up in because of his brother. There had always been a rivalry of a kind between them. Whenever one was in trouble, the other would soon be in trouble too. That was how it had always been. If Riser was in trouble, then Damen had to help, credits or not. Sure he wanted the credits, and he'd complain like hell if he didn't get them, but at the same time there was an implicit understanding between them that Damen would always come when Riser called. Not much had changed since they had played on the rooftops of Cinnamon City as children. Damen took a long, deep breath, watching the busy street below. Some memories were hard to forget, however many years had passed. Some wouldn't be forgotten at all.