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

by Peter James West

  Damen slipped his engineer's phone into the breast pocket of his dark blue grease-stained boiler suit, and turned away from the window. He flexed his wide shoulders, still feeling stiff from his last job in Cinnamon City. Something felt different about today. Something wasn't right, for sure, even if he couldn't quite say what it was. He glanced around the room, and finding nothing out of place, decided that he'd better go and see what mess Riser had got himself into this time.

  Walking across the small living room, his eyes lingered on a bank of small consoles laid out on a low table against the wall. Each console showed a different woman dancing as she undressed. He wasn't in the mood for that anymore. He walked past crushed empty beer cans and pushed open the double doors at the back of the room, stepping into his adjoining workshop.

  All his tools and equipment hung on the walls inside. Welder torches hung on rusty hooks. Plasma cutters sat in an old wooden box on the floor. Every part of the wall had a hook where steel grips, power drivers or electromagnets hung in various sizes. He filled his pockets with a dozen small items and then picked up a Hand-Box Generator that sat against the wall. He wouldn't need much more than that. Damen turned and walked back towards the living room, but paused just before leaving the workshop. Reaching behind one of the doors, he rummaged in the pockets of a heavy, dust-covered jacket and pulled out an impact pistol. It was an old model with no serial number, but it worked well enough. He shoved it into his boiler suit's inside pocket and returned the living room. It was time to make a move.

  As he left the apartment, he passed through the kitchen and picked up a long-bladed knife. Whatever his brother was involved in this time, Damen had a feeling that there was going to be trouble, and his feelings were seldom wrong.

  Status Report

  Nick watched the smoke rising from Havers Compound with increasing anxiety. The routine combat operation had not gone to plan at all. He was far from happy about it.

  The briefing from Central Command - if you could call it that - had been to expect moderate resistance. Thompson had hinted that Havers Compound could possibly be a new Kamari HQ, but she had said nothing about it being so well defended. The Kamari had clearly been using the compound for a long time. Those proton cannons would have taken months to install, and the sophisticated shields and cloaking fields were not the work of any rebels who were just passing through. This place had been built with strength in mind. The Kamari had clearly moved up a league in their levels of organisation, planning and aggression. They had shown confidence to build a stronghold so close to Beacon Station, and they had not been afraid to come out and fight. Three Crocs were an entirely inadequate force to send against such a target.

  Another thing that Nick didn't understand was why Central Command hadn't taken any satellite pictures of the area before calling out the Beacon Attack Force. They should have at least used reconnaissance drones or dropped in floating scanners to check for any signs of troop movements in the area. Scanners might have picked up heat signatures from within the compound or given them clues about whether there had been any recent activity in the area.

  Worse still, why hadn't there been any warning that the Kamari had taken over a satellite platform? Wasn't that a vital piece of information that should have been reported to all commanders as soon as it was known? A string of blunders had left Nick and the Beacon Attack Force highly exposed. Edwards and his unit had already paid the price for those mistakes with their lives. They could all suffer the same fate before the day was out.

  Calling Central Command again, Nick fought to control his unravelling temper.

  The call was answered quickly by a young man whose voice he didn't recognise, 'Commander Chambers, what is your position?'

  'What is my position? I'll tell you my bloody position! I have twenty-three personnel dead, one destroyed RS6, two heavily damaged RS6s that will never see combat again, and one hell of a lot of pissed off people who are lucky to be alive, and all of them may not stay that way for long.'

  'Commander Chambers, I know you are in a bad position -'

  'Bad position? I'm on the damned news channels! Has it occurred to you that these soldier's families don't even know their loved ones are on this combat operation. If they happen to flick onto the right news feeds, they can see their friends and family being blown to pieces or burnt to death, in high definition? It's not fucking good enough.'

  The channel shut down. A few discreet clicks told him that his call was being transferred.

  'This is Admiral Gail Thompson. Report, Commander.'

  'Yeah, I'll report -'

  'Calm down. Now,' The Admiral’s voice was low but powerful. She sounded like a woman who had spent years controlling people, meetings, events, and wars. Anyone that made the mistake of thinking they could talk over her was corrected immediately. She wasn't angry, but she made it clear that she would accept no disrespect or lack of discipline.

  Nick bit back his angry words. It wasn't easy. He wanted to pound his fist on the console and demand answers from them all. Edwards deserved that much. His life had to be worth something to someone. Nick's ragged breaths filled the silence as the moments passed. An eternity of tension filled the air, feeling like it would never end. He was surprised when it was Thompson who broke the silence first.

  'Our investigation into the security breach that allowed Mekinet News -'

  'Mekinet News!' Nick bit his lip and held back several more curses. Mekinet News was renowned for its 'on-the-edge' reporting, which broadly translated to dubious, corrupt or illegal activities. Rachel had mentioned that the net-feed droids belonged to Mekinet News but Nick had been hoping that she was mistaken.

  Thompson paused just long enough to let him know that she would not tolerate any more interruptions. 'A low-life named Rix Mulholly has been traced via our visual log archives. It appears that he infiltrated Beacon Station over two months ago and entered the accommodation units. While he was inside the station, he somehow managed to install a code breaking unit into Edwards' communications pack.'

  'Edwards?' Nick remembered the static interference when he had joined the comms calls. His friend had died less than an hour ago. The proton fire that destroyed his Croc would have been a relief to anybody that had survived that long. Nick shivered at Edwards' fate - at what might yet happen to Rachel, himself, and the remaining crew. Their situation was dire.

  'It also seems that Mulholly installed the device in the wrong comms pack,' Thompson said. 'It was the backup unit. Edwards didn't used it until his primary comms pack failed today. We have no idea what information Mulholly was expecting to gleam at that time, but we believe he missed his opportunity, and that today's security breach was not intended.'

  Thompson waited, as though expecting Nick to fly into another angry outburst, but all that filled the silence was his focussed breathing. He was controlling himself, verbally at least.

  'Who is this Mulholly, anyway?' Nick said.

  'An unknown for the most part. He works for the highest bidder.'

  'And who paid him this time?'

  'Riser Trent.'

  'Who?'

  'Riser Trent is a net hack from Mekinet News. Also a no-name - until now at least. Today he has made quite a name for himself. It is Riser Trent that is controlling the swarm of net-feed droids that are flying over Havers Compound.

  'Bastard! He hacked into my control systems. He had thirty-two connections into our local network somehow. What does he want anyway? Who sent him?'

  'We don't know yet. He's not there in person. He's controlling them remotely from another place. We are fully aware of the damage that he has caused, Commander. Every possible measure is being taken to deal with him, in whatever way is necessary.'

  There was ice in her voice, not a threat but a promise.

  'Where is he?'

  'Riser Trent is in the basement of one very dark and powerless Mekinet News building in Cinnamon City. We shut down the power grid fifteen minutes ago. He will not be taking part
in today's activities any further. Indeed, he will not be taking part in freedom either. We have sent several armed units to secure his arrest. His immediate superior, Ario Neech - CEO of Mekinet News, is already in custody. He denies all knowledge of the current situation. We will get to the bottom of this. All those responsible will be identified, located, and punished.'

  The Admiral's emphasis left Nick in no doubt that she meant what she said. For the first time today, he felt relieved to be working on her side. He just wished that it could make him feel any better about what had already happened.

  The Descent

  Damen let himself into the Mekinet News building though a small side entrance, carrying his equipment in one hand. He had done some maintenance on the building's ventilation systems a couple of months ago and had accidentally made a copy of his temporary access pass that they had given him. He had managed to remove the card's expiry date and change the registered name to something a little more generic. If anyone checked the audit records, they would see that Raymond Sanders had just entered the building. Sanders had once been a reporter for the company but he had been dead for several years.

  The side entrance opened up into a narrow passageway that led through to the lobby. The building was in darkness but enough light came through the tall glass windows at the front of the building for Damen to see where he was going. A thick lush carpet covered the lobby floor, and a marble fronted reception stood at against one wall.

  A crowd had gathered outside the lobby's front entrance. A few people were staring at him with questions in their eyes, if not on their lips. Information was not a good thing for people to have. Damen walked slowly, with his head down, making himself as uninteresting as possible. He walked along a short corridor at the back of the lobby and headed for the back stairwell. He took the first ten steps in darkness, holding onto the handrail until he was sure he was no longer visible from the lobby's entrance. Once he was out of sight, he turned on his bright white shoulder lamps, illuminating the concrete steps below, and continued his descent.

  Damen couldn't remember how many levels there were in the Mekinet News building. He had heard that there were as many levels below ground, as there were above. He had only seen a handful of them in person. He imagined the others would be much the same. Thankfully the equipment that he had brought along wasn't too heavy. The Hand-Box Generator was easily carried in one hand.

  The first eight levels went quickly, but it wasn't long before a thin trickle of sweat ran down the middle his wide back, and his thighs started burning because of the never ending steps. By the time he had descended fourteen levels, he was starting to get pissed off.

  None of the levels were properly labelled. Damen was beginning to think he might be lost. Even with the lights on it would be confusing, but with only his shoulder lamps to guide his steps, Damen's patience was wearing thin. He pulled out his grease-stained engineer's phone and called his brother.

  'Where the hell are you?'

  Riser answered almost immediately, 'I'm in my chair as usual, dear brother. Where the hell are you?'

  'Don't get smart. I'm doing you a favour, remember? I can just as soon turn around and go back to what I was doing.'

  'And what was that?'

  'Nothing that concerns you. What bloody level are you on? This whole place is blacker than a cronin pit, and I'm not getting paid by the hour. Quit pissing around and tell me where you are.'

  'Patient as always. I can tell you the way if you tell me what level you are on now.'

  Damen glanced around. Even with his shoulder lamps, he couldn't see much apart from shifting shadows that seemed to smother the endless concrete steps and walls. 'Fuck knows. I've seen more steps than I ever wanted to.'

  'What signs can you see?'

  'Signs?'

  'On the wall. Wooden plaques, containing enlightenment.'

  'Fuck off!'

  'I'm trying to help.'

  'Like shit. The only sign I can see says rest room.'

  'Ladies or Gents?'

  'Ladies, but I'm going to use it anyway. I'm sick of these damned steps.'

  Riser took a while to respond. Damen wondered if he was going to help at all, but when he did reply, he told Damen all that he needed to know.

  'I'm two levels below you, on the left, at the end of the corridor.'

  Damen kicked open the door to the toilets and took a well deserved piss.

  + + +

  Riser sat in total darkness. He was getting tired of waiting. He had told Damen exactly where to find him and yet he still hadn't arrived.

  Riser didn't like wasting time like this. He needed to know what was happening with the Information Cloud. He knew it was capable of managing itself while the Sphynx-II controller rack was down. The relay station would still act as a central hub, lying there in the woods where it had crash landed. All the net-feed droids would communicate with it as before, but it wouldn't be able to relay any information back to Riser's Sphynx-II controller rack until the power was back on. He wouldn't be able to send any orders to the Information Cloud either.

  Without orders, the net-feed droids would default to a circling pattern, slowly following each other around Havers Compound like a swarm of locusts, as though waiting for permission to land. For the moment, at least, they would have to manage by themselves. Riser scratched the back of his hand, muttering curses under his breath. Where the hell was Damen?

  Damen finally arrived in the small basement, over half an hour later. 'What a shit hole,' he said, looking around the small office with a frown upon his face.

  'What the hell took you so long?' Riser said. 'I tried calling you but you didn't pick up.'

  Damen shook his head. 'My engineer's phone isn't working down here. Too much bloody concrete!'

  His thick black hair had a dishevelled look about it but it had never prevented him from picking up women when he wanted them. Once or twice he had picked up women for Riser too, but that had been a another place and time. Riser didn't ask him anymore.

  'Why the hell did you tell me it was just two more levels?' Damen said. 'I must have descended twenty since then. Those stairs are insane. They kept doubling back and twisting around.'

  'I thought it would spur you on to hurry if you thought it wasn't far.'

  'Maybe I can spur you on with a punch on the nose?'

  Riser ignored his brother's natural enthusiasm and quickly set about helping him rig up power cables between his Hand-Box Generator and the main fuse box in the corridor. Despite looking far too small to be of much use, somehow the Hand-Box Generator managed to generate enough power to run all of Riser's equipment with plenty of capacity to spare. Two green bars lit up on a small status panel that offered a maximum of five bars.

  'How long will the power last?' Riser said.

  'It'll run all your systems for a month before it needs recharging.'

  Riser gave his brother an odd look. He wasn't sure whether it was bravado or whether he was actually yelling the truth.

  'Don't worry about it,' Damen said. 'This is good equipment. I paid a lot for it, and so will you.'

  'You'll get paid. Sit down. I need to get back to what I was doing before shit gets out of hand.'

  Damen nodded as he walked around the small cramped basement with his hands in his trouser pockets. 'What are you into this time?' he said.

  'I'll tell you later.'

  Damen grunted, seating himself in a rickety old chair on the other side of the desk.

  With Damen nearby, Riser felt a lot more confident that the power wouldn't fail again. All his systems were back online now so he wasted no time in checking what was happening at Havers Compound.

  Placing the sensor cap back on his head, he welcomed the feeling of its cool jelly lining, and immersed himself once more into the Information Cloud. The pleasure it gave him was almost obscene. He could see how a person might get addicted to such power. The pain behind his eyes slipped away, replaced by the panoramic view of battle.

&nb
sp; A smell of burning filled the air. At first, Riser thought his office in the basement had caught fire, but then he remembered that all his sensations were now being piped to him from a far away place, supplied by the net-feed droids and fed directly into his mind through the incredible sensations of the sensor cap. Smoke was billowing from Havers Compound's fractured exterior walls. That was where the smell of smoke was coming from. Riser's mind settled from its initial dislocation. He was there in the battle once more. Using his wrist controller, he surveyed the scene in front of him.

  The two remaining Crocs were clumped together in the river. They looked as though they had suffered heavy damage since he had last seen them. He didn't expect much in the way of exciting news from either of them. Instead, he turned his attention towards Havers Compound.

  The damage outside the building was impressive, but what he really wanted to see was what was going on inside. Riser selected live broadcast mode so that the world could share in his exploits. He laughed out loud as rows of red warning lights flashed inside his mind again. You silly bastards thought that you'd shut me down, did you? Well, you were wrong! Riser laughed and laughed until he almost choked on his own tongue. He wanted to stamp his feet on the floor, like when he was a kid getting over-excited about playing a new game or writing some new virus.