Live Echoes

by Henry V. O'Neil

  Trimmer’s goggles were smashed, and drying blood marked his nostrils, mouth, and ears. His weapon was nowhere to be seen, but his helmet was still on and so Mortas unfastened the strap and took it. Looking in at the dead man, he whispered, “Sorry.”

  A figure stepped clear of the building not five feet away, oblivious to his presence. Green fatigues covered by a vest loaded with chonk rounds, the grenade launcher in his hands and his eyes on the roof of the Ministry. Mortas now heard the gunshots and the blasts up there, and realized that his people were still fighting for access to the stairs. The man in green wore a soft black cap, and his lips parted as he prepared to fire.

  Rushing forward, swinging Trimmer’s helmet, Mortas hit the side of the man’s head so hard that he simply dropped. Ducking down to grab the chonk, and then feeling a hand roughly grabbing his armor and pulling him upright. Turning in fright and anger, only to stop in amazement at the joyous face of a madman. Inch-long birds flew from one cheek across wild eyes to the opposite temple, one smudged because they’d been drawn with ink instead of tattooed. A workman’s coverall and a rust-colored machete completed the uniform, and then the Flock member was yelling in his ear.

  “Come on, Orphan! Kill with us! Whole lotta good killing!” He drew an ecstatic breath, but a machine gun thundered from a window in the Ministry and he disintegrated. Blood and matter slapped into Mortas, but he was already running across the street, the enemy gun sending sparks flying near his boots until he was up against the wall and then ducking around the corner. Crouching, laying the chonk down so he could don Trimmer’s helmet, seeing a semicircular window at sidewalk level next to his boots. Strong bars blocked the aperture, but it was the perfect size.

  Yanking out the safeties on the breaching charge, he twisted the arming timer and stuffed the bomb into the stone arch. A single bullet came from the other side of a small park across the street, and he caught a glimpse of more bodies out there before scrambling back around the corner. The machine gun chattered again, though not at him, and Jander saw the barrel protruding two stories over his head. A drone gunship appeared in the distance, fire streaming in a molten line at targets he couldn’t see before he threw himself facedown on the sidewalk.

  Trimmer’s helmet connected with the communications in his armor, and desperate voices filled his ears while he waited for the breaching charge to detonate.

  “We’re trapped on the roof! Stop sending darts!”

  “This is Hatton! We are encountering heavy resistance on the Joy Canal Road! Looking for a new route!”

  “Do not fire up the Flock or the Orange! They’re killing the CIP!”

  “This is Wolf! We’ve captured a guard tower on the southeast corner of the wall! Swing around to the south!”

  The bomb detonated, and the dampers in Trimmer’s helmet clamped down on Jander’s ears. Smoke and rock dust plumed up, and he grabbed a grenade from his armor while low-crawling through the cloud. Reaching the window, which was now a man-sized gash in the wall and sidewalk, he was about to arm the grenade when the shooter in the park sent a ricochet past his feet. Grabbing the grenade launcher, Mortas dived straight through the hole into the smoke.

  He landed on the fragments of some office furniture, and then a bullet followed him through the breach and he skittered back against the wall. The chonk came up in a reflex, covering the open door, just before Jander realized he had no idea if it contained any bullets. Its grenades were still out on the street, so he popped the magazine and saw that it was indeed loaded. Slapping it back home, he peered through the lingering smoke.

  A weapons rack stood open on the far wall, alongside several sets of shackles hanging on hooks. The rest of the room was wrecked, but the sight was enough to kindle a dull hope. By pure luck he might have landed in the cell block where Watt and the others were being held. Keeping out of the sniper’s sight line, he moved to the door and swung the chonk around.

  A long corridor lined with doorways stood empty before him. Littered with pieces of green uniforms, CIP identification badges, and a range of common items, it gave silent testimony that Asterlit’s followers on this level of the Ministry had fled. Hugging the wall, checking each office as he passed, Jander quickly reached the holding cells in the building’s center. Somewhere high above him, a giant stomped intermittently, sending a shiver through the entire structure. Outside, a gunship tore up the street with a stream of heavy slugs, but he heard none of it.

  The cells were bare rooms with vertical bars where the corridor wall should have been, and there were only five of them. Two had been occupied when the attack commenced, one by a trio of Flock members wearing gray prison uniforms and the other by men in fatigues. Mortas stood at the bars, the grenade launcher becoming heavy in his hands, gravity pulling his jaw down, staring at the murdered prisoners.

  Colonel Watt lay at the bottom of a pile of his staff officers, who had tried to shield him with their bodies when the massacre commenced. Captain Pappas lay across him, bloody rips in the back of his fatigue shirt. His vision blurred and the room seemed to spin, so he grabbed the bars and squeezed tight until a weak voice spoke.

  “Jan.”

  Startled, he searched the pile until a single pair of open eyes blinked at him. Motionless, a large bald man with blood running from his mouth fought to raise his head.

  “Major Thorn?”

  “The colonel knew the brigade would come. When he heard the explosions, he was so happy.”

  “I wish we got here sooner.”

  “It was an ambush, Jan. We were never going to take over security here. Command sold us out.” Thorn made a choking sound, more blood running.

  “Take it easy, sir. I’ll find the keys.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m done. Can’t move. They arrested us the moment we got here. Took us into the throne room, called us all sorts of names, said the Orphans were finished.” Thorn gave a hollow laugh. “Colonel Watt punched Asterlit right in the nose, knocked him on his ass. You tell the boys that.”

  “You’ll tell ’em yourself.”

  “Nah.” Thorn’s eyes dulled, his final mission completed. “They murdered us right here. They were all gonna run away, but they gunned us down first. You killed him, right? Asterlit?”

  The building shook again, reminding him of the fight raging on the roof and outside, but Jander decided a lie was in order because it wouldn’t be a lie for long. “Oh yeah. He’s dead all right.”

  The first two floors of the Ministry were likewise deserted, and he wasted no time checking them as he went up the stairs. The explosions and gunshots were inside the building by then, but he couldn’t hear anyone on the radio. The battle outside seemed to be getting closer, and when he took a moment to look out a shattered window he saw ugly plumes of smoke rising to the west.

  On the third floor he heard a radio transmission from one of the offices, terse words against a background of battle, and felt pulled toward the information they contained. It was CIP traffic, and they were panicking.

  “Shoot at anything on the streets! We are bringing in the drones. Anyone outside a building will be taken under fire.”

  “I can’t raise the air control HQ! And can someone please tell me what those flying torpedoes are?”

  “How did they get into the SOA?”

  The hallway showed the same signs of hurried flight, and he had to step over fallen handhelds and a single discarded boot before reaching the office where the radio was playing. When he pointed the chonk around the doorframe, he was greeted by the sight of three CIP officers preparing their getaway. Stripped down to their underwear, they were donning one-piece uniforms that probably belonged to the janitorial staff. Their green outfits were draped across two chairs, and an assortment of weapons sat on the desktop. They froze in place, eyes on him and then on the desk, and Jander waited for them to reach before he shot them all.

  Mortas was almost back on the stairs when the fight on the top floors ended. Hoarse shouts and pounding bootsteps echoe
d inside the stairwell, and he pressed back against the wall while shadows flew past the door’s small window. The chonk still contained the grenade that its previous owner had meant for the roof, and he waited until the green fatigues passed before yanking the door open. He was sighting between the railing’s thin spokes when an avalanche of hand grenades came bouncing down the steps from above, and he had just enough time to throw himself back inside the hallway before they went off.

  The dampers in his helmet kept the successive blasts from deafening him, but they kicked the door off its hinges and filled that part of the corridor with a concussion wave that left him stunned. He was rolling onto his back when the barrel of a Scorpion rifle appeared in front of his eyes. Remembering a similar view on the planet Roanum a lifetime before, he looked past the dark hole to see bloodstained cheeks under a set of goggles and a helmet. The rifle came down slowly, teeth showing under the blood.

  “Lieutenant?” Easterbrook asked in a rough voice. Clearing her throat, she spat against the wall and then looked back at him, the smile widening. “You’re alive! They said you went over the side!”

  “I did.” Starting to rise, seeing more armored forms in the stairwell. “Did we get Asterlit?”

  “Throne room.” A smoke-darkened hand pointed at the ceiling.

  “He alive?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No.”

  Mortas stepped over three dead green suiters when he reached the top floor. Two FITCO troops were covering the stairwell, and they congratulated him on his survival. His headset wasn’t working at all, but Jander didn’t bother asking for an update on the rest of the fight even though it was clearly in progress outside.

  The throne room’s double doors had been blown off their hinges, and the aroma of explosives was all around. Jander thought of his only other visit, and then remembered the scene of carnage in the basement prison cells. His hand was drifting toward the handle of Cranther’s knife when he saw Asterlit’s dead body sprawled in the far corner near his throne. He’d been stitched with several rounds at close range.

  “We have to clear the roof. Push the darts over the side.” Leoni stood just inside the doors, soot covering his armor. “Call Strickland. Tell him to send two loads of medical supplies pronto. And then find any medics on the Mound, stuff them into darts, and send them too.”

  “Sergeant.” Mortas greeted him with a head bob at Asterlit. “He didn’t run off?”

  “Good to see you, sir.” Leoni grabbed his armor and gave him a quick, affectionate shake. “Heard you did the big drop.”

  “I did. The parachutes deployed and got hung up on the roof. Only reason I’m here.”

  “Coulda sworn we removed all of those . . . doesn’t matter.” He pointed his Scorpion at Asterlit. “Yeah, the governor here didn’t seem to understand we were mad at him. He was standing next to that big chair when we got the doors open. He looked right at me, and said something about having done nothing to deserve this.”

  “Guy was nuts.” Mortas turned away, dismissing the image. “I found Colonel Watt and the others. The guards killed them before they ran off. They’re in a set of cells in the basement.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I know.” Mortas heard something crash onto the roof overhead. “What’s the status? We winning?”

  “Sort of. Turns out the Orange and the Flock had infiltrated the city. They came out of hiding when we attacked. We got a couple of messages from them; seems their pals on the Mound told ’em the Orphan Brigade was coming to town. It’s chaos.”

  “I saw a few of them outside. Seems they took the heat off the rest of the attack.”

  “Lucky for us. A light infantry brigade with no fire support and a half-assed plan does not take down a city.”

  “You didn’t mention that earlier.”

  “Didn’t think we’d get this far.” Another thump on the roof. “Listen, we’ve got a tough decision to make. Ordinarily I’d say we have to get out of this place pronto, but my new pals over there told us something interesting.”

  Jander looked across the room, where two FITCO troops were guarding three green suiters. The CIP men were stretched out flat on their faces, and he’d thought they were dead.

  “What did they say?”

  “You know how Roger was redirecting our missile strikes? Asterlit heard about that and figured it wouldn’t be long until one of those rockets got reprogrammed to hit the SOA. So everything inside the wall is protected by heavy jamming. The apparatus is right here, in the Ministry.”

  “So this might be the safest place to be?”

  “Looks like it. The gunships are tearing up the streets out there, so I’m not sure where we’d go anyway.” Leoni’s normally buoyant features turned grim. “Not that it’ll make much difference in the long run. Force units are being sent here to finish us off.”

  “You say the jammers are all somewhere inside the building?”

  “Yes.” Leoni gave him a measuring look. “What you cookin’ up there, sir?”

  “Asterlit controlled all the communications, too. We need to find that, and make a broadcast.”

  “What? Tell the rest of the Force to surrender?”

  “No. Tell the rest of humanity what’s going on here.”

  Chapter 18

  “Captain, what exactly are we supposed to find out there?” Corporal Cusabrina asked from the bench seats on the shuttle.

  “That’s why we brought the devices along.” Seated with her back to the cockpit and wearing an armored suit like the rest of the Banshees aboard, Erica Varick pointed at a row of the tripod-mounted machines. “These things measure a wide range of subterranean indicators, from seismic activity to heat, and we’re going to plant them inside that buried city.”

  “Even though they never worked in training?” Dellmore asked.

  “They worked fine in training, and they’re operating the way they were designed right now, all over the target site. We had no idea what we were going to find down there, so these things just basically gather everything.”

  “I’m still lost here, ma’am,” Lightfoot called out. “We’re going to measure heat and tremors from the ruins of a city so old that it’s completely covered with dirt?”

  “Actually, the analysts think it’s not a city at all.” Varick paused while the rest of the squad groaned. “Yes, they got it wrong. In fact, if it wasn’t for a communications specialist named Ewing—I think some of you know him—we might have missed this completely. The stones we thought were foundations are all the same distance from the surface.”

  “Why is that significant, Captain?” Bullhead asked.

  “The stones are all the same kind, and they absorb solar radiation. The readings also show that something beneath them is alive. Ewing thinks it’s an incubator for baby shapeshifters.”

  “What if it’s a nursery for those caterpillar things?” Zuteck asked. “What if we disturb them?”

  “So far, with troops running all around those craters, we haven’t disturbed a thing. I doubt a squad in the middle of nowhere is going to cause much of a fuss.” More groans, but good-natured this time. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t have said that. Here we go—touching down in one minute.”

  The shuttles kicked up a cloud of powder when they lifted off, and Tin directed the squad into a wide perimeter even though there was no cover. Zuteck and Bullhead stayed with Varick, setting up their sensor, while the other three pairs headed out carrying the other devices. Jogging along with Dell, Ayliss checked the imagery and saw that nothing was going on anywhere nearby. Widening the scope, she smiled at the sight of the support area going up miles away. Temporary shelters where Banshees could be removed from their suits, ammunition stacks for resupply, and fuel bladders for the aircraft dotted the ground. Shuttles were already landing and shutting off, alongside a double row of the flying bubbles that Blocker had brought down.

  “Rig, I’m not doubting your nutty pal with the knife, but I’m not seeing anything in the overhea
ds that say there’s a nursery under us.” Dell said.

  “Ewing sees things the rest of us miss.” She giggled when they reached their designated position and started putting the machine into place. “He does hear things that aren’t there, though, so maybe he’s just wrong.”

  “Let’s hope so. Hey, you catching the latest feed?”

  “Yep. Just coming in.” Ayliss tongued the new screen a size larger, so that she could view it while still scanning the empty ground to her front. The demolition robots had opened the two tunnels in the launch crater, after determining the blockages were largely cosmetic. Three shuttles had hovered long enough at the bottom of the chimney for the Spartacans to climb out in their special suits, and the footage combined the views from their helmets as well as the tiny drones that hovered nearby.

  “A little surprised we’re seeing all this.” Lightfoot commented from the far side of the perimeter.

  “And why’s that?” asked Cusabrina. “You do know we’re all going down inside those things eventually, right?”

  “I was hoping they weren’t lying when they said that was just a contingency.”

  “Keep hoping. What’s the most important part of a fighting suit, as far as Command is concerned?”

  “The commo.”

  “That’s right. Once the scouts are deep enough in the tunnels, their transmissions are gonna fade. A nice long chain of Banshee squads, leading back to the surface, will make sure the honchos in orbit don’t miss a thing.”

  “That’s why they put us down here?”

  “Sorry. Thought you knew.”

  “Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” Varick said, before remembering her tenuous status with the squad. “But probably not much.”