“I’ve got visual confirmation. We’re going to have five ships here soon. Big enough to cause us problems. We’ve got to start thinking about an exit strategy.”
“We don’t leave until we’ve finished the mission. The mission is to, at minimum, expose the presence of unauthorized military support in the form of high-powered ordnance and destroy or confiscate said ordnance. If we can hobble the Syndicate forces at the same time, more the better.”
“Then I’m going to have to start poking holes in this fleet early or we’re not going to be getting out of here.”
“So be it. I trust your judgment.”
“Don’t mind the detonations then. That’s just me doing my thing. You’ll know when something’s gone sideways when I start yelling.”
“Understood. Do enjoy yourself.”
Garotte rested his hand upon the grip of his energy weapon—the hallways of this facility were a bit too close quarters for him to be worrying about ricocheting bullets—and ran the next steps through his head. The most morally ideal course of action at this point would be to round up the employees. They were ostensibly innocent civilians in this, and the chances were better than average that the whole of this facility would be a smoking crater before the mission was through. Leaving them locked away seemed rather cold and unfeeling. That was low priority in his mind. Once one becomes involved in the accumulation and distribution of illegal arms, one loses the status of innocent bystander and thus earns the same fate of the soldiers. These workers either knew what they were getting into or were too dim to work it out for themselves and thus weren’t very well deserving of sympathy.
That simply left the two steps of eliminating hostiles and finding the weapon stockpile. From the way they were zealously defending the lower levels, they seemed the likely location, but he would be remiss if he didn’t give at least a cursory glance at the levels between. This was doubly true in light of the clear “Inventory” label on their own directory.
He reached the sixth floor and let the elevator continue on its way at reduced speed. The slope of the rails it was running on was shallow enough to make catching up with it on foot simple enough. The door was, as expected, fully secured and unresponsive to his stolen badge, but it was still a fairly cheap implementation of off-the-shelf security. He plugged in a bulky electronic device to the accessory port on the door and, after some brute force and educated algorithm-assisted guesses, cracked the code. The door hissed open to reveal a darkened interior. A nearby light switch failed to function—an irritating if not overly effective security measure—but Garotte defeated this precaution with a flashlight.
The room ran the length of the facility, which at this level was much longer thanks to taking advantage of the slope of the mountain to expand laterally. Tracks that matched those at the edge of the elevator led inside to allow heavy-lifters to load and unload the shelves. At the moment, the shelves were largely empty. Only the lowest level had any crates, and then only on the shelving units nearest the door. Each crate was a very sturdy assembly of alloys and polymers, sealed with a locking mechanism that, at first glance, was considerably more potent than that of the door. It took two full minutes of churning by his code-cracker to finally disengage the lock.
“Silo, we’ve got confirmation,” he said.
He lifted one of the rounds from within the crate. It was certainly an official military product, and like the part he’d found previously, it was conspicuously lacking any badges or branding to suggest who precisely was responsible for creating it. A single round like this could punch a hole through anything short of a heavy tank. If used against the Piranha, as they no doubt had been, they would be enough to level a building. The Kruger Militia wasn’t much better equipped than the already annihilated gang. Even with their superior tactics and training, they wouldn’t hold out more than a few months against steady use of such armaments. Assuming a complete communication lockdown could be achieved, which clearly wouldn’t be difficult thanks to the poorly maintained pair of satellites responsible for global communication, the Broadline Syndicate could make quick work of any foe on the surface and then control travel until they could finish covering up the means of their victory.
“Good. That’s step one,” Silo said.
“It raises a few concerns, however.”
“Oh?”
“If they’ve got this sort of evidence on a medium-security level, what precisely is worth locking away on the lower levels?”
“You better find out in a hurry, because we’ve got company.”
#
Silo watched the approaching forces. She’d seen more frontline and behind-enemy-lines battle than most people her age. As a result, the sight of a huge enemy force was nothing new. That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t afraid. Bravery wasn’t about the lack of fear, it was about keeping fear from calling the shots. But what she felt now wasn’t even that. This was the first time she’d ever seen a paramilitary force facing her down. The vehicles were larger, less sleek. They were clumsy, built more to intimidate than actually present a decent threat. It was oddly like facing children, knowing that they certainly lacked the tools to fight properly and quite likely lacked the skills as well.
This lack of skills presented itself when, rather than deploying their drones first or even attempting to contact the defending force over the open com channels, actual troopers deployed and stood in formation in front of the force field. She was standing far enough back to be hidden from view, watching as they gathered close enough to the door and clustered tightly enough together to be killed by a single well-placed grenade.
“Garotte, they are lining up like bowling pins. I have never seen such heavily armed, poorly trained idiots.”
“Glorious.”
“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this.”
“You aren’t allowed to have second thoughts about this, Silo. This is the mission, and we’re only a third through. Who’s being unprofessional now?”
“Neither of us are professionals right now.”
“Speak for yourself. This sort of mission is entirely in my job description.”
“Missions are handed down from above. This is just a thing you and I thought needed doing.”
“The only difference is in this case we know the mission was cooked up by people with good heads on their shoulders.”
“Even so…” she said. “The good head on these shoulders is having a crisis of conscience about blowing up a cluster of idiots on my own say-so.”
“Heaven forbid we lose a few idiots… fine. There’re always the nonlethal bits of kit the doctor gave us. Just poke some holes in the fleet for now.”
She pulled out her slidepad and rolled through the devices. “Yeah. That I can do.”
Trotting to the ship, she gathered a few of the more interesting gadgets, then made her way to a service ladder leading to the ventilation system. Outside, the troopers were starting to take potshots at the force field. Finally one of them thought to try the communicator.
“Response Teams 1, 2, and 3 are on hand. What the hell happened here?” asked the lead trooper.
“Attention. Have you made visual contact with any unauthorized personnel?” asked the commander’s voice.
“No, but there’s a big-ass hole in the door,” the trooper said. “And two technicians tied up out here. Someone untie them.”
Silo ducked into the vent shaft and hauled herself up, grenade launcher held tight to her back and some specialty ammo loaded. A cord tied to some other equipment allowed her to haul it up behind her. It was a short distance to the circulation fan, and a quick yank on the ventilation cable to stop it.
“The storage facility has been compromised and there are at least two enemy troopers attempting to breach the lower levels. They must be stopped at all costs,” the commander said.
Silo straddled the motionless fan and pulled the targeting site from the grenade launcher.
“Then open the door,” the trooper said.
“The door mechanism is damaged,” the commander growled.
“… Well then what do you want us to do?”
“Get in here. I don’t care how. I don’t care if you chisel through the damn mountain. Just keep your weapons targeted above elevation 552.”
“You sure about that, sir?”
“Well, well,” Garotte said. “They are very interested in keeping the lower levels secret. Interested enough to authorize a full bombardment of a weapon stockpile.”
“Yeah, hon. If you’d been listening, you might have heard me point out they were idiots.”
She finished sweeping over the assembled troopers and ships. There were five large carrier ships, each at least six times larger than Garotte’s ship. The total trooper complement was perhaps forty, but based on the deployment hatches on the sides of the ships, there were hundreds if not thousands of drones inside. The ships themselves had all the hard points for heavy weapons, but most of them didn’t have anything mounted. A few had smaller weapons, mostly energy cannons a shade larger than individual troopers might carry. Each ship, however, had two launchers of the precise sort to fire the weapons they’d come here to find.
Silo reattached the targeting device and loaded in the first of a pair of devices, labeled “Monopole N.”
She angled the launcher precisely and fired. After the appropriate amount of time, she heard the distant clank of metal on metal. If her aim was true, and it was, then the first monopole was latched on to the roof of the closest ship. A glance at the instructions, written with the doctor’s usual terseness, suggested “deploy monopoles in matched pairs, activate and they’ll come together, fast and hard.”
Silo activated the communicator and opened it to general broadcast. “Attention, troopers. I realize it’s poor tactics, but I’ve got some advice for you.”
“Who’s that?” demanded the lead trooper.
“First, you folks are all standing right in what I’d call ‘the kill zone.’ Might want to spread out. It isn’t even sporting.”
“Shut up and show yourself. You’re one of the enemy soldiers!”
“We can’t pull the wool over their eyes,” Garotte quipped.
“Second, I’d really suggest you get away from that lead ship of yours.” She angled her launcher and fired again. Another metallic clank. “Might want to get away from that second ship too.”
“What are you talking about?” the trooper demanded.
She pulled out the associated device and brought up its menu. “Pair 1, attract,” Silo said, tapping the screen.
Tucked away in cover as she was, Silo didn’t get a good look at what happened next, but from what she could hear from the sounds, it was spectacular. There was an apocalyptic screech of metal and a chorus of startled screams. Thrusters and engines roared, then a deafening crunch that could only be two ships impacting each other. A few secondary explosions split the air, and then the mountain shook as both ships struck the ground.
“What the hell!? What the hell what the hell what the hell!?” stated the lead trooper sagely.
“What happened?” demanded the commander.
“Deployment ships 1 and 3 are down! No one even shot anything!” the trooper said.
The privacy tone chirped across the communicator.
“What precisely did you use?” Garotte asked.
“The first pair of monopoles,” Silo said.
“So two ships got taken down with magnets.”
“I think technically it was two halves of one magnet.”
“I suspect Dr. Dee will be hearing from me again.”
The trooper, oozing panic, barked orders madly. “I want every response unit here now.”
“Units 4 and 5 are already inbound. They should be visible now,” responded a dispatcher.
“Then get 6 through 15 out here, dispatch! Get 6 through 15, now!”
A distorted voice answered. “You want us to deploy all response units? There are offensives planned for—”
“There is an offensive here, now!”
“Okay, hon,” Silo said privately to Garotte. “Seems like we’re about to get our shot at hobbling the whole army. You ought to get up here and lend a hand. I’m good and they’re bad, but blowing a hole through a force triple this size might take more than one person.”
“I’ll be along shortly, my dear. First, I simply must satisfy my curiosity regarding these precious lower levels.”
#
Garotte tapped his way down the rail as the elevator rolled to the first of the lower levels, level 11. Like the ammunition cases, the level of security here was vastly greater than the rest of the facility. There were also much thicker power lines running between floors.
He stepped off the elevator, which continued slowly along its way, and plugged the code-cracker into the access port. Within a few seconds, it was clear the device was not going to be up to the task.
“You do not know who you are dealing with,” warned the commander. “You will never break our security.”
“Funny thing about good security, my friend,” Garotte said, glancing over the readouts on the screen. “Everyone feels the need to have their own. There is sound logic, behind it. You wouldn’t want to use the same locks as your enemy, just in case there’s a skeleton key. But it does create complications.” An indicator popped up. “And you are using TKUR algorithms. I do hope that wasn’t meant to be a secret.”
“We control communication on this planet. We control transit. That information will never leave this facility, and you will never leave this planet.”
“You certainly seem to believe you have a firm grip on those things that will never occur. While I’m confident I shall prove you wrong on all counts, let’s begin with the security, shall we?” He reached back into a pouch on his belt and glanced up along the slanted elevator shaft. “Until now I’ve relied upon my own favored equipment. It has served me well, but I haven’t got the time for it to chew through your encryption, and frankly I am positively itching to give this new device a try, courtesy of my new benefactor.”
The device in question was tiny, barely larger than the screen and the wired harness that connected to it. Garotte tugged the access cord from the door and replaced it with that from the new device. It blinked to life and sent a torrent of messages across its screen, concluding mere moments later with the words Complete penetration achieved. Please select command. Below was a submenu with some straightforward aims for security penetration.
“That seems a bit too good to be true,” Garotte muttered. “But nothing ventured nothing gained.”
He selected “Open Door” from the list. A sequence of mechanical clicks rippled along the elevator shaft as every door in the facility opened one by one. Acting quickly, he stepped aside just before the door in front of him could slide open. This turned out to be a wise precaution, as the door hadn’t even finished receding into its slot when a short burst of energy bolts sprayed out from within.
Garotte pulled his own energy pistol and readied it. The person who had fired upon him wasn’t foolish enough to charge out to meet him, but there were others within the facility who lacked the same sense. One of them, an unfortunate nonmilitary crewman from a higher floor, fell out of a doorway after the elation of suddenly finding himself no longer locked in was swiftly tempered by the discovery that the elevator was not waiting for him at the end of the landing. This discovery turned out to be a few steps too late, and he stumbled forward and rolled down the sloping shaft.
The second of the three military members of the staff emerged from a lower doorway just as the elevator crept past him and reflexively opened fire on the clumsy worker. The angle was such that Garotte couldn’t return fire, but a hapless crewman being fried by a trigger-happy soldier proved sufficient distraction to give Garotte’s more immediate threat a brief window of opportunity. To his credit, the soldier seized it, swinging out of the doorway and firing off three shots that came near enough to scorch Garotte’s bod
y armor.
The two grappled, arms locked, each trying to bring their pistol to bear on the other while doing their very best to avoid becoming a target. They delivered punishing knees to abdomens, attempted head-butts, and every other close-quarters maneuver they could muster.
“You know something,” Garotte grunted, pinning the man’s arms to his side, “I do believe… you have me outmatched…”
Already the man was brute-forcing his way out of the grip. If the hand-to-hand battle lasted much longer, it wouldn’t end well for Garotte.
“Hardly rare for me,” he said. “But I’ve found, when facing long odds, there’s something that can usually level the playing field. … A little dash of chaos.”
He shifted his weight and threw the pair off balance, tipping them off the edge of the elevator landing. Panic gripped the soldier as he fell. They hit one of the elevator rails and tumbled down along the slope to the next landing. Stray energy bolts flew in all directions as the struggle continued and they rolled off another landing. Finally, after striking yet another landing, this one just below the one serving as the perch for the second soldier, the struggle came to a halt with a final weapon discharge.
“Garotte, give me your status,” Silo said over the communicator. “… Garotte, status.”
“Lieutenant Manfredi, Lieutenant Cho, someone respond with status, now,” demanded the commander.
“This is Cho,” responded the second soldier as he leaped to the nearest elevator rail and then down to the tangled mass of humanity on the next landing.
The first soldier was on top of Garotte, and though the air had the unmistakable stench of burnt flesh, the question of who had won the battle, if anyone, was still very much unanswered.
“I have visual. Both men are motionless. I am investigating now.”
“Be careful. This infiltrator is not to be taken lightly.”
Cho stepped up to the pair and nudged his comrade with his toe. A burst of motion followed, then a flash of light, and the stink of singed flesh became much stronger. Garotte, his pistol still smoldering from the discharge, touched his communicator.
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