"Almost there, just a few more seconds."
The sound of turbofans increased in volume, as did the amount of dust being kicked up around the open space. Every second the level increased so much that he was forced to move nearer to the wall.
"Almost there," said Agent Colee.
The only way to tell that the weapon system was armed was by the color of the light at the back of each pillbox tower. It was currently green. Agent Colee looked back and gave the okay signal. At the same time, the lights flashed once and then turned red.
"Good. Now the door."
He looked back to the unit and began pressing buttons.
"Get away from the panel!" said a high-pitched, heavily amplified voice.
Agent Colee ignored the words and continued to press buttons. The craft, a small civilian Cobra shuttle twisted about to give the passenger a clear view of the large locked door. A light flashed, and a round struck Agent Colee in the arm. It must have been high-velocity because it slammed him hard into the wall. He dropped to the ground unconscious.
"Bastards!" Director Johnson shouted.
He turned around and took aim with his own pistol. Another round fired and missed him by mere centimeters. He took his time and aimed at the armored glass cockpit. With a single squeeze, he sent one high-power round straight through the glass and into the goggles of the pilot. The craft spun about lazily, and to Johnson's satisfaction, the shooter tumbled out and fell the short distance to the ground. Even as the man struggled to move, he took aim and put another right into the man's chest.
"Stay down," he muttered.
As the craft continued to spin out of control, he moved back to the control panel. The code sequence had been bypassed, and all that remained was to select ‘deactivate’ on the screen. With one tap, there was a loud clunk, and the chain dropped to the floor. Nothing else happened, and for one terrible moment he doubted his plan. Then centimeter-by-centimeter the door opened. A hand pushed inside and then all kinds of pandemonium ensued. Dozens of men and women wearing improvised riot gear ran inside. Some wore sports armor, others looted security gear, but every one of them wanted to get inside the palace grounds.
"That way!" Director Johnson shouted, pointing into the grounds.
There was no real need for directions, though. Based on the amount of people with secpads and other communication devices, it was clear they knew what had been going on. He even noticed two Bulldogs with local police units dismounting and joining them. There must have been at least a dozen of them, and all were armed with shotguns, rifles, and current issue armor.
Good, that's more like it.
A woman in a long gray coat was with the police and waved to get his attention. As the scores of people pushed inside, the squad of riot police moved closer; the woman in the coat was leading them. They came through the doorway and into the memorial gardens.
"Director," said the woman politely.
"Agent Nuttall."
He hadn't expected to see the agent, especially after the chaotic scenes at the Agency. In fact, she had been one of the volunteers to hold the entrance while the senior agents attempted an escape.
"Sitrep?" he asked in his usual no-nonsense style.
"Guards units are standing down. There’s just the one you showed on your transmission. We have police units and agents surrounding the place, right now."
"Good, very good. I have a platoon of soldiers in the same area."
She nodded.
"Yes, we ran into them. They are preparing for the assault. If it comes to that."
"Come on, then. We don't have much time."
The agent waved him off and beckoned for him to move aside.
"We can do one better than that, Sir."
With a simple hand signal, one of the Bulldogs moved to face the gateway, and with a loud rev of the engine it began to accelerate. In just a few seconds, it crashed headlong into the opening and straight through. Chunks of old masonry ripped off but did little more than dent and scratch the armor. It skidded to a stop, and the side hatch opened up.
"This might be a little quicker."
The journey through the grounds took a fraction of the time it had taken to go the other way. They took both of the agents with them, and Johnson was pleased to find his comrade was still alive, though still stunned from his impact with the wall. They bumped and jostled over the terrain until finally skidding to a halt among three other similar vehicles. Scores of police, agents, and even Colonial soldiers had surrounded the round building. The odd gunshot rang out from the upper floors, but it was mainly quiet. Director Johnson stepped out in time to watch, but one of the police units had already begun a full-breach.
"What's going on here?" he demanded.
A young police commander leaned over a large display unit as he coordinated the attack. Director Johnson approached and grabbed the man by the shoulder.
"The President is a desperate man. We have to de-escalate this, and fast!"
The man looked at him and shook his head, simultaneously pushing his arm away.
"It's too late for that, Sir. He'd taken senators hostage and threatened to blow up the entire building if we do not fall back."
"Then what the hell are..."
A bright white flash filled every single windows of the vast domed structure. It was immediately followed by the blasting of the windows, and a great roar as the very ground shook. The explosion was massive, perhaps the largest any of them, including Johnson had ever seen. It began at the lower levels and then spread throughout the large dome. A single squad of riot police was moving to assist the breaching team, and the shockwave sent them all flying through the air. Everybody else threw themselves behind whatever cover they could find.
“Keep your heads down!” Director Johnson called out.
He pulled himself behind the police Bulldog just as the first chunks of dirt and broken rock began to fall about them. The worst part for many was the dust cloud. It began at the base of the dome and then accelerated out to engulf them all. In thirty seconds, the cloud had reached the open plaza and the bullet-ridden sculpture. On the cloud went like some massive ethereal beast that consumed all. The cloud sent soldiers and civilians running for cover. Others tried desperately to avoid the choking powder.
Wait a second! This took some serious planning, thought Johnson.
He climbed into the back of the Bulldog and to the small driver’s cupola. He slid into position and activated the external feeds. At first, he only saw the dust, but a quick flick of the toggle to the right moved through the observation modes. Infrared was first, and that did little more than turn to a monochrome image of dust. The thermal imaging was something else entirely. The equipment easily saw through the cloud and into the heart of the dome. There were scores of shapes as people staggered about. He suspected some would be wounded, but the majority was trying to get away from the dust.
Wait, what’s that?
Off to the right was an oval heat bloom. It changed shape and then began to rise. He focused in on it and waited as the servo mount altered its position and zoomed in to the target. The thermal imaging gave a fuzzy image, but as it stabilized, he immediately picked out the shape.
“A goddamned passenger liner.”
He jumped out of the seat and immediately struck his head on the top of the vehicle. Luckily for him, the innards of the Bulldog were lined with a thin layer of absorbent, rubber like material. He lifted his hand and rubbed his head. It hurt, but there was no sign of blood.
We need air support and fast.
He looked about but could see nothing. The Bulldog configuration was different to the military specification, and the Agency didn’t make use of armor. He went to the rear of the vehicle and looked at the computer system. A shape emerged at the hatch.
“Director, do you need help?”
It was Agent Nuttall. She climbed in alongside him.
“I’ve been on the conversion course with the riot unit. I know the tech.”
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“Good,” he answered calmly.
“I need to get an open distress signal sent out.”
She nodded and pulled herself into the nearest seat. Once in position, a motor drive held her in tight to the side along the computer.
“Who should we contact?”
The screen flashed blue, and a map of the capital with active units appeared. There were police vehicles and squads throughout the city, but it was the metro command right in the heart of the city that he pointed to.
“Metro command, then Naval command, and finally the Marine Corps barracks.”
Agent Nuttall quickly established a communication network with all three of them. Even Director Johnson was impressed with her speed at reaching them all.
“Online, Sir, what do you want to send them?”
He looked up and pointed.
“There’s a liner moving out from here. It’s got to have Harrison on board.”
Agent Nuttall began transmitting, and at the same time opened three tracking windows.
“Each of these is slaved to the external feeds.”
Johnson pointed to the second. It was marked ‘driver’. There was no need to say anything as she quickly took control of the mount and moved it a few degrees until reaching the heat bloom. A green rectangle appeared over the shape, and the computer began a series of comparisons to the police database. It took six seconds to find the exact model.
“It’s an interplanetary liner from Galactic Excursions. The company was grounded last week, and all of its vessels placed under observation by Colonial Guard troops. One craft is missing, GE Adventurer.”
“Yeah, I wonder why that might be.”
“Wait, Sir, there’s something else.”
She adjusted several of the windows aside and went back to the wide area tactical screen. The current distance showed the city, but with a few taps it changed to show the curvature of this part of the planet. Off to the side were icons for the Spacebridge to Prometheus, as well as a myriad of other objects, including orbital defense platforms and freighters.
“Well?”
Agent Nuttall moved two more sliders and then focused on the area around the Spacebridge. A single green rectangle marked the shape of a ship.
“It’s the Meteor.”
CHAPTER TEN
358CC was the golden age for private security companies, but before then there were small outfits from one-man bodyguards to entire businesses. Cemgil Kurt was one of those one-man outfits and became something of a legend in the inter-war years. The attempt on the life of Kerberos Ambassador Robert Perkins left him hospitalized for three weeks. Cemgil Kurt had only been hired three days earlier and single handedly protected the Ambassador for thirty-six hours until relieved by Security Personnel of the ATU. When they cleared the building, they found thirteen bodies plus the mortally wounded Cemgil Kurt. The ambassador took two bullets, all to the left leg. Ever since, the deeds of Cemgil have become something of a gunslinger legend.
Private Security Directory
Military Outpost, Rintau, Eos.
The forward position was silent, just as it had been for three days now. The walls were low, and the towers modest in their size. They must have been constructed generations earlier and had the look of ancient monuments or relics. Even the New Helion Army garrison was modest, and numbered just fifteen soldiers. These volunteers protected the perimeter, while in the center a single landing pad with the damaged Mauler still sitting there. Wictred leaned against the Northern tower and breathed in the cool air. He looked around him and at the refinery complex far into the distance and the partially damaged town of Rintau where their outpost was located.
"What are you so happy about?" Captain Carter asked.
Wictred looked out to the hills ringing their position.
"I thought we had something important back there. That Bioray should have been our ticket off this rock."
He sighed and Captain Carter laughed.
"And then we find the fleet has already taken five in the battles of the last month. It happens. In any case, our experience has proven useful. Our numbers are low on Eos, but so are the machines. What we lack in strength, we make up for in experience. Do you know anybody that has more combat time against them than us?"
Wictred shrugged and then pointed to a single heavily modified Marine Bulldog. Large parts of the armor had been removed and a metal mount welded onto the back. On top of the contraption sat one of the turrets from the captured ship.
"At least we got our new guns," laughed Wictred.
A flash far off into the distance caught their attention.
"We've not seen action in weeks. There can only be a few hundred, perhaps a thousand of them left."
The Captain shook his head.
"And you think finding them is going to improve your day?"
He pointed off into the distance where the low hills surrounded their position. The odd puff of smoke marked NHA artillery hitting the remnants of the Biomech forces.
"We have a damaged transport, and we supposedly crashed in this ancient archeological site. It must be the most exposed and poorly protected site on the whole of this rock. Are you sure your plan will work?" Wictred asked.
Captain Carter laughed.
"We've been hunting the last of them for weeks now, and whatever we do they keep slipping away. We need to finish them, and the best way is to act like a hunter. We draw them in with something too irresistible, even for the machines."
Wictred nodded and tried not to laugh.
"True. I just hope the plan works. This outpost is weak, very weak."
Captain Carter pulled off his helmet and wiped his brow.
"True, but if it was any other way, would they risk the last of their forces? We are weak enough to beat, but not too weak to look like bait."
Vadi, the synthetic warrior approached them. On his back he carried one of the looted guns they'd taken from the crashed vessel.
"They come?"
Wictred nodded in reply.
"Yes, very soon."
Captain Carter pulled the ruggedized secpad from his thigh and checked the latest drone scans. The information was current but also lacking in clarity for their immediate area.
"Looks like they shot down the last one. As far as the machines are concerned, we've got no surveillance and no help within a hundred and fifty klicks."
He looked back at the Mauler.
"That's what caught their eye. They must have tracked our so-called emergency landing."
He licked his lips for the third time in the last few minutes.
"It can go one of two ways, and the outcome is dependent on them."
A light rose up high into the sky and then arced back down toward their outpost. It struck just outside the wall and exploded. Another two followed it, and at the same time the black shapes on the hills began to move.
"Yeah, here it comes," said the Captain.
He looked toward the scrawny looking NHA soldiers running out to man the walls. A warning siren wailed, but the response seemed modest, especially compared to the size of the threat.
"Just pray this doesn't become another Dien Bien Phu."
He pulled on his helmet and used the stabilized optical mount to examine the troops moving in on them. He tagged each of them as he turned his head. Finally, he stopped and looked back to Wictred.
"Okay, maybe the plan was a little too optimistic."
"How many?" Wictred asked.
The Captain took in a long breath. Just over twelve..."
Wictred raised an eyebrow.
"...hundred."
Vadi climbed up onto the wall and looked as far as he could see. Without the optics he was forced to rely on his eyes.
"Where?"
Wictred tapped the warrior on the shoulder and indicated for him to climb back down.
"Don't worry, friend. They will be here soon enough."
He then looked to Captain Carter.
"Might be an idea to s
end out the distress call to command. They had better be ready for this one."
The officer was already speaking into his helmet. He stopped, and the visor flipped open.
"Not quite according to plan. They've jammed the area."
He looked up to sky.
"We'll have line of sight for orbital communications in about thirty minutes."
The first volleys of rockets came down in front of the wall and then the first direct hit. The blast was impressive and blew a hole big enough to drive a Bulldog through. Captain Carter and Wictred looked to each other at the same time.
"Get them ready, Corporal. It's time."
* * *
GE Adventurer, Over Terra Nova
The liner was the newest of the Traveler class and bore a surprising similarity to the supersonic jetliners of the twentieth century. The hull was long and cylindrical, with a pointed nose and eight massive engines fitted above and below the delta wing design. The engines themselves were installed in special banks of four and were capable of sending the craft both into space and through a planet’s atmosphere. The new and highly advanced air-breathing rocket engines were a special hybrid design that could function in a jet or rocket engine, depending on the configuration. It twisted about as it left low orbit and activated its rocket mode to continue on to escape velocity. Streams of flames gushed from the eight engines so that from a distance it looked almost like a comet.
The paint scheme of the liner was absolutely pristine, and it could easily have been a craft fresh from the factory. The exterior had once carried the stripes and insignia of the GE company, but in the last few days there had been major changes. The color had been altered, and the crest of the position of President emblazoned along the flank. There was nothing other than the name Adventurer to mark it out as anything less than an official Alliance vessel.
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