A Dragon at the Gate (The New Aeneid Cycle Book 3)

by Michael G. Munz

He forced away his curiosity and focused instead on Holes. “Are we dealing with the same thing that infected the computers at Omicron?”

  “The New Eden intelligence displays far too many characteristic similarities for it to be unrelated.”

  “Not unrelated,” Michael said, thinking, “but is it the same? What are the chances it was just created based on what the AoA found?”

  “Data is insufficient to calculate a percentage within an acceptable margin of error. However, in our interaction the New Eden intelligence displayed knowledge it claimed to have gained from a scan of Marc Triton’s portable server on the lunar surface.”

  “Thank you,” Caitlin said when she leaned forward against the mezzanine railing. “For volunteering your email.”

  Jade grunted. “Yeah. Volunteering.”

  Caitlin frowned, deciding to let it go. She managed to do so for about ten seconds. “You understand I’m just protecting my friends.”

  The club’s music faded as the band finished a set. Jade seemed to consider her words a moment. “You’re being cautious. You understand I’m just defending my integrity?”

  “Aye.” Caitlin let her gaze wander the ground floor, spying tables and booths where she and Felix had sat. Even with a clean scan of Jade’s email, only time could prove her trustworthy. Yet Michael was keeping secrets of whatever allegiance he held that Felix was once involved in. Trusting him to handle those details without sharing them was already chafing her willpower. How much faith could she spare?

  Caitlin forced what she hoped was a friendly smirk. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see how much we should offend each other then, won’t we?”

  Beside her, Jade chuckled. “I give at least as good as I get.”

  “Then perhaps we’ll get along after all.”

  They lapsed into silence. Caitlin’s thoughts drifted to New Eden Biotechnics and what Felix might be doing there. She had her phone out to check in with Rue when Michael joined them at the railing, moving to stand beside Caitlin.

  “How much do you know about a guy named Fagles?” he asked.

  “First name or last?”

  “Last,” Michael said. “I don’t remember his first name. He works for RavenTech.”

  Wait a minute. “RavenTech. Really?” Caitlin turned to face him.

  “Yeah.” Michael nodded. “That rings a bell?”

  Jade moved from the railing to stand between them and the rest of the mezzanine, as if to both shield the conversation and listen better.

  “Ondrea Noble’s new employer is RavenTech,” Caitlin said. “What does this Fagles have to do with things?”

  Alarm crossed Michael’s face and tightened her stomach. He glanced at Jade and said, “We really need to find him.”

  XVII

  THE CHAMBER was just under twenty meters wide and perhaps a third as deep. Embedded in both of the narrow walls were four equally spaced cylindrical columns thought to be energy conduits. Each conduit was about thirty centimeters wide and bisected by a series of smaller lights running vertically along each. Five of the conduits were dark, yet the lights on three—one on Marette’s left, two on her right—glowed from green to blue to dark purple and back again in pulses that traveled from floor to ceiling.

  Like a heartbeat.

  At one of the chamber’s wide ends, opposite the broad door the AoA had forced open weeks ago, hummed the force field that had defeated further progress. Only intermittent crackles of purple energy and a subtle blur across its surface indicated that anything was there at all. Although the techs who’d found it had determined it was safe to touch, it prevented any movement beyond.

  It was the first, and only, of its like they had discovered so far. Immediately behind it lay another wall of the black material found throughout Paragon. Behind that? No one knew for certain, but maps gleaned from Paragon’s computers indicated a massive chamber just a little farther in. As to what secrets that contained . . .

  The voice of Dr. Angela Sheridan, an AoA engineer out of Canada, broke Marette’s train of thought. “Not much to look at, is it? For all the grief it’s given us.”

  Marette renewed her grip on the modified recoilless rifle she carried. “The black material covered these side walls when you opened this chamber?”

  “And the floors,” Sheridan said from where she waited in the doorway. “As usual. The lights on conduits were visible, but we didn’t see all of them until we cleared the material away.”

  Marette moved another few steps into the chamber. Beside her walked a quadruped explore and assault robot. The others had nicknamed it “Moondog” for its canine shape and, Marette supposed, a human need to give the bear-sized, semi-automated weapons platform something of a friendlier edge. Moondog was on their side, but between its own recoilless weapons, Geiger cannons, EMP pod launcher, and built in EMP self-destruct, it was an intimidating presence to say the least.

  It did not help that the disaster three months earlier had involved Paragon’s computer seizing control of ESA’s robotic turrets to kill the ESA crew. Yet the same would not occur with Moondog. It operated on its own pre-programmed directives—not a true artificial intelligence, but with enough decision-making capability to manage itself in combat conditions. While it would accept voice commands from pre-authorized personnel, the only electronic remote control it possessed was used to shut it down.

  Yet even if Paragon’s systems did—somehow—manage to assume direct control of Moondog, each member of Marette’s team entering the chamber carried a remote to detonate a tiny explosive charge implanted in Moondog’s CPU brain. Even if those remotes should fail, the charge would also trigger off of a verbal kill-switch that would destroy the CPU if anyone uttered the phrase “Laputan machine.”

  They had underestimated Paragon before. They would not do so again.

  Or so Marette hoped. There was no getting around the fact that risk was a necessary price of progress.

  She let her gaze travel across the force field without knowing what she was looking for. She double-checked the oxygen readout on her suit: a full supply. Though she was breathing Paragon’s air for the moment, who knew what would happen when they started to meddle?

  “D’accord,” she said finally. “Begin your preparations.”

  At her signal, Dr. Sheridan entered alongside Marc. Each wore spacesuits of their own. Between them they lugged a trunk-sized piece of equipment, and Marc carried a smaller box in his other hand. Two other agents, Cartwright and Kotto, brought up the rear carrying rifles of their own.

  With Moondog beside her, Marette kept watch on the field as Sheridan and Marc set down their payload and began to unpack its contents: a “vector flux modulator” of Sheridan’s design that they hoped would help disrupt the field. It would work in concert with the adaptive program Marc had developed to adjust the modulator and counteract the field’s own attempts to maintain itself.

  Thus far, Marette considered, her first operation since returning to the Moon was going smoothly. Yet she could not exorcise the thought that it was on her watch that the most disastrous events around Paragon had occurred: The eradication of the first team to enter the ship. The death of hacker Suzanne Namura. The near-total cataclysm when Paragon’s systems took control of the Omicron Complex computers and killed most of its personnel . . .

  It was true that a great deal of progress had been made under Marette’s leadership as well. Yet they had also made much progress at Paragon while she had been gone, with little in terms of trouble. Was it merely bad luck, or had she done something wrong?

  It was a ridiculous thought, Marette knew. She had done the best she could, and she had returned here to continue to make a positive difference. Something big lurked behind that force field—something that could lead to the key to reverse engineering the technology that had gotten Paragon there from wherever it had come. She had no business wasting time on baseless worry.

  So why could she not stop?

  “Modulator’s powered up, Marette
. Standing by to go.”

  Marette nodded to Dr. Sheridan’s report. “Status, Marc?”

  Marc had unpacked a laptop from the smaller box he’d brought in. His mirrored visor reflected the light from the laptop screen amid the pulse of the nearby power conduits. Connected to the laptop and held in Marc’s left hand was the device he would use to access Paragon’s hardware systems via one of the ports on the wall with which the black material interfaced. “Coming up now. Looks like we’re ready if you are?”

  Marette gathered a breath. “Absolutely.” With a stand-by nod to Cartwright and Kotto, she opened her comm-channel. “Primary Control, do you read? We are beginning the operation.”

  Councilor Knapp acknowledged from outside in the Omicron Complex. “Remain vigilant.”

  Mon dieu, as if she needed to be told. Marette signaled the others to begin.

  Marc attached the interface to the wall. “Connected.”

  “Have you got a read on the field power?” Sheridan asked.

  “If it works the way we think it does.”

  Sheridan reached for the modulator’s control screen. “Stay back from the field please, everyone. As far as you can.” She slid a finger across the screen, and its indicator lights brightened. A hum grew within the chamber, its frequency and volume changing constantly as if it issued from a swarm of hornets patrolling back and forth. The field crackled, dimmed, and then brightened again. The humming grew in concert until Marette could feel the inside of her suit gloves vibrating between her fingers and her rifle.

  Marc, focused on the laptop, muttered something that Marette did not catch. The humming subsided and the field returned to its gentler shimmer. Dr. Sheridan continued to work at her control screen.

  At once the humming exploded into a shriek that pierced Marette’s eardrums. It forced her hands up protectively, leaving the rifle dangling from its shoulder strap. Pulsing lights on the conduits accelerated into a solid blue line. Glowing violet tendrils exploded from the center of the force field to ripple across its surface. Marette stepped back. The violet flashed white, and then burst.

  And then it was gone. The humming rushed into silence. The conduits went dark.

  They had defeated the force field.

  “Well,” Marc said, “that wasn’t so bad, right?”

  XVIII

  THE PHONE RANG. The voice on the other end, answering after two rings, sounded marinated in fatigue. “Hello?”

  Satisfied that it was indeed Felix Hiatt who had answered, Adrian spoke the code-phrase and waited. “Botany Bay.”

  “Ah, so I’m not going to be remembering this one either, huh?” Felix’s fatigue grew acrid. “What do you want, Fagles?”

  Adrian smiled, watching out the car window at the lights of a passing cargo floater in the sky. “I would say the occasional unmemorable conversation is worth full mnemonic health.”

  “‘Full mnemonic health,’ huh? You need to look up the definition of ‘health.’ And ‘full.’ And probably ‘decent human being’ while you’re at it. Now, like I said, what do you want?”

  “Something simple. Michael Flynn is out of the hospital--”

  “He is?” It was the first genuine happiness Adrian had heard from Felix since the completion of Ondrea Noble’s procedure. “Oh, wait, there must be a catch. Since when do you tell me things I want to hear?”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “Gee. ‘Not in the hospital’ is my guess. I haven’t heard from him. Why?”

  “I have people who wish to know. Should you see him, learn where he’s staying, and let me know.”

  “WHY?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend concerning yourself with that. A simple phone call. It’s all I ask.”

  For a few moments only ambient noise traveled across the line until finally, “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Enjoy your evening, Mister Hiatt.”

  “Is that an order, too?”

  Adrian smiled. “Botany Bay.” Mentally checking off that item from his to-do list, he ended the call.

  XIX

  A PAUSE.

  “WHY?”

  A longer pause.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  A shorter pause.

  “Is that an order, too?”

  The recording ended.

  “And that,” Caitlin told them, “is where Felix hung up. If he comes straight home, he should be here in perhaps fifteen minutes.”

  Michael sat with her and Jade around Felix’s miniscule dining room table. When he was crashing with Felix nine months ago, Michael had asked him about the engraved designs that circled its mirrored surface. Felix had explained they were letters from a fictional elvish language created by an old fantasy writer, but he’d found the table at a flea market and didn’t know who had done the engraving. When Michael asked what it said, Felix only pointed him to the Internet and challenged him to translate it for himself. Michael had moved out before managing to do so.

  “How does your friend know he was talking to Fagles?” Michael asked. “I didn’t hear him use his name.”

  “Rue heard it, she just couldn’t start the recording in time. And she heard Felix mention about it not being a conversation he’d be able to remember.”

  Jade’s brows knitted. “This is normal for Felix?”

  Caitlin held Michael’s gaze. “No. Not since his troubles a few months ago.”

  “Not that we know of,” Michael reminded her. “But given recent events…?”

  Caitlin remained silent, but finally nodded.

  Jade smoothed a few glowing strands of hair back over one ear and leaned closer to Michael. “Safe assumption Fagles called to ask where you are, then. ‘Not in the hospital,’ and all that.”

  Michael scowled. It made sense. Had Fagles sent the freelancers out of revenge for what he and Marc had done? It made sense that he would’ve waited until Michael was out of the hospital. There was no sense risking a murder if Michael would die on his own, and an attack in a hospital would attract too much attention.

  “Yeah,” Michael admitted. “Sounded like he didn’t know, at least.” Would Felix really betray him? Not by choice. Never.

  “Not yet,” Jade said. “But the second he walks through that door, he’s going to, if we’re still here.”

  “If Felix is working with Fagles against Michael,” Caitlin said, “then I can’t believe it’s by choice. We have to help him.”

  “It’s risky,” Jade said.

  Caitlin set her jaw. “Then Michael’s fortunate to have a freelancer here paid to protect him, isn’t he?”

  “We’re going to help him,” Michael told Caitlin before Jade could respond. “And he’s got answers we need. But I don’t want to put you or him at risk.”

  “He can’t tell anyone where you are if we’re all in the same room with him,” Caitlin said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  Michael nodded. “And Jade and I will leave right after. I’m not having another firefight in a friend’s apartment.”

  “Let’s see what you can learn from Felix first,” Caitlin said. “It may turn out to be better for you to stay here. In the meantime, while this Fagles sod is searching for you, I’ll return the favor.” She pushed back from the table, moving toward her laptop. “If he expects to bugger with people I care about without any bloody consequences, he’s in for a surprise.”

  Michael caught Jade’s approving smirk a moment before she turned to him. “Speaking of firefights in friends’ apartments, we need to get you more guns.”

  XX

  TUCKED AWAY in Felix’s kitchen, Michael listened as Caitlin greeted Felix at the door.

  “Out anywhere interesting?” she asked.

  “Oh, just wandering, listening for any interesting tidbits floating around. Nothing exciting. How’ve you been?”

  “Michael got out of the hospital,” she said.

  “He’s awake? They released him?” Felix’s surprise sounded genuine. “That’s great!”

  “He’s
in your kitchen, in fact.”

  Felix poked his head around the edge of the doorway. “He is!” Felix ducked back. “Is he making us dinner?”

  Before anyone could answer, Felix rushed back around into the kitchen and hugged Michael with a laugh. “Great to see you vertical, Flynn! And also awake. We tried propping you up with a hand-truck when you were still in that coma, and it just wasn’t the same. Had to tie you to it to keep you upright, for one thing. Hey, I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Felix stepped back and grinned. “How’re you?”

  Michael couldn’t help but return the grin. “I’m good, for the most part. Considering.”

  Felix hesitated. “Something’s up, isn’t it?”

  Michael nodded. “How can you tell?”

  “It’s me, Flynn. I can tell things. Anything to do with why you were in the hospital?”

  “Not so much,” Michael told him. “I think. Can we talk alone?”

  “We can if we believe we can.” Felix’s joke didn’t quite cover the concern on his face. “Bedroom, I guess?”

  With a glance at Caitlin, he motioned for Michael to follow, headed for the bedroom. Michael followed Felix in and closed the door behind him.

  “Was that Jade in my living room?” Felix asked, leaning one elbow on top of a bookcase. “Seems a nice gal, for a freelancer. Any sparks there, or is that purely a professional thing?”

  The question threw Michael’s train of thought into disarray. Jade was professional. Competent, smart, kept him on his toes. And maybe he had caught himself admiring her looks more than once, but—

  He decided to let it go for the moment and re-gathered his thoughts. “Have you heard anything from the AoA, Felix?”

  “Tsk.” Felix winked. “Avoiding the question. You like her hair?”

  “Who wouldn’t? Now, speaking of avoiding questions.” Michael crossed his arms and waited. Was Felix stalling, or just being his usual self?

  “You avoided first.” Felix grinned, but went on. “But no, I haven’t. If nothing else, I’ve been wondering how Marc’s doing. What about you?”