by Bible, Jake
“Hey, we’re friendlies!” Paulo shouts.
His training reads the body language of the Clean Guard and he ratchets up the power on his StatShield just as the Clean Guards’ rifles start firing. He takes a blast directly to his chest and tumbles head over heels until he’s slumped against two of the Sicklands’ bug hounds’ corpses.
“I knew it,” Hoagie says, running sideways as he opens fire, sending blast after blast towards the Clean Guard. “Suck my sick dick, bitches!”
Two of the troopers go down fast, their bodies doubling over as static blasts rip into their midsections, scorching the pristine white armor. Hoagie jumps into a diving roll as four blasts rip up the ground his feet just occupied. He comes up and presses his back against the GenSOF transport, firing as fast as he can before he has to dodge another volley of blasts.
“Paulo! Talk to me!” Blaze yells as he runs the opposite direction from Hoagie, trying to pin the troopers between them. “Paulo!”
He’s too far away to hear the man grunt in response, but he does see Paulo weakly raise a hand. Half the troopers spin and engage Blaze, their rifles just missing as Blaze sprints full out towards a pile of rock at the very base of the hillside.
A scream goes up as one of the troopers goes down, his leg shredded by Munch. Another trooper turns to assist his comrade and blast the dog, but he falls also, his vertebrae compressing from the impact of a flying Snorts. Even with the body armor on, a loud crack rings out as the man’s spine snaps.
Blaze gets to the boulders and ducks his head as chunks of rock spray against him from several static blasts. He dives and cranks his suit’s power to high, trying to get as much protection as possible. His visor flickers and he can see that he doesn’t have a ton of power left. If the transport was operational the suit would wirelessly siphon power from the nuclear cell system, but that isn’t an option.
The rocks around him shudders from blast after blast and Blaze knows he can’t stay there long or they’ll just advance on his location and surround him. He switches vision and spots a crevice in the hillside a few yards off. If he can get to that, he can hold a defensible position. At least long enough to try to talk to the Clean Guard and figure out what the hell is going on.
He stands and sprints towards the crevice, static blasts exploding about his feet. He’s five feet, four feet, three feet- bam!
Blaze goes down as the back of his right thigh erupts in a fireball of pain. He reaches back and grabs at his leg, spinning and falling against the hillside, just out of reach of the crevice. Six of the troopers are rushing him, rifles up. They take aim and Blaze watches the tips of the rifles glow blue then white hot.
Kill shots.
Then the static dissipates and dies as the troopers lower their rifles. They all cock their heads like they are receiving orders.
“See,” Blaze says, holding up his hands. “We’re GenSOF. Same side. This is all a big misunderstanding.”
The lead trooper walks forward and kneels down next to Blaze. He raises his hand and a thin line of blue light sweeps across Blaze’s face.
“Please disengage your visor so I can get an accurate reading and confirm your identity,” the trooper says. “Comply now.”
“Fine, fine,” Blaze says and the static visor blinks out. “There. We good?”
“Thank you, operator,” the trooper says as he scans Blaze. “Identity confirmed. Shall we proceed, doctor?”
“Uh, I’m not a doctor,” Blaze says. He tries to get up, but the trooper places a hand on his chest and holds him in place. Blaze looks at the hand and then over at the GenSOF transport. “Wait…doctor?”
“We can handle him conscious, doctor,” the trooper says. “But if you insist.”
“Insist on what?” Blaze asks, bringing up his baton way too late as the fist slams into his face. His head rocks back and he tastes blood. “What the fuck?”
The fist connects again and Blaze’s world starts to swim. The trooper stands and jabs the end of a baton against Blaze’s neck.
“Good night, operator,” the trooper says. “Glad I’m not you.”
Blaze’s body twitches hard then goes rigid just before he slumps into unconsciousness.
“Cargo acquired, doctor,” the trooper says, waving over the rest to pick Blaze up. “Loading into the transport now. Ready for departure to Control when you are.”
28
Dr. DeBeers waves her hand across the surface of the first cylinder and the embedded hover strips on the bottom and side come to life, lifting it from the stack. She swipes both hands to the left and the cylinder pivots, just barely missing her as she steps out of the way and directs it towards the hatch.
A loud growling stops her in her tracks.
Tequila is standing there on the other side of the cylinder, blocking the way to the hatch.
“I kinda heard everything,” Milo grunts from his spot on the floor. “That includes your orders for the Clean Guard to take Blaze.”
“And now you are going to stop me?” Dr. DeBeers asks, her eyes taking in every detail around her. She coughs loudly and staggers a bit.
“I don’t think I’m up to it,” Milo grins weakly. “And doesn’t exactly sound like you are either. But Tequila there is rip roaring ready to go. You’ll have to get past him to get out of here. You may have some Control tricks up your sleeve, but not enough to take down my bug hound.”
“Do you have any idea what happens when someone disobeys Control?” Dr. DeBeers asks. She glances at the cylinder. “It’s not pretty.”
“Is that who you have in those things?” Milo asks. “People that won’t fall in line with the Control narrative?”
“This one? Yes,” Dr. DeBeers says. “The others are bystanders caught up in a web so big their little Caldicott City minds can’t even comprehend the scope.”
“Collateral damage?” Milo asks. “I’m very familiar with that.”
“As an operator, I am sure you are,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Can we make a deal, Sergeant?”
“Probably not.”
“Care to try?”
Milo shrugs.
“You call off your Canine Unit and let me go without incident,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I only take this cylinder and leave the others. You get three of the four. When it is all finished outside you will be the last survivor and can invent whatever story you would like. Let me go, keep this quiet, and you will live to fight another day.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then once I leave, and I will leave, this transport, with you in it, will be vaporized,” Dr. DeBeers says. “In fact every inch of ground for five square clicks will be vaporized. It will be as if Zebra squad never existed. No legacy left for the annals of GenSOF history.”
“You think I’ll agree so that my squad can be remembered for posterity?” Milo laughs. “What stim mist are you smoking, lady?”
“Is that a no?” Dr. DeBeers asks.
“It’s a fuck no,” Milo says. “So sit your ass down and we’ll wait until my squad sorts this all out.”
Dr. DeBeers points to the hatch. “Do you hear that out there, Sergeant?” The sounds of static blasts and rock exploding filters into the transport. “Does that sound like your squad is winning?”
“Yeah,” Milo smiles. “It does.”
Dr. DeBeers’s confidence lessens as she listens closely and can hear the cries of men and women as they are taken down by static fire.
“Care to grab that seat now?” Milo asks. “Or should I have Tequila rip your seat off?”
“Neither,” Dr. DeBeers says, pressing her wrist and twisting the white glove she has on. She points her hand at Milo and frowns. “You had your chance, Sergeant.”
Her hand glows blue and she is about to fire when the cylinder slams into her, causing the blast to scorch the ceiling of the transport. If it had hit Milo, it would have melted half his head away. The cylinder spins around and the corner catches Dr. DeBeers in the stomach.
“Good boy,” Milo s
ays as Tequila rams into the cylinder again, forcing Dr. DeBeers to hit the floor and roll under it.
The dog rushes at the doctor and clamps its jaws around her shoulder, pulling her towards the hatch and outside, dragging the threat away from Milo.
“Put her down hard, Tequila!” Milo shouts. “Teach the good doctor a lesson in how we do things in GenSOF!”
Dr. DeBeers struggles to get free of the bug hound, but the dog’s jaw muscles are too powerful and every time she tries to twist away, more of her armor shreds, bringing the black teeth closer and closer to tender flesh.
“Release the doctor!” a trooper shouts as she raises her rifle and fires at Tequila.
The bug hound lets go and jumps back, barely dodging the static blast. It looks at the trooper with rage filled black eyes and charges. The woman fires again, but she’s too late as Tequila leaps and sends all of his weight into her chest. They fall to the ground, tumbling over and over, each trying to get the dominant position.
Dr. DeBeers looks at the transport hatch and debates going back for the cylinder, but a static blast flies out from inside and the decision is made for her. Scrambling backwards on her feet and ass, she tries to put some distance between her and the transport, unsure of just how mobile Sergeant Kailua is.
“What have you done?” Ton croaks as his hand clamps onto her wrist.
She turns and gets to her feet, pulling her wrist free, and starts kicking the man again and again in the head. His helmet takes most of the impact, but the violence is enough to knock the small bit of sense he was able to regain right back out again. His eyes flicker and then roll up into his head, showing only bloodshot whites.
“Doctor!” a trooper shouts as he runs towards her. “Doctor! Get dow-”
A static blast rips across his visor and his head snaps to the side. His neck broken from the impact, he’s dead before his body hits the ground. Dr. DeBeers whirls around to see Paulo positioned behind a pile of dead bug hounds. He turns his rifle on her and she takes off running.
Static blasts kick up around her legs and she can feel the heat and sting of the electricity as Paulo finds his aim. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end and she knows the next blast will hit her square on, but she keeps running. A Slide speeds around the transport and stops between her and the incoming blast. Blue sparks fill the night as the Slide’s shield absorbs the static, saving the doctor from certain death.
“Cargo has been loaded in the transport,” the Slide rider states, pulling a pistol and firing at Paulo. “Transport is ready to depart, doctor. The Slides will clean up here.”
Dr. DeBeers nods at the rider and keeps running, booking it around the GenSOF transport and to the Clean Guard one that waits with its rear hatch wide open.
“All troopers need to board immediately!” Dr. DeBeers yells. “We leave now!”
“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP voice responds. “I will convey the order.”
She gets into the transport and stumbles to a wall, putting her hand out to hold her up while she struggles to catch her breath. Images, grotesque and strange flicker through her mind and she shakes her head to clear it.
“Are you injured, doctor?” the AiSP asks. “I am not showing any trauma to your body. Shall I perform a full scan?”
“I’m fine,” Dr. DeBeers says. She sees a trooper standing over the unconscious body of Blaze, who is strapped into a transport seat, his wrists and ankles bound and secured. The trooper is twirling something on his finger. “What’s that?”
“Some necklace,” the trooper says. “He had it around his neck.”
“Let me see it,” the doctor says, holding out her hand.
The trooper hands it over. Dr. DeBeers studies the smooth metal medallion, turning it this way and that. She flinches as a blast rips up dirt a few yards outside the rear hatch.
“AiSP?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “What is your analysis of this?”
“Alloy steel,” the AiSP says. “Same type used in many electronic applications.”
“Does it give off a signal?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “Is there any sign of a power source within?”
“No, doctor, the metal is inert. Analysis shows that it is decorative only and holds no actual functionality.”
“Good,” Dr. DeBeers says as she tosses it out the rear of the transport.
Troopers start to stream into the transport and when all are present the rear of the transport seals tight.
“Driver? Get us the hell out of here,” Dr. DeBeers says as she sits in an empty seat and straps in. “I’m done with the Sicklands and those GenSOF apes.”
“Yes, doctor,” the driver says and turns the transport about, taking the Clean Guard back the way they came, heading for Control.
29
Hoagie sprints around the front of the transport, his rifle firing at the fleeing transport. He tags it a couple of times, but the blasts aren’t enough to take out the vehicle’s StatShield.
“Fuck!” he shouts as he gives up the chase, his legs still weak from the stunning Blaze had given him.
He turns and only his battle reflexes save him from being sliced open by the front blades of the Slide that speeds past. Snapping his rifle into a baton, Hoagie breathes deeply and runs at the Slide as the rider turns it about, ready for another go at the operator.
But that rider doesn’t get the chance as Hoagie brings his baton down onto the man’s neck, right in the space where helmet and body armor meet. Blue static arcs and the rider convulses as Hoagie sends wave after wave of static pulses into the man’s body.
The air is filled with the smell of burning skin and melted alloy steel as the rider’s body tumbles to the ground. Hoagie braces the Slide then hops up onto it, his hands slipping into the control ports in the front. He tries to dial his helmet into the Slide’s system, but the machine will not comply.
“Old school then,” Hoagie says as he sends the Slide rocketing forward and back into the fray.
The other five Slides have split and two are converging on Ton while three head towards Paulo. Hoping the riders see Ton as the lesser threat, Hoagie aims for the Slides firing at Paulo. He tries to initiate the Slide’s weapons system, but nothing will obey.
So he lets go of the control ports and leans back, his baton snapping into a pistol. Firing again and again, Hoagie hits the closest slide, knocking it off course and into the other two. The three vehicles skid to a stop before they can collide and do some real damage. All three riders’ heads turn and Hoagie realizes quickly that he’s outnumbered and outgunned.
“Shit,” he says, firing his pistol a couple more times before he jams his left hand into a control port and spins the Slide around. “Time to run.”
The hum of the hover skids on his Slide increases in volume until it is an ear-piercing whine. Hoagie tucks his baton into his belt and concentrates on keeping the Slide under control as he pushes the vehicle to its top speed.
The Slides behind him try to gain ground, but they have to deal with the constant chaos of the twists and turns of the road as Hoagie leads them away from the GenSOF transport. Not used to the vehicle, Hoagie struggles to maintain his balance as he dips and swerves his way through the Sicklands. Even with the powerful headlights of the Slide, it’s nearly impossible to make out all the boulders and spears of stone that stick out here and there along the road. The brief idea to take the Slide deep into the Sicklands, off-road, is quickly pushed aside as Hoagie nearly loses his head to an outcropping on his left.
All along his sides, blue static blasts rip into the terrain, creating a gauntlet of stone shrapnel. Hoagie can feel the pieces of granite and slate tear into his armor and doesn’t know how much more he can take. His StatShield is obviously down, and without the integration of his visor with the Slide, he has no idea where he’s going or if he’s even headed after the Clean Guard transport or back towards Caldicott City.
The whine of his Slide is joined by the sounds of the others and he risks a glance over his shoulder. All three are
right there, only inches off his tail. They have only been playing with him.
Hoagie weighs his options.
He can keep running, leading the Slides farther and farther away from the GenSOF transport, hoping it gives Paulo an advantage so he can take out the two left back there and keep Ton from getting killed.
Or he can hit the brakes, let the three Slides ram into him and sort it out from there. He could live, he could die, he could be horribly maimed and end up with his limbs strewn across the Sicklands.
He tries to come up with a third option, but all he has are variations of the first two.
“Fuck it,” Hoagie snarls as he cuts the power to the Slide’s hover skids.
The machine drops like a rock to the ground and Hoagie is thrown free as the machine flips end over end, tearing itself apart against the rocks and stone that had plagued Hoagie’s flight. The three Slides behind him don’t have a chance to adjust their course and collide with his Slide and each other. White armored riders are flung into the landscape, their bodies hitting hard against the unforgiving terrain.
Hoagie’s vision is clouded by grit, and he tries to wipe it from his eyes, but his left arm won’t obey, pinned under a rock, while his right only responds with waves of shooting agony. He looks over and can see the bones of his radius sticking out of the black armor that covers his forearm. Glancing at his right leg, he can see things are even worse there from the unnatural angle it lies.
“Not…good,” he croaks as he spits blood and dirt from his mouth.
He knows he needs to get his left arm free and draw his weapon, as he hears the crunch of boots on gravel, but it is wedged too tightly under the rock. The rock must have shifted just enough when he hit it to trap his arm, and without his other arm to shove it loose, he’s stuck tight.
The boot steps get louder and louder, and Hoagie cranes his neck around, trying to find which direction they are coming from.
Then, standing above him is a vision out of a nightmare.
