by Doug Farren
“What sort of heavy, portable weapons do you have that you can drop down here?” Tom asked.
“How about a tripod-mounted mini-cannon with a duralloy shield?”
“Perfect! Set one up on the first level with a couple marines and point it at the door. Sam, as soon as the cannon is set up you can join us. Sonvel, keep an eye on the end of the hallway. Crenda, let’s clear the rest of these rooms.”
Tom’s HUD now showed that everyone was engaged. Lashpa, because of her lack of combat armor, had been the last of the peacekeepers to arrive. She was on the second level near the hole they had cut in the ceiling. A small cloud of mini-drones detached themselves from Sonvel’s suit and began moving down the hallway.
The next rooms they checked were the restrooms followed by an unoccupied lab. One of the mini-drones flew through an open doorway; the sign on the wall said ‘Dining Room’. A second later, a yellow icon popped up on Tom’s tactical display. A single command showed him the details. A large number of tables and chairs had been piled together in one corner of the room to form a makeshift barrier. Four heat signatures indicated the presence of possible hostiles.
Crenda shot past the doorway then doubled-back and took up a position to the left. Using the wall as a shield, Tom activated the camera on his left arm and reached past the frame. He caught sight of someone’s head looking over the barricade an instant before the camera was destroyed.
Tom instinctively pulled his arm back and took a step backward. An instant later, the wall where he had been standing exploded outward. A warning appeared on his HUD indicating his left arm had been slightly damaged.
Tom retreated down the hallway as more holes appeared in the wall. The tactical display inside his suit identified two types of weapons; a high-energy plasma cannon and another firing high explosive shells.
“Take them down,” Tom ordered. He pointed his rifle at the wall and opened fire. Crenda did the same, sending a volley of explosive rounds into the room. There was a series of explosions followed by smoke and debris flying into the hallway.
The drone, which had positioned itself in a corner of the room, showed a scene of destruction. The barricade had been blasted away and two unmoving bodies could be seen. One was missing an arm. Crenda ran into the room, climbing over the debris with his multiple legs far faster than any two-legged person could. As he approached the corner of the room, a man popped up from behind a table, his face covered in blood. He raised a plasma rifle, aiming at the rapidly moving peacekeeper and fired. The bolt struck one of Crenda’s rear legs, severing it at the first joint in a shower of sparks.
Unfazed by the loss, Crenda aimed his own weapon and fired. The round struck the man just below his neck and exploded, turning him into a red mist. A moment later, Crenda said, “I’m damaged but still operational. I count four bodies. The room is clear.”
“This is taking too long,” Tom said. “We need to find that nuke. Sorbith, send everyone you’ve got.”
The thump of rapid-fire explosions was heard. Tom’s display identified the source as Sam.
“Sam, status?” Tom asked as he moved on to the next room.
“The door started to open. It closed when I fired a few rounds into the wall next to it. The marines are lowering their mini-cannon now. They’ll have it set up in a few minutes.”
“Good, but we’re wasting time. I could use your help.”
Tom didn’t bother to try the handle on the next door, he simply put his hand on it and pushed. The entire door broke free of the frame and crashed to the floor. Two women and a man were inside—all of them had their hands in the air.
“Out!” Tom ordered. “Keep your hands in the air and follow all instructions.”
“The marines are here,” Lashpa said. “I’ll take charge of moving the prisoners down the hall.”
“I expected them to counter-attack by now,” Sonvel said.
“They’re either still by the door on the first level or they’re waiting for us in the stairwell,” Tom said, looking around the room. To the right, he saw what looked like a small operating theater. To the left was a closed door, King Syan’s face looking back at him through the window. Tom rushed into the room and motioned for him to back up. As soon as he was clear, Tom pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into the handle punching a hole through the light metal. Grabbing the edge, he pulled, tearing the door off its hinges.
Flinging the door aside, Tom said, “King Syan! It’s Tom Wilks. Come with me!”
Tom was about to step into the hallway when his tactical screen flashed red. Holding out his arm, he turned and said, “Back inside! We’re under attack.”
Chapter 28
One of the mini-drones positioned just above the stairwell door had picked up the sound of a large number of people rapidly descending the stairs. The linked tactical computers had determined that an attack was imminent and issued a warning. By the time the door was flung open, all the peacekeepers but one had taken cover. Lashpa stood in the center of the hallway, her massive gun held at the ready.
The whine of a charging ultra-capacitor was followed by the explosive roar of a 40-gram slug exiting the muzzle at over 4,000 meters per second. The white-hot projectile drew a line from the tip of the gun to the end of the hallway, passing through the chest of a Purist. A half-second later, another round came flying through, adding to the destruction caused by the first.
Lashpa’s gun fired for three seconds before automatically stopping. Three bodies, or what was left of them, dropped to the floor. The cement wall on the other side was cratered like the surface of a moon. Dust hung thick in the air and slowly began moving down the hallway. The mini-drone above the door had been destroyed by flying debris. Another one moved in to replace it revealing a fourth body on the floor just inside the stairwell. The back of someone fleeing down the stairs indicated that not all of the attackers had been killed.
Tom motioned for King Syan to follow and together they stepped into the hallway. Pointing towards Lashpa, Tom said, “Go there, quickly.”
The King turned and ran down the hallway.
“All peacekeepers except Sam,” Tom began, “finish clearing this floor then head down to the lower level. Lashpa and I will take the stairs. Crenda, Sonvel, Aditya: use the elevator shaft. Sergeant Workman, do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” the Sergeant replied.
“Take the rest of your squad and follow Peacekeeper Slack into the facility’s upper level. If anyone finds the nuke, let me know. Sam, take the lead.”
Tom heard a round of acknowledgments as he turned toward the next door in the hallway. Five minutes later, the group had acquired 15 prisoners without encountering any additional resistance.”
“Tom!” Sorbith’s excited voice came through as the last room was being cleared. “The weapon has gone active again!”
“Damn!” Tom replied, stepping over a body on his way into the stairwell. “We’re searching as fast as we can.”
“It’s not armed yet, but I’m sure that will change soon.”
Tom didn’t want to waste time trying to use the stairs in his combat armor. He jumped from the edge of the landing to the next, hitting hard enough to cause the entire cement stairwell to shake. “Can’t we do what we did earlier?” he asked.
“We tried,” Sorbith replied, sounding desperate. “The weapon responded saying it was not yet armed and rejected the target. Tri-Star doesn’t want to try again until the status shows ready. Doing so might trigger the weapon’s electronic defenses and lock us out.”
Tom turned and jumped down to the next landing. “Let’s hope we can trigger the bug again.”
Lashpa landed next to Tom, her tail hitting the wall hard enough to dislodge a chunk of concrete.
“Wilks to attack force,” Tom said, trusting his suit to broadcast his message to everyone involved in the attack. “The nuke is active again. Our number one priority now is to find it and disable it. Ignore anyone not armed, shoot anyone who is.”
Tom bent his knees, then launched himself through the door. He hit the opposite wall hard enough to rattle his biological components, then dropped to the floor. A hail of explosive bullets blew out huge chunks of concrete on the wall at the end of the hallway. Alarms and warnings told Tom that his suit was taking damage.
Rearing up on her back legs, Lashpa stuck her massive weapon through the top of the door, pointed it down the hallway, and opened fire. Aiming via the camera at the end of the rifle, she fired off a series of three quick bursts, shredding the defenders. An explosion blew the elevator door into the hallway. Three more peacekeepers joined the fight and a moment later all the visible defenders were silent. Lashpa stepped out of the stairwell and stood next to Tom.
“Status?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the now silent dust-filled hallway.
Tom checked his HUD then, using his right arm, stood up. The partially melted remains of his left arm lay on the floor.
“Damaged but operational,” he said. “Let’s go!”
Lashpa locked her rifle into a clamp on her side and pulled out a large pistol. Starting from both ends of the hallway, the peacekeepers knocked down doors and glanced inside. A few random shots rang out as they encountered someone holding a gun.
Tom knocked down another door and looked inside. The room was filled with unfamiliar equipment. “High probability the equipment is what was taken from Gwon-Go,” Orion informed him.
As he was about to report his find, he heard a single gunshot from across the hall. “Found it!” Lashpa announced.
Tom rushed over and found Lashpa standing in the doorway of another room. She stepped inside and pointed her gun at a man lying on the floor desperately trying to reach for the control module he’d dropped after she shot him.
Lashpa kicked the control module away and said, “It’s over—you’ve lost.”
The man rolled over on his back. The armor of his left shoulder was covered in blood, some of it having splattered onto the side of his face. Reaching up, he grabbed a small device hanging from his neck and squeezed it tight. “We will never give up,” he said.
When he released his grip, a small explosive charge strapped to his chest detonated blowing Lashpa against the wall and sending Tom out the door. Another set of explosives turned the room across from them into a raging inferno. The noise of the explosion was still echoing down the hall as Tom struggled to get back up.
“Lashpa!” Tom yelled.
“Damaged, but operational,” she replied. The tone of her voice, however, indicated she was not telling him everything.
Tom got up and rushed back into the room. Lashpa was just getting up off the floor, favoring her right arm. Smoke from the nearby fire was filling the room, making it difficult to see.
“We need to get out of here,” he said. “Can you walk?”
“Of course. Let’s go.”
In the hallway, Tom activated his external speaker, turning the volume up as high as possible. “Attention Purists! Drop your weapons and head for the stairwell. If you cannot see, call out. A peacekeeper will assist you.” Switching off the speaker, Tom addressed the peacekeepers and marines. “Stick around as long as possible then get the hell out of here. Lashpa is injured. I’m taking her to the surface. Sam, what’s your status?”
“First level is clear, we’re evacuating prisoners now,” Sam reported.
“Acknowledged. Sergeant Workman?”
“Second level is clear. Evacuating as well.”
“Sorbith, the nuke is disabled. I think the Purist leader just fire-bombed all the Gwon equipment. There’s a hell of a fire down here. We’re coming out.”
“Acknowledged.”
Tom followed Lashpa up the stairs to the first level. After waiting for those in front of them to be hoisted out, they stepped inside the large rescue cage that was being used. Looking up, Tom could see it was suspended from the bottom of a small ship normally used to rescue people from floods and other natural disasters. As soon as their cage was clear of the facility, another from one of the three craft hovering overhead moved into position and lowered its cage. A moment later, they were back on solid ground.
“Let me see your arm!” Tom said, reaching for the latches holding her chest armor in place.
The armor fell away. Blood was running down her brown scales from the interface between her cybernetic right arm and her chest.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Tom told her.
“An ambulance is on the way,” Orion told them. “There’s a clearing 30 meters to the north. It will be there in just over a minute.”
“Come on,” Tom said, putting a hand on Lashpa’s back.
“My fault,” Lashpa said, as they walked. “I saw the explosives and started to turn away. My right arm was smashed up against the wall with enough force to bend the interior supports. This isn’t going to be easy to fix.”
“Cleveland Clinic is equipped to repair damaged peacekeepers,” Orion replied. “Replacement parts have already been ordered. Tom’s arm is in stock but Lashpa’s arm and Crenda’s limb will need to be manufactured. They should be here in about a week.”
“Listen to him,” Tom said. “Talking about us like were just a pair of broken machines.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re biological, mechanical, or a combination of both,” Orion replied. “It’s all just machinery.”
“And now he’s a philosopher,” Lashpa said, laughing.
A bright red ship settled into the clearing and lowered its large ramp. Tom helped Lashpa aboard, told her he would see her at the hospital, and stepped back outside. As soon as the medical ship was clear, the Orion touched down. Inside, Tom tried to get out of the armor but found that the remains of his left arm was fused to the stub attached to the combat suit.
“Please don’t tell me I’m going to be stuck in this thing,” Tom said.
“I will have to partially disassemble the suit,” Orion reported. “Standby.”
A pair of service robots appeared and began working on the combat suit. Twenty minutes later, Tom stepped out of the armor, a nine centimeter section of the suit still attached to his left arm.
“Please find a chair and sit down,” the ship said.
“There’s something I need to do first,” Tom replied, heading for the bathroom.
A few minutes later, the Orion repeated its request. “The arm can wait,” Tom replied. “I want to check in on Lashpa.”
“Lashpa is being prepped for surgery,” Orion replied. “It’s best you do not disturb her.”
“How long is this going to take?”
“If you’re referring to your arm, at least an hour, perhaps longer.”
“Then give me a couple more minutes,” Tom said, heading for the kitchen.
A few minutes later, he set a plate holding a sandwich he’d microwaved down on the table then went back into the kitchen where he grabbed a beer. Sitting down, he said, “Now I’m ready.”
A robot approached and began working on removing the remains of his arm as well as the portion of the combat suit it had been fused to.
“The heat might have damaged some of your interface,” Orion said. “A full diagnostics will have to be run before reattaching the new arm.”
“How does the attachment look?”
“So far I’ve not found any damage. I’ll know more after the remains of your old arm are removed. You have a message from your sister as well as 16 others I’ve been holding. Would you care to review them now?”
“Might as well,” Tom replied.
It took an hour and 35 minutes for the ship to finish removing Tom’s damaged arm and run the diagnostics. During that time, he had a conversation with his sister, replied to several messages, and learned that Lashpa was now in surgery.
“I want to be there when she wakes,” Tom informed his s
hip. “Bring my tricycle around, I’m going to the clinic.”
Tom was just arriving at the Cleveland Clinic when Sorbith called.
“I thought you might like to know,” Sorbith began as soon as the connection was established. “The leader of the Purists has been identified as Franklin Csepegi. He was born on Safa. His grandparents were among the original settlers. Both were active members of a prominent white supremacist group based in Texas. Mr. Csepegi was known to be a close confidant of the now Supreme Sultan Muhaajir Hadi for many years.”
“White supremacists, Purists,” Tom said. “They all have the same thing in common—intolerance and a desire to act violently no matter the consequences. Stupid people. What about the Gwon equipment?”
“All of the equipment taken from Gwon-Go was apparently stored in a single room rigged with incendiary explosives. The fire suppression system in that room had also been disabled. I’m afraid everything has been destroyed.”
“Damn! How’s King Syan?” Tom asked, parking his tricycle in a reserved spot.
“Shaken, but otherwise doing well,” Sorbith replied. “The Purists were giving him a concoction of vitamins and silica that seemed to stop his craving to consume dirt. We’ve been continuing with the same mixture. He’s in an isolation ward at the Cleveland Clinic right now. You did well. We had only one casualty—a marine. The Purists lost 18 and we took 24 prisoners. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Tom said. “Anything else?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until later. I’ll be in the Cleveland area for a while to make sure the mess made by the Purists is properly cleaned up. I won’t bother you until you’re ready. Sorbith out.”
As he exited his tricycle Tom noticed that he’d parked next to a tricycle designed for Rouldians.
“Is there another Rouldian peacekeeper here?” he asked Orion.
“No,” the ship replied. “Krish and I decided it would be more convenient for Lashpa to have her own transportation. We had her vehicle flown to Cleveland and I drove it to the hospital shortly after she arrived.”
“Does she know?”
