by M. R. Forbes
"I guess the government didn't think it was as important as another glass giant," Trevor replied.
"Did you see any sign of Yousefi's contact?" Mitchell asked. "It seems strange he would send us both to a deserted temple to meet."
"Strange? Or smart?" Katherine said. "The last place I'd want to be right now is in the thick of another crowd, or surrounded by cameras."
"True."
"I didn't spot anything out of the ordinary," Trevor said. "Want me to go take another peek?"
"Yeah. Go ahead."
"Yes, sir."
Trevor jogged back toward the compound. More of the pagoda was visible now. It was in bad shape, weathered and cracked. Mitchell closed his eyes for a few seconds, activating his p-rat, and then looking back at it, scanning for motion.
There was none.
They kept walking toward the temple. Trevor came back as they neared the front gate, most of which had been reduced to rubble.
"There isn't anybody home, Colonel," he said. "Not unless they got here on foot, in which case we'll reach the base next week."
"What if Watson figured out who the contact was?" Katherine asked. "They might never show up."
"Yousefi said if they weren't here, we should wait."
"Yes, but for how long?"
Mitchell shrugged. "We have to give them some time. Bulldog, go find some high ground to set up shop. Maybe up in that tower, there." He pointed.
"Yes, sir," Trevor said, heading off for the tower.
"If you see anything, holler."
"Yes, sir."
"Peregrine, wait at the entrance. I'm going to walk the perimeter."
"Roger."
Mitchell shrugged the pack off his back and handed it to her. "I'm going to leave this with you. Find some cover, and be ready if Bulldog raises an alarm."
"Of course, Colonel."
Mitchell headed off, following the damaged wall of the temple. He was pleased to find that there were no human remains strewn across the site, even as he came upon one of the main impact craters. It did seem to be a from a stray missile strike.
He reached the north side, pausing when he did find his first corpse. A soldier, his uniform torn, his body picked away by time and carrion. Two more were with him. Mitchell approached them. They were Japanese military, all behind a broken wall. He looked out into the brush beyond it, noticing a few more soldiers in different uniforms. It seemed the opposition had gotten a unit on the ground deep behind enemy lines. Maybe the missiles hadn't been as far off target as he had thought?
He passed the scene, heading toward the rear of the complex. He was halfway there when Trevor's voice cut in on his comm.
"Ares, this is Bulldog. I've got incoming from the road. One truck."
"Roger, Bulldog," Mitchell replied. "Can you count the personnel?"
"It looks like one driver, sir, but there's no way to know about the rear."
Mitchell was already running, headed back the way he had come. "Keep your position and be ready to fire on the truck if things go sideways."
"Affirmative."
He reached the entrance almost at the same time the truck did. It was an older model, with four air-filled wheels and a hydrogen power source. It had a drab brown painted cab and a canvas canopied back. A military vehicle, but not like anything he was familiar with.
"It looks like it came from surplus," Katherine said over the comm. She was positioned at the entrance to the main temple. "I've got you covered, Colonel."
"So do I," Bulldog said.
Mitchell stood out in the open. The truck stopped a few meters away. He could see the driver through the windshield. An older man with a head of thick white hair and a lot of stubble on his face. He stared back at Mitchell with the look of a soldier.
The door to the truck opened with a creak, and the man slid out. He was wearing green utility pants and a black tank that left his muscular arms exposed. They were covered in tattoos. Mitchell noticed one of them had the face of a pretty Japanese woman and a date beneath it. He felt a pang of emotion when he realized that she had died during the war.
"You Colonel Williams?" the man asked gruffly.
"Yes."
"That's yes, sir," the man said. "Name's General George McRory. Retired."
"Yes, sir, General," Mitchell said. "Admiral Yousefi sent you?"
"Aye, that he did. Dragged me from a drunken stupor, that bastard. That's what I get for letting him save my life."
"Sir? During the war?"
General McRory laughed, rough and throaty. "No, dumbass. Yousefi's from Iran. He was on the other side during the war. After. It's a long story, and I don't care enough to tell it to you. Our mutual friend called me up and told me he needed to cash in that favor I owed him, so here I am. Otherwise, I want nothing more to do with the military, with war, with any of that bullshit. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Mitchell said.
"Good. Call in your troops from that tower up there, and the shadows of the temple, and let's get our asses in gear. I want to drop you off in Osaka and get back home while the fish are still biting."
Mitchell stared at the General, trying to figure out how he had spotted his team. Maybe he hadn't. If the man was as experienced as he seemed, the positioning would be obvious.
"Bulldog, Peregrine, pack it in and let's go," Mitchell said into the comm. Then he looked at McRory again. "How far is it to the base?"
"Three hours, as long as Bettina here doesn't start choking again. I would have beaten you to this dump if she hadn't been acting up on me."
"You mean the truck, sir?"
"This here is an antique. It's getting tougher to find hydrogen to fill her up, but she's as reliable as any woman. Well, except Liu." All of the life seemed to drain from him for a moment. "She's like any other antique. Sometimes the parts just wear out."
"Understood, sir. We appreciate the pickup."
"Don't mention it," McRory said. "I'm glad not to have that card hanging over my damn head anymore. Oh yeah, I damn near forgot." He turned around, lowering his head and showing his neck. "Go ahead, give a feel. I don't know what the hell for, but the Admiral insisted."
Mitchell clenched his jaw. He shouldn't have trusted the man without checking him first. He had gotten away with a mistake. He approached the General slowly, watching for sudden moves. When he reached him, he pressed his fingers into the back of his neck. He was clean.
"You're good, General."
"I knew I was."
Katherine joined them a moment later. She saluted McRory, who snapped a sharp salute back at her. "Aren't you UEA folks supposed to bow, now?" he asked.
"Only to other UEA, sir," she replied. "I still prefer saluting."
"Smart woman." He smiled, looking past them to an approaching Trevor. "You found a gorilla on the way here?"
Mitchell stifled a laugh. "They make excellent soldiers."
"A tool for every job, Colonel."
"Go on and hop in the back. I brought some MREs if you're hungry. We might get stopped on the way to Osaka. I've got dark blankets back there. The truck stops, you get under them and don't move. The MPs will peek in, but they aren't allowed to climb up without a warrant, and the blanket will keep you hidden. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," Mitchell said.
"Good."
"Sir, when we get to the airbase, can you drop us a few klicks out?"
"My orders are to deliver you to the base, Colonel."
"I understand, General. I have a good reason to walk the rest."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Yousefi would agree with me."
McRory stared at him and then relented. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll pull over a few kilometers out; you can figure out the rest on your own. I trust you'll corroborate with the Admiral?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now get in the truck. We're already late."
29
"Do we have a location?" Kathy asked, looking back at the Core.
The Tetron Primiti
ve had returned to its humanoid form, and it had grown nearly four inches in the six hours since they had fled Washington. It currently had a hand against the side of the Schism, using the craft's avionics to communicate with the Internet below.
"I have matched the source IP address with the Palm Cay Retirement Home in Coral Gables," the Core replied.
"Retirement home?" Michael said. "Frelmund is only sixty-three."
"He does not appear on any of the resident lists," the Core said. "I believe he is staying there under an assumed name."
"That makes sense," Lyle said. "Especially if he thinks an AI is in charge and might be looking for him." He turned to Kathy. "How do you want to run this? You want to make a drop?"
"No," Kathy replied. "It's logical that the Doctor will be skittish as it is. If we show up in body armor, with guns at the ready, he's bound to try to bolt and wind up killing himself."
"Or running right into one of Watson's goons," Damon said.
"Exactly. I think we need to do this as quietly as possible. Lyle and I will go plainclothes and jump over a recreational zone. The people on the ground won't know we're anything more than thrill seekers. Then we'll get a cab to the facility and try to get in to see Dr. Frelmund. We'll keep a channel open. If things go south, we call in the Schism and bug out. Otherwise, we'll send an update with a rendezvous point. According to Admiral Yousefi, we have clearance down at Cape Canaveral. The UEA just re-opened the launch facility a few weeks ago, so there's a good chance Watson hasn't gotten too embedded there yet. If we need to set down, we'll set down there. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Lyle said.
"Are you sure two people are sufficient for this?" Damon asked.
"To pick up a scientist?" Lyle replied. "I don't see why not?"
"What if Watson is already on the ground? Hell, what if he beat you to the prize?"
"The statistical probability is less than twenty-one percent," the Core said.
"That's not a small number," Damon said.
"You feeling okay, Demon?" Max said. "It isn't like you to argue balls and strikes."
"I'm fine," Damon replied. "I'm just getting tired of us getting beat up because we play too conservative."
"I understand," Kathy said. "And I don't disagree. But too many of us might spook him even more. We want him to come with us willingly. We need his help."
Damon didn't continue arguing, but she also didn't look happy with the decision. That was fine with Kathy. She would rather have people speak their mind, as long as they knew when to drop it.
"Mazerat, can you pull up an air sport rec zone and get us positioned over it at twenty-five thousand feet?" Kathy asked.
"Affirmative," Verma replied. There was a pause as he entered coordinates. "Fifteen minutes."
"I'm impressed with your understanding of twenty-second century Earth," Michael said, "Considering you spent twenty years buried beneath a thousand kilos of ice."
"I'm a fast learner," she replied with a smile. Not that the waiting had been easy. She had sacrificed her youth for the cause, and would have gone insane if not for the company of the Core. She turned to Lyle. "Good thing we brought some civvies with us."
"Good thing," Lyle agreed.
Some situations required blending in with the population, not looking like a soldier in the middle of a battlefield. This was one of them.
Kathy headed over to the storage locker where she had hung the clothes. She opened it and pulled out a pair of leggings and a tank top. It wouldn't fit the profile to wear something loose for any kind of jump, recreational or otherwise. She shrugged out of her fatigues, aware of all the eyes on her bare flesh as she changed in front of the crew.
"Hoo. Thanks for that," Max said, laughing.
"Shut up," Kathy replied. When she looked up, she noticed Damon was giving her a little extra attention. The Sergeant looked away without making eye contact.
Lyle flipped through the wardrobe, grabbing a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He followed her lead, shucking his fatigues in front of them to make the exchange. Of course, Max whistled at him as he did.
"Asshole,' Lyle said.
After that, they made their way over to a second storage locker where the wingsuits were hanging. Max helped her get into the suit, while Damon assisted Lyle. The suits were black and skintight, and the biggest clue that these two jumpers weren't everything they seemed. Most civilians wore bright colors. They wanted to be seen so that they wouldn't get hit by other air traffic.
"Five minutes," Verma said over the loudspeaker.
Lyle made his way to a third locker, the armory. He pulled a pack from it and opened it up, and then picked out a handgun for each of them, along with two magazines, put them in the pack, sealed it and tossed it on his back.
"Anything bigger will be hard to conceal," he said.
They were almost ready to jump. Kathy went over to the Core. "What about the other query? Have you had time to work on it?"
"Yes. I have dedicated a thread to the algorithm and updated it to eliminate the holdings in Jakarta. It would be of great assistance to narrowing the location if we could reverse-engineer a control module. I could route the path back to the satellite, and aggregate the existing data to estimate an origin."
Kathy nodded. "If I can capture an implant intact, I will."
"Be safe, Kathy," the Core said.
"Keep Michael safe," Kathy replied in a low voice. "I haven't told him that we're as dead in the water without him as we will be without Dr. Frelmund. I don't want to put too much pressure on him."
"Understood," the Core replied.
"One minute," Verma said. "Opening cargo door."
A warning strobe flashed red at the back of the Schism, and the rear cargo ramp began to lower, allowing cool air to flow into the craft.
"Good luck," Michael said.
"Hoo. Riiiggg-ahhh," Max said.
Damon remained silent, watching as Lyle and Kathy moved to the edge of the platform. Verma counted down when they got within ten seconds.
When he hit zero, they jumped.
30
Kathy and Lyle hailed a cab at the front desk of Air Sports Miami, which amounted to little more than a concrete and glass booth with a storage area full of equipment, sitting in the center of a small airfield. Small planes both old and new came and went on both sides of the field, while a tunnel had been dug out so that vehicles could reach the center.
As expected, their sudden appearance barely caused anyone to bat an eye. Drop-ins weren't unheard of for air sports enthusiasts, and jumping from a passing craft was a viable way to save a few bucks on a trip if you were an adrenaline junkie. If the proprietor of the shop was surprised by their all black wingsuits, he didn't say.
The cab was fully manual, an antique fashioned after the big yellow cabs of the twentieth century. They had chosen it more for its lack of onboard tech than for the touristy nostalgic marketing, but that didn't stop the driver, dressing the part in a leather jacket and sporting a pompadour, from commenting on the areas he was driving through. At least until Kathy told him to shut up or she would shove the fuzzy dice down his throat.
Palm Cay wasn't a single retirement home. It was an entire estate, with a main living spire that rose fifty stories into the sky and a number of outbuildings that provided all of the necessities an aging citizen might need. A VR theater, a couple of restaurants, a pharmacy, two golf courses, and so on lined the outer ring of businesses at the base of the spire.
"Do you know how many people live here?" Lyle asked the driver.
"No idea. I don't get too many requests to drive to the pre-mausoleums. Most sightseers want to check out the beaches or the drainage systems, or head to a brothel or a hotel. Judging by the size of it? I'd say about four thousand. That's a lot of diapers if you know what I mean."
Lyle glanced over at Kathy, who shrugged. At least the odds of the driver being one of Watson's were slim.
The cab came to a stop beneath an awning at the b
ase of the tower, met there by a valet. Lyle handed an anonymous payment card to the driver to scan, and then they climbed out into the hot, humid air.
"I don't know how anyone lives outside around here," Kathy said.
"Yeah, you're used to the cold, right? The real cold."
Kathy smiled. "I don't have to feel the heat like this if I don't want to. I'm just surprised that anyone would choose to subject themselves to this."
"You don't have to feel the heat?"
"I have master control over most bodily functions. Nerve ending sensitivity, heart rate, etcetera."
"I'm impressed. And jealous."
They made their way into the lobby of the building. The Core had identified the IP address as originating from here, but it hadn't given them an alternate name. Kathy wasn't sure how they would identify Dr. Frelmund. She had seen a photo of him that accompanied his book, but it was a few years old, and she doubted it matched his current look.
"You're the policeman," Kathy said. "How do we identify someone using a fake name?"
They reached the receptionist. Lyle smiled widely at the woman behind the desk.
"Hi. I'm looking for Dr. Paul Frelmund. I know he lives here, and I know he's using a fake name. Could you please tell me which resident he is? I already have the updated list."
Kathy's eyes shot over to Lyle. She had expected a small dose of subtlety at least.
The woman stared up at him, her eyes darting left and right. She pushed her chair back a few inches. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then why are you nervous?" Lyle said.
The woman looked at the floor. "I'm not."
"I'm with the U.S. Government, ma'am. We're currently running an investigation involving Nova Taurus, and we need to ask Dr. Frelmund some questions. Again, can you tell me which assumed name is his?"
She continued to stare at the floor while she stammered out a reply. "I told you, he isn't here."
Even Kathy could tell the woman was lying now.
"I didn't ask you if he was here at the moment. I asked you what his assumed name is. It's a matter of national security, ma'am."
