A Bullet for the Shooter
Page 32
Harmon tried to force the handle open on the last container, thinking it may have gotten stuck over time, but it was locked and all he did was hurt his hand. The vault seemed like it had been closed for years.
Clip laughed and said, “That won’t work. It’s not age or metal fatigue keeping the door closed. Look at this stuff. It may be old, but it has been sealed in for years. It’s all in great shape.”
“Well, work some of your tech magic then, ‘Puter Boy,” Harmon said, shaking out his hand.
Clip pulled out a small laser pen and went to work on the container. It took another ten minutes, but finally he was through to the locking mechanism. It didn’t take long after that to get it open.
Inside, there were two items—an eight-inch cube on a shelf that looked like a hard drive or a computer and the large power cell it was connected to. Harmon reached for it, but Clip grabbed his arm.
“Don’t! Let me check it before you move it. It’s hooked up to that power cell for a reason. I want to know why.”
Harmon shrugged. “Okay, but I don’t see any lights; it has probably been dead for years.”
Clip took a sensor reader out of his kit, one of the many tools he had improved. He checked the cell and the device. There was a faint amount of power running to it that barely registered on his screen. There were several ports on the back along with the slot where the power cell was hooked in. He checked to make sure the connections were tight, he then carried the two devices to the hovercraft.
Clip then called Rinto’s personal comm from the communicator in the hovercraft. When Rinto answered, Clip looked at Harmon and winked. “Hey boss, we found some stuff worth a hovercraft full of credit…probably two. Can we have it?” he asked.
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Get “Salvage Title” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H8Q3HBV.
Find out more about Kevin Steverson and “Salvage Title” at: https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/kevin-steverson/.
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War:
Warrior: Integration
___________________
David Hallquist
Now Available from Theogony Books
eBook and Paperback
Excerpt from “Warrior: Integration:”
I leap into the pit. As I fall in the low gravity, I run my hands and feet along the rock walls, pushing from one side to another, slowing my descent. I hit the pool below and go under.
I swim up through the greenish chemicals and breach the surface. I can see a human head silhouetted against the circle of light above. Time to go. I slide out of the pool quickly. The pool explodes behind me. Grenade, most likely. The tall geyser of steam and spray collapses as I glide into the darkness of the caves ahead.
They are shooting to kill now.
I glide deeper into the rough tunnels. Light grows dimmer. Soon, I can barely see the rock walls around me. I look back. I can see the light from the tunnel reflected upon the pool. They have not come down yet. They’re cautious; they won’t just rush in. I turn around a bend in the tunnel, and light is lost to absolute darkness.
The darkness means little to me anymore. I can hear them talking as their voices echo off the rock. They are going to send remotes down first. They have also decided to kill me rather than capture me. They figure the docs can study whatever they scrape off the rock walls. That makes my choices simple. I figured I’d have to take out this team anyway.
The remotes are on the way. I can hear the faint whine of micro-turbines. They will be using the sensors on the remotes and their armor, counting on the darkness blinding me. Their sensors against my monster. I wonder which will win.
Everything becomes a kind of gray, blurry haze as my eyes adapt to the deep darkness. I can see the tunnel from sound echoes as I glide down the dark paths. I’m also aware of the remotes spreading out in a search pattern in the tunnel complex.
I’ll never outrun them. I need to hide, but I glow in infra-red. One of the remotes is closing, fast.
I back up against a rock wall, and force the monster to hide me. It’s hard; it wants to fight, but I need to hide first. I feel the numbing cold return as my temperature drops, hiding my heat. I feel the monster come alive, feel it spread through my body and erupt out of my skin. Fibers spread over my skin, covering me completely in fibrous camouflage. They harden, fusing me to the wall, leaving me unable to move. I can’t see, and I can barely breathe. If the remotes find me here, I’m dead.
The remote screams by. I can’t see through the fibers, but it sounds like an LB-24, basically a silver cigar equipped with a small laser.
I can hear the remote hover nearby. Can it see me? It pauses and then circles the area. Somehow, the fibers hide me. It can’t see me, but it knows something is wrong. It drops on the floor to deposit a sensor package and continues on. Likely it signaled the men upstairs about an anomaly. They’ll come and check it out.
The instant I move, the camera will see me. So I wait. I listen to the sounds of the drones moving and water running in the caves. These caves are not as lifeless as I thought; a spider crawls across my face. I’m as still as stone.
Soon, the drones have completed their search pattern and dropped sensors all over the place. I can hear them through the rock, so now I have a mental map of the caves stretching out down here. I wait.
They send the recall, and the drones whine past on the way up. They lower ropes and rappel down the shaft. They pause by the pool, scanning the tunnels and blasting sensor pulses of sound, and likely radar and other scans as well. I wait.
They move carefully down the tunnels. I can feel their every movement through the rock, hear their every word. These men know what they are doing: staying in pairs, staying in constant communication, and checking corners carefully. I wait.
One pair comes up next to me. They pause. One of them has bad breath. I can feel the tension; they know something is wrong. They could shoot me any instant. I wait.
“Let’s make sure.” I hear a deep voice and a switch clicks.
Heat and fire fill the tunnel. I can see red light through the fibers. Roaring fire sucks all the air away, and the fibers seal my nose before I inhale flame. The fibers protect me from the liquid flame that covers everything. I can feel the heat slowly begin to burn through.
It’s time.
* * * * *
Get “Warrior: Integration” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0875SPH86
Find out more about David Hallquist and “Warrior: Integration” at: https://chriskennedypublishing.com/
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The following is an
Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune:
Devil Calls the Tune
___________________
Chris Maddox
Now Available from Theogony Books
eBook, Paperback, and (Soon) Audio
Excerpt from “Devil Calls the Tune:”
Kenyon shouted, “Flyer! Fast mover!”
Everyone grabbed their packs and started running. When McCarthy didn’t, Devlin grabbed him by his uniform shirt and yelled, “Come on!”
The little outcropping they had weathered under was part of a larger set of hills. Devlin and McCarthy made for a sheer cliff face that was tall enough that it would make strafing difficult. They dove behind a few rocks, and Devlin peered over one. The flier had overshot the group and was circling.
McCarthy reached into his pack and pulled out a rail pistol and magazine. He slapped the magazine home into its well and charged the pistol.
“Where the fark did you get that!” Devlin panted. He reached over and took the pistol. McCarthy let him.
“This was the surprise,” McCarthy said. “I found the pistol, then searched the wreckage for ammo. I found some and parts to a bunch of rifles. Most were in bad shape, but Pringle figured he might be able to cobble together a couple from the parts. He was going take the lot back to the camp so they would
have something to defend the wounded with. He sent me with this for you. Best we could get together at the time. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. This is pretty good. I won’t beat the shit out of you now for the fire.”
“The fire?” McCarthy looked blank for a moment, then realization hit. “Oh, you think that the fire attracted—”
“Our flying friend over there. Yeah, I just—get your head down!” He pulled at McCarthy as rounds from the flier dug into the earth. There was something odd about this one.
He took a quick look. This wasn’t the same flier that had attacked the camp, this one was…
“Drone!” Devlin yelled. He watched the thing from the rocks, watched it circle around again. He braced the pistol on the rocks, steadied, and waited.
When the drone started its run again, Devlin sighted in, breathed out, and fired.
The drone disintegrated in a fiery cloud as the MAC round entered its main capacitor bank. He watched it fall and then rose from behind the rocks. McCarthy joined him.
Devlin looked over at the tree line and waved his arm. A moment later, Kenyon appeared, followed by Gartlan and MacBain.
“Devlin!” Decker’s voice came out of the tree line. Kenyon and the others started to where Decker’s voice had come from. Devlin started to run.
He found the group gathered around Decker. She was holding Moran’s head in her lap. Moran’s uniform had a red stain in the abdomen that was growing larger by the moment.
“Got hit as I dived into the woods,” Moran croaked. Her blond hair was already slick with sweat, her face pale.
“Sorry, Devlin. I…I…” her voice trailed off as her implant fed nanites and nighty-night into her system. A moment later she looked dead, which for all intents and purposes she was.
Devlin rubbed his scalp. He glared over at McCarthy, whose shocked face got even paler as he looked at the body, hibernating though it was, of Lisa Moran. He bowed his head and started to stammer, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“Shut up, Tom. Just shut up,” Devlin said tiredly. “You didn’t know; you had no way of knowing. This wasn’t even the same flier that attacked the camp. Just a stupid mistake, but it’s one that we have to deal with now. Is anybody else hurt?”
Arnette was sitting on the ground beside Decker with her legs crossed. She held one ankle in her hands. “Well, now that you mention it…” She looked at Devlin with pain-filled eyes. “I think my ankle is broken. I stepped straight into a hole as I came into the woods.”
Decker moved her legs out from underneath Moran’s head and laid it gently on the ground. She made her way to the other woman. Gartlan bent down as well and said, “Let’s get your boot off.”
Together, the two started trying to get the girl’s boot off. When Arnette hissed once and nearly passed out, they realized they’d have to cut it off. Gartlan produced a tactical knife and used the monomolecular edge to slice down the side of the boot. His cut made, he handed the knife to Decker, who sliced down the foot portion of the boot, careful not to cut too deeply.
“Here you go, Wolf,” she said handing the knife back to Gartlan, who folded it and put it back in his pocket. Together, he and Decker were finally able to peel the ruined boot off the injured girl’s foot.
Her foot, already purple, immediately started to swell. They propped her leg up on a rock covered with Gartlan’s tunic. Gartlan shook his head at Devlin. “She isn’t likely to go nighty-night, but she might as well. She ain’t going anywhere on that foot for a few days. And she’s not going to like this, but we’re going to have to set it and splint it so that the nanis don’t knit it wrong. Probably still will, but the canker mechanics should be able to fix it without too much problem if we get home.”
Sarah Arnette’s eyes went wide as Gartlan’s words hit home. “Oh Gods!” she moaned. “This is going to suck!”
“Do it,” Devlin said. “Come on, guys. They don’t need an audience, and we’ve got to get our shit together.”
He turned to walk away as Gartlan bent back down, and Decker opened a med kit.
Another drone flier came to halt in front of them, and a voice came over its vocoder, “State your name and passcode.”
* * * * *
Get “Devil Calls the Tune” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0849QYWMJ
Find out more about Chris Maddox and “Devil Calls the Tune” at: https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/chris-maddox/
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