“And what about Star Watch ship technology? MediPods, multi-guns, onboard JIT weaponry, phase-shifting, and the ability to call up an interchange wormhole? Not to forget, our SuitPac devices and combat suits?”
“That’s a different patched transmission medium altogether. Obviously, the biologic mist wouldn’t work on them. We’d need to be on deck for each infected Star Watch vessel, then introduce the patched transmission medium code into the ship’s network,” Bristol said.
Jason straightened his back and watched the model. “Bristol, what you’ve accomplished here is … well, it’s beyond fantastic. Hell, you might very well have saved, single-handedly…” Jason opened his arms wide, “…everything … all of us.”
The praise made Bristol look away and shift about some on his stool. “Now, we just need a guinea pig. Actually, two guinea pigs.”
“Why two?”
“Testing of NanoCom … transmitting and receiving back and forth.”
“Okay, try it on me. Do you want to be the other one?”
Bristol shook his head. “Can’t … I’m too important.”
Jason frowned at him.
“Look, if I’m sick and retching on the deck, who’s going to repair the patch? Not even Ricket is up to speed on any of this yet.”
“Okay, good point. So it would have to be Billy, or Boomer, or maybe Ryan. How long before you are ready to administer it?”
“An hour … at the most,” Bristol said.
Chapter 21
Ricket watched Ol’ Gus work the board within the habitat control hub. For one mostly self taught, the older human, his long lost friend, had done an admirable job with the technology. But there were things he had done incorrectly when building this habitat world. For one thing, the actual habitat control hub was never supposed to be anything more than that—a control hub—with a minimal surrounding environment to hide itself behind, akin to the small decrepit city lying just outside. But instead of creating a brand new HAB, with its own Zoo portal, Gus instead only added onto the habitat control hub. But watching him now—hesitating to remove what he had so ambitiously added—was becoming a problem. Gus’s progress was glacially slow and obviously filled with regret each step of the way.
Ricket touched his sleeve. “Excuse me, Gus. Would it be all right if I took over the controls at this point? You have done a fine job, showing me the basics.”
Ol’ Gus, continuing to work, didn’t answer. Watching him inspect some recently added-on open space, Ricket patiently waited for him to respond.
Outside, Two-ton could be seen pacing back and forth in front of the window. Ricket marveled at the robot’s human-like qualities—the least of which was a quirky personality that he was certain mimicked the robot’s originator—Donald Koffman. Ricket found it more than a little fascinating that Koffman integrated so many human aspects into an operational AI. Noticing the robot’s head turn in their direction periodically, he sensed its growing frustration.
Suddenly there was rapid movement outside, discernible through the frontage windows. Next, the silhouetted forms of the Shark recruits could be seen, huddling close together at the entranceway.
“Guys … I think the natives are getting restless outside,” Two-ton said, poking his head in the door.
Gus glanced up, somewhat distracted. “I’ll check,” he said, peering down at Ricket. “I’ll be right back … um … so don’t touch anything.”
Gus strode toward the entrance and opened the glass door. Sounds of a scuffle outside made Ricket involuntarily tense up. Someone was yelling.
Ricket, moving closer to the entranceway, looked out through the still slightly open door, propped ajar now by Gus’s foot. Although he couldn’t see who was yelling outside, he certainly could hear him.
“Where’s my land … my property? It’s gone … all gone! What have you done?”
Gus raised his palms up in the symbolic gesture of surrender, then said, “Now settle down. Let’s all keep cool heads here, my friends. We’re simply doing some … um … environmental reallocation maintenance. We’re experiencing some growing pains, that’s all.”
“Well, you’re not taking my land! Take someone else’s!”
“He’s already taken some of mine,” another voice chimed in.
Ricket edged closer and peered around Ol’ Gus’s legs. He estimated that the crowd outside was close to one hundred people already—quickly transitioning from a crowd with questions into an angry mob.
A stern voice bellowed out from behind the congregated townsmen. “Let me through … move! Get out of the way!” Four males, similarly dressed, pushed their way to the front of the mob. Ricket quickly determined they were part of some kind of organized policing force. Wearing similar light-gray uniforms, each held a plasma rifle. They looked just as angry as all the others. One of them stepped forward and, directing his attention on the fidgeting recruits, ordered, “Drop your weapons. Do it now, or you’ll be blasted where you stand.”
Ricket, hating violence of any sort, tried to think of a way he could help ease the growing tensions. One glance toward the highly nervous recruits provided sufficient indication that he better think of something fast.
Gus said, “Now, Captain Harper … you and I are friends. You work for me …”
Captain Harper raised his weapon. “Shut up, you old fool. Nobody here works for you. You serve one purpose only … the acquisition of new territory. If you can’t fulfill that function any further, well … then you need to go.”
Ricket, watching the mob grow in size, began using his internal nano-devices to scan the organic life forms to determine the exact number. Almost immediately, he felt weak in the knees—light headed—and began to retch uncontrollably. Driven to the ground, he began to lose consciousness.
Gasping for breath, he stopped the use of his internal devices. In moments he began to recover. He was all too aware what had happened. His unique anatomy held twenty times the amount of nano-devices as others within the crew. The Ingress Virus had most definitely invaded his physiology—and he was lucky to be alive. Slowly, he got back to his feet. He wondered if Bristol had made any progress on the patch.
He looked out to the unstable throng of people. All he could do was guesstimate the numbers. He figured there were now close to two hundred in the still-expanding hostile crowd. Angry shouts were coming from every direction.
One of the braver recruits suddenly drew his short-barreled Remington 870 shotgun, leveling its outstretched barrel barely two feet from the face of the one now commanding. One by one, the other recruits also drew their weapons.
After more pushing and shoving, twelve additional gray-uniformed officers made their way to the front. A bad situation had just gone from explosive to nuclear.
Ricket watched Gus’s entire body tremble, his face drain of color. Although his mouth was open, no words escaped.
The sudden gun blast was deafening.
Ricket instinctively flinched before crouching down low, noticing others doing the same. The crowd’s noise had hushed. Ricket peeked around Gus’s legs. One of the policing officers lay on the ground—his chest a red pulpy mess where he’d been shot. As realization quickly sunk in among his fellow officers, the silence was short-lived. Captain Harper, the first one to fire back, killed the offending recruit with a plasma blast to the face. In moments, all out war erupted.
Ricket felt strong hands lift him up, forcibly transporting him away from the door. Weapon fire began erupting from both sides. The acrid, sour smell of spent gunpowder wafted in through the doorway opening.
“Stay back, Ricket!” Two-ton yelled, as it grabbed Ol’ Gus around the waist. Lifting him up, the robot tossed him forcefully inside where he landed hard on the floor.
Ricket next watched the robot go back outside—swing the front door closed—then push and shove its way into the progressing battle. Its seven-foot-tall frame blocked much of Ricket’s view out the window. As Two-ton’s large mechanical fists connected with o
ne head or body after another, it became a robotic wrecking ball, swallowed within the riotous mob.
Within moments, the noise outside lessened somewhat after the recruits spent their maximum loads of three or four shells each. Screams from the crowd, and an occasional plasma bolt blast, made it noisily evident the fight was continuing.
* * *
After arriving in Medical, Jason and Billy stood off to the side, while Bristol attended to Boomer. Holding up a nasal inhaler, he instructed, “Give it a good squeeze into both nostrils, then breathe the mist deep into your lungs.”
She took hold of the small squeeze bottle. “What’s in it?”
“A mixture. Nanites, of course, infused with the inoculating patch.”
“And this will fix my nano-devices?” she asked skeptically, looking across at Jason and Billy.
Both smiled at her, nodding. Jason said, “Ryan, who’s on the bridge, and I have been conversing via our NanoCom for the last ten minutes. Better yet, I’m feeling some strength returning to my arms and legs … so it seems to be working.”
Boomer studied the bottle in her fingers, then, after squeezing its contents into each nostril, sniffed in deeply. She looked as if she might sneeze but managed to hold off doing so.
Bristol spent another few minutes observing all three. Checking readings with a portable medical device, he nodded, grunting every so often. “Guess it’s my turn.” He took another bottle from a tray. Administering the vapory mist into both nostrils, he stared straight ahead for a few seconds, eventually shrugging.
Jason asked, “Now the network … the rest of the ship?”
The fetch-it robot suddenly hovered into Medical. It spun first left, then right, before approaching Jason. “Captain Reynolds, there is a great disturbance within Zoo habitat 311. Weapons have been fired.”
Jason, already moving toward Medical’s entrance, said, “Billy … Boomer … you’re with me.” Out in the corridor, he yelled back over his shoulder, “Get that patch inserted into the network, Bristol! Get my ship operational!”
Minutes later, sweating, out of breath, they reached the Parcical’s Zoo. Jason entered the access code and together they entered HAB 311. Gone now from sight was the abandoned, ruined cityscape. Only the modern metropolis could be seen, spanning far into the distance, rising high into the air.
“Oh boy … that’s not looking good,” Billy said, referencing the growing crowd numbers ahead, just outside the habitat hub control entrance.
A loud rifle shot cracked, echoing off surrounding buildings. Still seventy-five yards out, Jason continued to pump his legs as fast as they could perform. Both Boomer and Billy, keeping pace, ran close alongside him.
Jason spied the unmistakable shape of the seven-foot-tall Two-ton, hurling into throngs of riotous townspeople. As more gunfire erupted, Jason felt for his belt and the small SuitPac device secured there. Uttering a silent prayer, he depressed the two inset buttons. His combat suit came alive—segmenting—expanding—outward over his torso, legs and arms. He watched as the tinted helmet visor took on form, then covered his face.
“What a damn mess …” he heard Billy exclaim. Then a bright white phase-shift flash took his place. Boomer went next, then Jason, phase-shifting directly to the battle scene.
Jason phase-shifted into the outskirts of the crowd and into the midsection of someone standing there. What bodily mass wasn’t displaced by his incoming phase-shift—only two arms and a foot—thumped to the ground around him. He was close enough, no more than ten feet, from the entrance to the habitat hub control building.
The bright red glow of distortion waves reflected off windows as Boomer let loose with her enhancement shield. Billy, now somewhere in the crowd, was close to where they’d last seen Two-ton. Jason then heard and watched as plasma fire flashes emanated outward from Billy’s combat suit.
Barreling his way through the crowd—tossing those in his way either left or right—Jason reached the front, realizing he was too late. Three recruit Sharks lay dead. One was writhing in pain on the ground. Their bodies still smoldering from what looked like multiple energy weapon strikes. This was a massacre.
A hot rage engulfed him. Jason’s fists clenched when he spun around, noticing seventy or more uniformed men hurrying right toward him. Each was armed, firing off their weapons in his direction. Glancing at his HUD, Jason noted his shielding was being affected only minimally. With his jaw clenched, and eyes cold as ice, he raised both forearms—letting loose with his own form of hellfire. A barrage of plasma fire streaked forward into the enemy. When Boomer appeared next to him, they went to work—together.
Chapter 22
Dira, standing within the threshold of the bathroom’s doorway, thought about her recent conversation with Orion. Somehow, Lord Digby had the ability to turn their Caldurian technology both on and off. Had he really forgotten to flip the switch back? What would happen when he remembered? She glanced down at herself—I’m naked under this damn suit. She considered phase-shifting into the Jumelle—be done with it here. But calling up the appropriate HUD menu, she hesitated. It was one thing to successfully fire off a few plasma bolts—but phase-shifting? What if that aspect of the suit didn’t work quite right? The thought of imbedding her physical mass into the hull of the Star Watch vessel made her shudder. In any event, she needed to get moving. Orion would hold off leaving for twenty minutes—no longer than that.
Dira moved quickly down the dimly lit upper-floor passageway within Lardel Hold. She tried to retrace her steps from memory, making two wrong turns along the way. Still, those missteps cost her valuable time. She descended the stairs two at a time, hoping to pick up the few minutes lost. Leaving the third level and descending down, sudden movement on the second floor below caught her eye. Two sets of double-doors were wide open. The inner room seemed massive. Dira slowed her steps, taking in the semi-darkened space. A blue-tinted glow, reflecting off countless display screens, gave the room an eerie cast. Entranced in focused concentration were numerous blue-tinted faces—like coding zombies—working feverishly. She’d seen places like this before … Coding Dens. Were these the hackers that brought down the whole U.S. fleet—brought down Star Watch?
Dira, lowering herself down, silently crept closer. Six rows of twenty-plus joined tables—with thirty, or so, per row—equaled one hundred and eighty hackers, or more. She noticed there were at least ten armed guards, wandering the inside perimeter of the room. Easing away from the doorway, she gave a sigh of relief—lucky she hadn’t been spotted.
Dira glanced at the countdown timer she’d set on her HUD. She only had fourteen minutes to get back to the Jumelle. Was that even possible with so little time left? Peering around the corner to get a better view of the large space, she noticed the whole back wall had floor-to-ceiling blinking lights—probably some kind of AI technology. Undoubtedly, the coding den servers. Had she inadvertently stumbled onto the very core of the virus attack?
Dira glanced at her HUD timer again. She had twelve minutes to return to the Jumelle. Twelve minutes to still save her self, but how could she? Not when she had the opportunity to save countless others. No! She had to destroy this place, even though she wasn’t a warrior—not like Boomer or Orion. Peering inside again, she wondered how much damage she could inflict before being struck down by the guards. It didn’t matter … what other choice did she have?
About to initialize her suit’s wrist cannons, she remembered something more about combat suits. There was a seldom-used invisibility function. It didn’t last very long … only a minute or two. She called up her HUD’s primary menu tree and quickly searched for the option.
Until that moment, she’d ignored the constantly updating display—the small, red life-icons appearing on the bottom of her HUD. She chided herself for not keeping track of such things. All the hackers, and the guards, even herself—a bright blue icon—were depicted there, ready to be observed. She noted another five red icons on the move, behind and below her. Voices and mult
iple footfalls could be heard ascending the stairway. She knew she would be in plain view once they reached the second floor landing.
Dira placed her attention back on her HUD. There it was! Remembering where the setting was, she went ahead with activating her integrated wrist cannons then took another quick peek inside the room. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the tops of hairy heads rising within the stairwell. With her hand raised before her, she activated the suit’s invisibility function. Her arm and hand instantly disappeared. Ah, she was indeed invisible! Mentally pushing away a flood of doubt pouring into her consciousness, she stepped forward.
Dira tried to picture herself as a soft-treading feline. Quietly moving between guards, and a table of intense-looking young hackers, she was close enough to hear their hushed back and forth conversations. As she approached some floor-to-ceiling cabinets, she heard the hum of internal technology. She then positioned herself at the center point of the room— about ten feet away from the servers and hundreds of multi-colored blinking lights. Hesitating, wondering, Will this be the last action I’ll ever take? Oh shit shit shit, Dira raised her arms and, letting out a breath, fired.
As bright red plasma bolts shot out from her wrists, the cabinet directly before her erupted into a fountain of sparks, then quickly into flames. Aiming her arms together left and then right, she took out one server cabinet after another.
Suddenly, there was yelling coming from the guards and frantic screams from the hackers. Dira continued until only the two rear cabinets on either end were still intact when she felt an energy bolt sear her on the back. Internal alarms began sounding on her HUD as the suit’s shields dropped to fifteen percent. Still invisible, she stopped firing and jumped to the left. Turning around, she saw the guards flicking their short swords, and energy bolts shot into the space where she’d just been. They were also firing into the damaged servers. Good!
Scrapyard LEGACY (Star Watch Book 6) Page 12
