‘The hell they will!’ Pierce cholerically hissed.
Berengar listened as Pierce yammered on about his return to the dome with vengeance when he noticed something amiss with the door panel. The light was green and the glass pane hadn’t been slid shut properly.
‘Uh-hu,’ Berengar uttered to Pierce, trying to make it sound as though he was listening. Slowly, Berengar walked into the house and saw the brandy bottle left on the counter, the stopper left by the crystal bottle. The faint smell of smoke was in the air and Berengar took a big sniff.
‘Know what, sir?’ Berengar said, ‘I’m gonna call you right back.’
Edge sensed something was up. He listened as the Bear moved below him, back in the master bedroom, ears attuned to Berengar’s movement. But everything became suddenly very quiet. Edge looked around for something to arm himself with. If it came to blows with the Bear, he imagined he’d not be able to defend himself well without a weapon.
‘You still here, Fenris?’ he heard him call.
Fuck!
‘I have a gut feeling it’s you, you know,’ said Berengar, ascending the stairway foot at a time. ‘Typical sneaking around with a cigarette, leaving the brandy out, that you couldn’t help yourself from drinking. Leaving the door open. Nice work on the security panel. Though you have to admit, not hard cracking those older models, eh?’
He considered diving under the bed, but he hated the idea of being discovered in such a cliché position, even more so the idea of being killed in such a cliché way, under the master bed of his enemy. Too embarrassing. What would they put on his tombstone, he wondered? Was there room here for some clever zinger? Do Cerise Timbers even make headstones for their dead? He didn’t think so, on reflection.
Edge hurried back onto the veranda and quietly closed the bedroom door. He rushed to the end of the upper platform and sat over the balustrades and looked down. It was a six meter drop to the lower patio and Edge knew if he landed improperly, he’d damage his ankles. Suddenly, the veranda doors slip open and Berengar stepped out.
‘One more step and I’ll jump!’ Edge tried.
The Bear snarled and hurried to try and grab him, but Edge was already over the side. He landed hard on ground and fell unstably onto his backside and rolled, scrambling quickly to his feet to make a run. And a moment later Berengar came down heavy on his feet, landing perfectly in a crouch, powerful legs like supportive pistons. He was already moving fast after Edge.
‘YOU BASTARD!’ Edge Fenris roared, sprinting as fast as he could, legs up to his chest, neural-headset flapping at his ear. He dared not turn but he could hear the Bear’s pounding feet gaining on him, and thought he felt the large man make a grab for his jacket. There was a sudden change in the terrain that Edge hadn’t prepared for, and he glissaded down wet grass on a slope, rolling at the bottom and running. The Bear tumbled after him, rolling all the way down to a stop. He grunted and raged angrily and heard Edge Fenris burst into laughter, exhilarated by the chase. Edge came to the house gate and jumped as high as he could, throwing one tired arm over the other to ascend the metal bars of the perimeter fence. The alarms began to sound, but he knew there’d be no dog no to chase him, that little fucker was comatose, he made sure of that much. And Edge threw his leg over the top, snagging his trousers on the spike as he dropped to the other side, surprised by the sudden tension and tearing of material from which he momentarily hung. As his trousers tore open at the seams, he fell from the fence and hit the ground face down, crying out with shock and pain. Edge Fenris scrambled backward as the Bear came up to the fence and glared at him from the other side. Dusting himself off Edge stood again, if not a little wounded generally alright, he leaned over his knees for breath.
‘You’re a fuckin dead man, Fenris!’
‘Yeah,’ Edge gasped, safe on the other side of the fence now, brimming once more with confidence. ‘I’ve been called that many times, Bear. I guess the problem is that everyone’s incompetent because I’m still here, pongo.’
Edge pinched tobacco out of his pouch and rolled himself a cigarette.
‘Wha’s up, you done already?’ he asked, popping the roll in his mouth. ‘You going to climb that thing or you calling it a day?’
‘Don’t push it,’ the Bear growled menacingly. ‘I might still let you live. I just wanna break a few bones.’
‘See, you’re not such a bad guy,’ Fenris chuckled. ‘Wanna cigarette?’
Berengar the Bear roared, and started scaling the fence. Before he could get over the top, Edge Fenris quickly flicked his cigarette at Berengar and high-tailed it for the horizon, torn jeans flapping, in the wind.
*
Pania faced her mirror with phlegmatic determinism, its reflective corners and edges scorched by the fires, spreading shadowy charcoal smudges around it. She worked with the reflective bits to apply the camouflage optical paints, following an instruction given to her by Artex. She looked at the print out of where the paint should go on the nose and under the eyes and spread long lines of the black oily substance where it was required.
‘That bastard!’ She heard Edge Fenris shout as he strolled into Hangar-Fifteen. He threw down a cigarette and started to approach one of the burned out lockers. Edge pulled it open, shedding his torn pants for a new pair of jeans.
‘What happened to you?’ she said.
‘Pierce Lewis is with Krupin,’ he said, stepping into a new pair of trousers and zipping the fly. ‘He’s working with the Russians.’
‘The Russians?’
‘The Russianomai, whatever you call ‘em now.’ Fenris said waving off the consideration of potential nomenclatures. ‘And they’ve got Biter.’
‘What the hell is he up to?’
‘A coup d’état, that’s what!’ Edge Fenris included to mention, ‘heard it all from Berengar the Bear. That big S-O-B’s playing both sides. He’s planning to corrupt the militia.’
‘Ha! Good luck!’ Pania laughed. ‘Artex is already onto him. He’s informed most of them to keep an eye on him.’
‘Good,’ Edge declared, smoking. ‘Did you pack your suit cases?’
Pania gave him a steady look.
‘Do you think I’m going on vacation?’ she asked.
‘What’s that, your make-up?’
‘Do you want another kick in the dick?’ Pania smiled. ‘It’s optical camouflage. The paint blends in with the background so you can hide.’
‘Sounds appropriate.’ He said, leaning forward and offering Pania a cigarette. ‘I don’t think you’ll be fooling no Blue Lycans, though. Those mean cretins are stacked to the brim with technology.’
‘Yeah, we mean to stay far away from them,’ she said as he sparked the end for her and she sucked up the smoke. ‘We’re picking up the kid and that’s it.’
‘I only hope it’ll be that simple.’
‘You should tell the federal building what you know about Pierce,’ she suggested. ‘There’s a good chance he’s working to get the Atominii involved in this somehow.’
‘Right,’ Edge agreed, stabbing out his cigarette.
*
Berengar trudged through the garden of the Lewis property in search of the security hound. The alarms had sounded and there was no sign of the animal. It was only when he reached a part of the perimeter fence not far from the trees that he saw the animal sleeping in the grass. He knelt down beside it, listening to the animal’s short panting breaths. The Bull Mastiff didn’t make a peep. He pulled back the animal’s eye lids and watched the shrunken pupils roll unconsciously. Berengar looked up to the tree branching out above the fence and decided that’s how Fenris got in after feeding the animal. But he had a plan. He could use this to make Pierce Lewis look increasingly victimised by Edge Fenris and his motley crew. Berengar made the call on his Quantic-W.
‘Yeah?’ Pierce said.
‘I just found an intruder,’ he reported. ‘Seems Edge Fenris has been snooping around your place. He found a way to crack your security panel.’
‘Yeah,’ Berengar nodded, ‘sorry sir. There’s more. Looks like he killed your dog.’
Pierce Lewis went quiet. Berengar waited a while longer, wondering what his response to this would be, but Pierce’s silence was short as he eventually spoke.
‘The man comes into my home and kills my dog?’ he asked. ‘No more playing with Edge Fenris. You hear? Don’t fuck around with him anymore. First chance you get…take him out. Are we clear?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Berengar nodded. ‘Crystal.’
The call ended and Berengar the Bear looked at the sleeping dog, almost sad about what had to be done next. Almost.
-47-
‘Contact sighted,’ said the Syridan RIG’s Corporal Sniper. His dark green cyber-optics focussed on the Olympian target, following him as he loped along walkways above the hydroponic gardens. The corporal raised the sights of his sniper rifle and confirmed a facial scan. Raven’s long black hair made identification very difficult, the scanners were unable to make an identity match, mesh imprints struggling to determine necessary features.
‘Unable to qualify,’ said the corporal. ‘Target matches the general description.’
‘Copy that, corporal,’ said another voice through the feed. ‘I’ll notify Alker immediately. Keep a trace on him. We’re going to need Anton Regallio’s permission to access the station’s recent passport clearances.’
‘Copy, RIG leader.’
The corporal stood up, eying along the length of the narrow rifle. He stepped backwards into the hollow of a tall building looking down on some of the garden’s structures, keeping an attentive trace on Raven’s activities.
*
‘We think we’ve located our assailant,’ said JD O’ Three, his bald head glittering even in the faint light of Alker’s lounge.
‘Where?’ said Alker, standing from the levitating chair which was left to sway and bob lightly behind him. ‘I need to see confirmation.’
‘He’s definitely here,’ said the Major bodyguard. ‘I’ve no doubt about it. It’s him.’
‘Don’t forget!’ Kintz reminded, half reclined on one of the sofas, ‘you need confirmation before you can go and make a bust.’
‘We’re working on that,’ said the hulking man. ‘But the problem is that Regallio has protection on personnel details. We can’t get access to passenger information of those coming and going from the station, not without his expressed permission.’
‘Get hold of Anton Regallio,’ Alker ordered. ‘Inform him of the situation A.S.A.P.’
*
When Raven reached The Royal Twilight again, he checked over his shoulder to see if he had been followed. There was no trace of anyone, but his instincts told him something different. Through the wondering heads and shoulders, the distant sky rail from which the habitat’s transportation carriages hung led fleetingly to various destinations. The faraway buildings where huge dome glass reflected a remote and fragmented sun winked with activity and the criss-cross of people. The interweaving designs and multiple layered crafting of sinuous architecture created a complex sea of traversing roads and walkways and wormhole tunnels. It would be impossible to spot if he was being watched or not, anyway. Sure enough, if he was being followed, Avenoir would have already seen it. Raven turned his head back to the Hotel’s elevator and disappeared inside.
*
‘Target is staying at The Royal Twilight.’
‘Confirmed, Corporal. We’re finding a match for your suspect.’
‘Awaiting confirmation.’
‘We have it. Suspect’s passenger and passport number One, Zero, One of The Constella Transit. Arrived here yesterday from the Cygnus colony of Kepler-one-eight-six, f.’
‘That’s our terrorist. Raven Protos. Have you made a sighting on Cassandra?’
‘Negative sighting on the girl. Don’t worry JD, I’ll find her.’
‘No more procrastination. We’ve confirmed the target, let’s make the hit. Corporal, begin tactical approach. Apprehend the targets, make the arrest if possible. Alive would be better. But you have my authority to shoot to kill.’
‘Yes Major.’
*
The Syridan RIG special forces hustled down the hallways, tight against walls, hunkering at doors and corners and security panels, dissecting each level and stealing control. They squatted by the automated airlock doors of deactivated elevators, night sight eyes switching for targets through the darkened reinforced stairwells, eyes like emerald stars glowing in the dark, guided laser beams criss-crossing like a gossamer of corrupted spider webs under black light. The subtle dull clutter of feet percussive as warm raindrops distantly ascended the stairs, closing in on the Venster Suite.
The Corporal Sniper held back at the end of the hallway. Three soldiers advanced, their visual world a menagerie of silhouetted irregular shapes and structures and rifle lens crosshairs. Two of them took position at the flanks of the Venster suite’s double doors. The third soldier positioned himself squatting at the front of the door, rifle pointed towards head height, weapon tight to the shoulder.
‘Negative targets inside,’ said the soldier playing with the door panel. ‘Security feedback says targets left about ten minutes before we got here.’
‘Break it down anyway.’ The leader informed, ‘secure the room. Find anything you can that may serve as evidence and secure the perimeter.’
The leader gave a nod, prompting the crouched soldier to fire his weapon. A small charge burst from the rifle and the dart clung to the door. A high pitched detonation warning whistled through the air, ringing to a peak and then the charge imploded, tearing the doors from their hinges. The soldiers stormed inside, quick reflexes snapping their laser sights through the dust in steady radial sweeps. They surged into the living room, kicking over furniture and tearing open cupboards and ventilation grills.
‘Nothing, sir,’ one of the RIG special forces reported.
‘Trace their direction, where did they leave to?’ said the Corporal Sniper.
Glaring down the sniper’s lens, the Corporal watched the three thermal silhouettes fall inside the Venster suite, clearing the rooms like red and white shadows in a three dimensional blueprint.
‘I’m analysing security records now sir,’ said one of the soldiers.
The door panels provided them full access to the whereabouts of their terrorists, a small hologram display field giving them an overhead mapped readout of the floor they were on. On the map, it was visible to see their targets shifting down the hallway minutes before their arrival and then scurry into the Omega Suite at the opposite far end of the corridor. The soldier turned back to the others as they ransacked the Venster Suite and then he whistled for their attention.
‘Target’s in the other suite,’ he said.
‘What is it, Tucker?’ the Corporal sniper’s voice buzzed in Tucker’s earpiece.
‘Sir...target’s been traced. He’s in the Omega Suite, sir.’
But the Corporal Sniper would not have time to realise where the Omega Suite was. Raven’s fist descended like a hammer, flattening the Corporal’s skull as though it was meat pie. The body twitched and fired off a few rounds into the Venster Suite ahead and the rain of explosive ballistics mottled the internal wall and the smart-ammo detonated out of synchronicity with the deceased shooter, no longer able to command his ammunition’s terminal velocity, explosions which jeopardized the hull. Fissures cracked the environment seal pulling a torrent of dust in through five or six long ruptures.
Alert, pressure seal breeched, report to safety points immediately, this is not a drill: the Royal Twilight’s automated systems bleated.
The continued fusillade shredded one of the three soldiers in its carnage, leaving only legs and arms to heap in on an eviscerate pink mush of flesh and clothing, which trailed its way out through on the torrent of air escaping through the vacuum. A fountain of gore had sprayed onto another soldier and before he could realise it w
as the rounds of the dead Corporal’s Sniper rifle hammering in through the hotel walls, a stray bullet blasted through the man’s hip reducing his leg to meat patty, drained on the wash of air swirling through the bullet holes and out into the void. The next bullet burst his helmet and his stumped shoulders jetted blood, the head spinning off to drop somewhere in the distance like a lost bowling ball missing its pins.
The last RIG member had time to take refuge behind the refrigeration unit, fighting the turbulent escape of pressure. He hoped the freezing walls would insulate him from the Sniper’s thermal and X-ray scope, not realising at first that the indiscriminate shots were not intentionally seeking targets.
The typhonic air whistled like a storm squeezing its way out of a pinhole, and the Venster Suite’s emergency fire-doors and pressure lock protocols began to seal over. Raven hurried to a safe part of the hall as the doors drew shut, lank legs and arms streaming through the tempestuous evacuation of air. Finally the doors sealed shut, locking the doomed soldier into the Venster Suite’s room with a vacating atmosphere. The man’s mortal scream was silenced with the howling wind as the fire-doors and the atmosphere locks sealed shut forever.
Avenoir sat hidden, knees to her chest and holding her ears by an emergency fire extinguisher, which was now pulsing with the buzz of an alarm. She stared at the floor incongruously. Raven knew that now was the time to get passage to The Griffin’s Claw. He had to get her out of this building somehow, and he was no longer abashed to using sanguinary methods. His impassive eyes analysed the Corporal’s body and he began to forge an escape plan.
Chaos Cipher Page 44
