A Time Warner Company
PROLOGUE
"The signal's been stable for ten minutes."
Sorli nodded at the technician's announcement, looking satisfied. Pamela Martinez had rarely seen him so positive and agreeable. She supposed she should be pleased that he was, but she was too uncertain about this whole business to be happy about anything. So much of what they were doing was a gamble. She was unsure of the reasoning behind it, unsure of its chance of success, and, most of all, unsure that she should be so involved. Not for the first time, she questioned I he wisdom of being present personally.
"Put the channel on screen one," Sorli said to the technician.
She looked for approval to Wilson, the Chief Operations Officer. He nodded slightly. Reassured, the woman touched control surfaces on her console. Immediately, light bloomed on the left-hand wallscreen as a series of data windows opened. Oscillating lines writhed in multihued ripples, bar monitors charted machine capacities, and text and data scrolled through several windows. All the windows were labeled with acronyms and alphanumeric codes, but Pamela recognized almost none of them. Most of the information displayed was technical referents to machines and systems well beyond her expertise, but she knew enough about readouts to see that not everything was functioning within optimal parameters.
"Put a booster on the baseline signal, Omi," Wilson said. The technician complied, causing changes in data to cascade through most of the windows. Performed ratings had increased. Nodding, Wilson stroked his beard. "That's better."
Sorli scrutinized the data.
Lacking Sorli's comprehension, Pamela left him to it; he would be satisfied, or he would not. He was risking more on this mission than she was since he was participating physically. She would rely on his judgment.
What other course did she have?
From where she stood next to Wilson's seat in the center of the master console, Pamela could see the whole control room. She could see the great screens that were the left and right walls of the chamber. Below them, on the main floor, were a dozen workstations, all manned by their operators. Half faced the left screen, alive with data, while the other half faced the still-dark screen on the opposite wall. Beyond the consoles was the Perspex™ containing wall and beyond that transparent protection, a small section containing the raised ready platform, as yet empty.
Oblivious to anything but their own jobs, the technicians were totally absorbed with their interfaces. Even the ones dedicated to the dark screen wall were sunk in communion with their consoles though their screen was still dark and would remain so until just before insertion. Did any of them understand what they were participating in? Most likely each was only aware of his or her own small part in the system, working as unknowing cogs in Sorli's scheme. What had he told them about what was being attempted here today?
She stared through the Perspex. Inset in the wall on the far side of the platform was the silver-framed, four-by-four-meter grid of fiber-optic mesh that Sorli called the transit web. She had listened to his briefing, and had confirmed what she could of the theoretic basis of some of what he sought to do, but there was much that was unprovable and uncheckable. She still wasn't sure she believed it would do what he said it would do. The system he'd designed was just too . . . unnatural.
Unnatural or not, Sorli's transit web had better work; she'd allocated all of her discretionary budget, and then some, to this project. She wouldn't be able to keep her operations secret much longer. North American Group's quarterly review was only a week away, and there were too many people involved now, and a hundred other smaller worries. Despite Sorli's assurances that none of his hires would talk, and despite the psych profile assurances that all personnel remained steadfast, she didn't trust so many to remain silent on this endeavor. Especially if it worked. She faced a significant chance that the Charybdis Project would be exposed prematurely.
'Time, time, time.
Rearden said she'd be through Sorli's data protections and into his private files in another two days. Enough time? Only if in the wake of a success today, Sorii got careless. She had hoped to have been poised to sweep the arrogant little man out of her way as soon as the mission was completed, but Rearden hadn't gotten her what she needed. She didn't like the idea of acting before she was sure of having the secrets he'd been keeping from her, but she'd act if she had to; it was more important that Mitsutomo-sama know who was responsible for the project than to have a complete log of the technical details. With the full might of Mitsutomo Keiretsu behind her, Sorli wouldn't be keeping secrets for long. Of course, she wouldn't have exclusive control over those secrets, but she felt sure she would still be able to manipulate the situation to her advantage.
She would have to move quickly to capitalize on a success. Fortunately, she was almost ready. Passarelli in Relations said he would have the pitch for Mitsutomo-sama ready by close of business.
Sorii grumbled under his breath. Something had disturbed his composure. A glance at the screen didn't show anything obviously amiss.
"All is well?" she asked.
"Well enough."
Well enough wasn't good enough; she was risking too much here. "This is the signal that will lead you to Caliburn. Your strike will end its threat."
"It's the signal, all right," he said, still staring at the data windows. "If we're quick enough, we can keep him from drawing it. We do that and things will be better."
That was what she wanted to hear. "We will put an end to the magic."
"I never said that."
She spun on him. "You—"
"I said that there would be less of the chaos," he said brusquely. He continued speaking in a more normal tone. "And there will be. With Caliburn continuing to tie up significant magic, things will be easier to manage. Much easier." He leaned over Wilson's shoulder and reached for a bank of pressure switches. "Run the L-L scan through the clarifier program on channel C."
Batting away Sorli's hand, Wilson snapped, "It is on channel C."
"Then make it D," Sorli shot back. Without waiting to see if Wilson complied, he stomped down the stairs to the main floor. Halfway across the chamber, he stopped and checked the screen. He nodded at what he saw there, then co-opted a workstation's microphone to order, "Insertion teams to the platform."
A dozen men, the insertion teams, emerged from a door on the far side of the Perspex wall and marched up the stairway onto the ready platform. Each of the team members wore loose-fitting black coveralls. She looked for the circuitry fibers that were woven into the dark garments, but she couldn't see any sign of them. She had thought they should be wearing armor as well, but Sorli had said they were tasking the system too much as it was. She had countered by suggesting a smaller force, and he had said it was too small as it was.
The men chosen for the teams had been a point of contention as well. Most of them were short and stocky, a body build Sorli insisted was the most suitable to the arcane nature of the system. Only McAlister was above average height, and he was one of only three regular Mitsutomo personnel. She had wanted more regular operatives, but Sorli had insisted that the: transfer system had restrictive biological parameters; there just weren't enough regular operatives available who fit the right physical profile. He'd wanted to replace McAlister, pointing out the need to transfer as many men as possible and claiming that he could take two men of the ideal phenotype in place of McAlister. She had insisted on including McAlister; the man was worth any two hired soldiers of fortune, and the fact that he was loyal to her made him worth even more than two. They'd compromised by agreeing that Sorli would selec
t the rest of the team; she'd let him win that battle, preferring to forestall a showdown until a more decisive confrontation.
The team members were armed with Adler Arms Kar-99s. the Kar-99 was an assault rifle in 5mm caliber. Its bullpup configuration kept its length short, and a long 40-round magazine made it look oddly stock-heavy. She had been assured it was an excellent personal weapon, one common among paramilitary organizations and the militaries of many EC-dominated countries in the Fourth World; she would have been more confident in the weapon if it was built by Arisaka, one of their trading partners within Mitsutomo Keiretsu, but the insertion team members were not supposed to be carrying or wearing anything that could link them to the company. The Kar-99s, like half of the team's gear, were manufactured by the Adler corporate family, a rival to Mitsutomo; let them take the heat if things went poorly.
Aside from the assault rifles, the team members carried little in the way of armament, a standard of equipage she had not thought prudent. The "restrictive parameters" argument again. Well, Sorli must be confident of his threat assessment; he was going with them, after all.
Sorii stopped by the Perspex door that connected the control room to the insertion chamber. Hand on the handle, he looked back up at Wilson.
"Focus lock?"
Wilson tapped in a query to the computer. "Lock positive."
"Fire it up."
He stopped by Console One to check his gear. Wilson stared at Sorli, looking very annoyed. Finally asking, "Confirmation loop?"
"No," Sorli said without looking up. "I want to go right in."
"I can't sign off on this," Wilson said, stopping Sorli in his tracks. "Signal's only on the edge of the green zone."
Sorli glared up at Wilson. "You saying it won't work?"
"I'm saying that without the confirm, we'll be running outside the safety parameters."
"The probe might be noticed."
"We wouldn't be passing mass; the energy flux would be minimal."
Sorli's jaw clenched for a moment. "I said a confirm might be noticed. Fire it up."
Wilson sat back and folded his arms across his chest. His gray-shot beard jutted as he set his jaw.
"No."
Sorli's eyes blazed, but Wilson didn't fold. Slowly, Sorli said, "All right. Run it."
Wilson touched a key on his board and Pamela saw the technician on Console Five execute a flurry of keystrokes. A few seconds later Five announced, "We've got a bounce-back! Good confirm!"
"Any change in the focus lock?" Wilson asked.
"No change."
Wilson looked up at the screen, then back down to Sorli. He grinned. "Told you. We're now showing confidence well into midzone. Don't think we'll get any better. Better get your hat on."
Sorli picked up his helmet from Console One and tucked it under his arm. He took up his personal weapon, a shotgun, from where it leaned against the laminate-topped desk, and slung it. He opened the door to the insertion chamber.
"Just get us through, Wilson."
"I'll do my job. You do yours."
"We'll discuss this later," Sorli said. He walked through the door and closed it behind him.
"Capacitors charged," Technician Three announced. "One minute to insertion."
Sorli joined the men on the platform, his greetings to them being picked up by the microphones. At his order, the men put on their helmets. Unlike the coveralls, the smooth,
matte-finished head coverings showed faint traceries of the gunmetal circuitry under the protective outer coating. With I lie dark, featureless visors down, the men lost individuality. only the tall McAlister remained recognizable. He stood out among Sorli's handpicked squad, the only one whose loyally was assured; the others, almost to a man, were Sorli's hires.
Sorli had opened Pamela's eyes to the danger facing the world. He'd shown her its terrifying reality, and he'd offered her a chance to do something about it. But for all his help, Sorli remained an uncommunicative bastard. And he still had too many secrets. Like where some of the equipment for this transit web came from. And just how it did what it was supposed to do. She'd once maneuvered him into explaining the principles, but she'd had to cut him off before he'd gotten very far; she hadn't been able to tell whether he was bullshitting her or not. Had this been ordinary tech, she would have called in experts for verification; but there were no experts in this field.
Only Sorli.
She hated relying on him, but she found herself concerned that he survive this adventure.
"Ten seconds to insertion."
The right screen wall came to life as the team members activated the ComEye™ systems in their helmets. Twelve windows, one for each of the men, ranged in two rows; Sorli's window stood by itself to one side. Each ComEye view monitor showed what the man who wore it saw; a smaller window displayed telemetry: the man's vital functions and insertion suit status.
The ComEye command-control telemetry system was a Tsurei product and traceable to the Mitsutomo family, but no one made a better system. Pamela hadn't been willing to compromise the success of the mission by using an inferior product, even though the system could be connected to Mitsutomo. It was a popular system; lots of companies used it.
"Three seconds."
The mesh of the transit web glowed, pulsing with varicolored light flashing through its optical fiber cords.
Still in the stone. They'd succeeded. Arthur had not drawn the sword.
Or had they succeeded?
No one was reporting anything and the overhead view was maddeningly frustrating; all points and dots and lines. It wasn't real. The ComEye screens weren't helping much; the poor transmissions made it hard to reconcile the screen images with the map. The situation discomfited Pamela. "Have we got viriuality?"
Wilson checked his personal screen. "Insufficient certainty."
"Damn."
The pink dot labeled Arthur moved toward what she believed was Caliburn. No! Not when they were so close.
"Go, second team! Go!" she ordered.
McAlister led them through the gateway.
"We've got a weapon discharge," one of the techs said.
Pamela checked the map. The dot labeled Arthur had gone from pink to yellow, indicating a neutralized threat. The one labeled Black was flashing back and forth between pink and yellow. Two of the unnamed pink dots disappeared.
The pictures on the ComEye pov screens remained poor, confusing images and strange shadowy shapes. Flickers of light flashed in some. The static on the speakers stuttered. The rhythm had the regularity of automatic weapon fire.
"That's not one of ours," Five said.
Sorli's voice broke through the static. "We've only got one shooter. Team one, give fire. Team two, rush him."
Pov monitor screens lit with fire as thunder rolled through the speakers.
An explosion!
Four of the ComEye monitors went black at once. Dead men. McAlister tumbled out of the milkiness and landed sprawled on the ready platform. Sorli's arm, shoulder, and part of his head thrust through into the insertion chamber. On one of the ComEye screens a silhouetted shape flailed against a disk of dazzling brightness. Sorli's arm was outstretched; his hand brushed against the edge of the gate. He screamed, the sound broadcast by his helmet mike and the
pickups in the insertion chamber. Then the hand and arm were sucked into the rainbow and out of sight. The flailing figure on the ComEye screen vanished into the brilliant disk.
Pamela checked Sorli's monitor. Unlike those of the men who had died, Sorli's monitor wasn't black. That meant he wasn't dead, didn't it? A second look made her question her assumption; the life sign status bars remained steady, showing none of the fluctuations of pulse and respiration. The comEye pov screen was a steady, formless gray.
"What's happened to Sorli?"
No one answered her. No one moved. The control room seemed frozen in time.
"Wilson, what's happened to Sorli?"
"I don't know." The operations officer sounded stunned
.
This wasn't the way the mission was supposed to go. It wasn't supposed to be so costly.
Pamela read the name from the monitor that had shown Sorli's disappearance while she wrenched Wilson's microphone toward her. "Jensen, what's going on?"
Nothing.
She needed to know. "Jensen, answer me!"
"Transmitter link is down," Wilson said.
She didn't want to hear that.
Jensen's voice still came through the speaker. "Set up a left sweep." He was giving orders to his team. Pamela backhanded Wilson's shoulder.
"I thought you said the link was down. How come we can still hear them?"
Wilson shrugged. "Computer says link is down."
"Damn the computer! I want to talk to them."
"Shit!" Jensen again. "He's got the sword!"
It couldn't be! Pamela eyes snapped to Jensen's monitor. The pov screen showed a fuzz-edged man-shape wielding a sword. The sword slashed down and the screen went dark. Jensen's life sign bars shortened and dropped to nothing.
The audio transmissions from the insertion team were suddenly clear. Shouts, screams, and gunfire filled the control room.
Two more monitors went dark.
Pamela was terrified. What was happening? Sorli kept too many secrets. Now he was gone and things had gone sour. What would happen now? Everything was in chaos. Everything was falling apart.
No!
Panic wouldn't help. Panic never helped. She had to get a grip. Someone had to take charge or everything would fall apart. She locked up her fear.
"Bring them back," she ordered. "Use the rebound code."
"Don't have to." Wilson pointed at the ready platform. "Look!"
Two stocky figures emerged from the milkiness and collapsed on the platform. One sprawled atop McAlister's prone and bloody form.
Three. Only three had come back.
And Arthur had the sword.
Very bad.
An alarm began to hoot.
"Shut the grid down!" Wilson shouted. "Shut it down before it overloads."
The technicians responded with frantic activity. The rainbow ring contracted. She watched the slowly shrinking circle with dread. As the rainbow closed off the whiteness, someone standing behind her cleared his throat.
robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain Page 1
