The Complete Clockwork Chimera Saga

by Scott Baron

  “Good idea,” Donovan chimed in over the comms. “They should be safe if they switch bands before the Ra’az can lock on and insert a virus packet.”

  “Exactly,” Chu agreed. “And besides what they already have in the works, I’ve also been working on a quadruple-firewalled kill-switch for Bob and Mal. If the Ra’az do somehow manage to get the virus into one or more of the remote ships, they’ll be immediately cut from that particular signal before it can reach their systems.”

  “What about these new AI ships?” Donovan asked.

  “Not much we can do for them on such short notice.”

  “Well, at least let me try to give them a functional targeting system.”

  “Donovan, we saw what can happen––”

  “Yes, but if we activate it remotely once they are engaged, what harm can they do? At least they’ll have a better chance of defending themselves, and hey, they might even take out a bad guy or two before biting the dust.”

  Chu didn’t like the idea of heavily armed trash collectors and kitchen AIs wielding such destructive power, but Donovan did have a point. Once they were clear of the base and on the move to engage the Ra’az and their Chithiid loyalists, there would be so few out there, the odds of them targeting one of their own allies would be minimal.

  “All right,” he finally relented. “I’ll help you install a proper targeting upgrade. But if they go haywire, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Okay, Chu,” Donovan said with a laugh. “You retain ‘told-you-so’ rights.”

  A little grin curved Chu’s lips upward.

  “Gentlemen,” Sid chimed in, “Mal and I have been monitoring your progress and would like to offer a few suggestions in regards to the remote piloting system. Do you have time to go over those specifications at the moment?”

  “Sure, Sid. We were just running a test with one of the low-tier AIs,” Chu replied.

  “We noticed,” Mal said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “We have every confidence you will have at least a few of them functional in time to aid in Joshua’s plans. Remember, they do not need to be perfect. Much as it pains me to say, these vessels are expendable tools serving the bigger picture.”

  It was quite a ruckus, and the most activity Dark Side had seen in centuries. The assembled team only hoped it would be enough.

  Tucked away in her secure facilities, Freya observed everything going on with great fascination. Aside from monitoring the communications traffic between Earth and the moon, it was the most entertainment she’d had in days.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Finding weapons depots in America was easy, and Shelly was glad to be the one leading the team retrieving them before heading to the stripped remains of New York City, where she and her team would lie in wait for the pending communications hub assault.

  The other teams would undoubtedly have a harder time of it in more historically peaceful places, where access to firearms had been a bit more difficult than flashing a wad of cash and a smile before walking out into the night with an assault rifle and a bag of ammunition.

  Australia had long ago restricted access to weaponry, and Japan, well, they had mutually productive agreements with other nations to provide for their defense.

  In America, however, things that go boom had long been a cornerstone of that particular nation’s identity, and despite the obsolete nature of nearly all of the ancient conventional firearms from long ago when dealing with alien invaders, explosives never really seemed to lose their punch. The only problem now was that surviving caches of the truly powerful devices were few and far between.

  “Joshua, we’ve arrived in Hoboken,” Shelly transmitted via a weak hardline. While the system was still being rebuilt, it was nowhere near perfect, and for safety’s sake, the communications were slowed by the multiple protective relays on their way across the country back to Colorado.

  “You guys made excellent time,” the genius AI noted. “The other teams are still several hours from their destinations.”

  “How far is it to this depot? Being this close to New York City makes me antsy. Ra’az ships keep flying over the city.”

  “There is a military base nearby. Fort Hamilton, in Brooklyn, that housed firearms caches. However that location was deemed far too publicly visible for the good stuff.”

  “Good stuff?”

  “Oh, yes. You’ll find that Hoboken and the surrounding area was largely ignored by the Ra’az due to a seeming lack of useful salvage––at least compared to Manhattan. What they failed to discover in their carelessness was there is a long-secret vault hidden beneath the granite marker at Camp Merritt, just to your north.”

  “So we head north, collect explosives at that location, and from there we cross into the city?”

  “Precisely. Pry off the lowest south-western corner of the monument. You will find a concealed keypad. Enter the code 011235813. The base is on a swivel, and once unlocked, the mechanism will allow you to slide it aside to descend into the facility. You are ready with the specs on which explosives and detonators to gather, yes?”

  “Yeah, we have all the info, but hang on. Isn’t that code a bit obvious?”

  “Not to those who do not follow mathematics,” he replied. “And those that do were not the ones they typically worried about gaining access to these sorts of things. If anything, they’d have been more likely to build their own.”

  “All right,” Shelly replied. “We’re on it. We’ll check back in after we’ve retrieved the payload.”

  She keyed off the comms, disconnected from the hardline, and stowed the unit securely in her pack.

  “Okay, you mutts, gather up your gear. We’re heading a little bit north of here, and it might get a little bit hairy.”

  “Why? What’s different here?” an enthusiastic, but very green human helper asked.

  “We’re right outside of New York,” she replied. “That means there’s going to be extra scrutiny in the area. We should be okay, but I don’t want anyone to take any unnecessary chances.”

  Shelly checked the sleeves and gloves covering her cybernetic arms, then turned to her cyborg support units.

  “Make sure you have your Faraday suits sealed up tight and covering all mechanical parts at all times.”

  “We know.”

  “I’m not trying to be condescending,” she clarified. “I’m just being abundantly cautious. We can’t afford to show up on their scans. Especially not this close to their comms hub.”

  “No offense taken, Shelly. We’re ready to move as stealthily as possible.”

  “Good. It’s not too far, so we’re going to make the trip fast and quiet and collect those explosives. The tunnels are still intact, so we will sneak across to the city going under, rather than over. After that, all we can do is sit tight until we meet the Chithiid insiders and wait for the final countdown to begin.”

  The team moved out at a quick pace. They were up to the task of retrieval––that part should be pretty straightforward. It was the setting of bombs that had her concerned.

  Tokyo. Land of sushi and Godzilla. At least, that’s what Omar couldn’t help but think as his team stalked quietly through the ruined streets of the city, picking their way through the remains of once-great buildings.

  Unlike the towering lizard, however, he strode carefully on his Faraday-shielded cybernetic legs, and the remains of towering structures that were crunching under his boots had tumbled long before his arrival.

  Mount Fuji loomed high above in the distance, a gentle wisp of smoke lazily snaking its way into the azure sky. Delicate, pink cherry blossoms were blooming, and as their petals wafted toward the ground, Omar found the entire scene almost idyllic.

  Idyllic if you ignored the millions dead, the ruined city, and the buzz of alien transport craft overhead, causing them to duck for cover periodically.

  Getting there once they acquired their explosives payload had been something of a trek, especially given the distance they had to cover fr
om the far southern territories to the streets of Tokyo.

  Japan had been a neutral island nation for centuries, and aside from the many samurai swords made primarily for tourists, it was largely unarmed. The distant island of Okinawa, however, was a different story.

  First were their swords. Though tourist pap was certainly to be found, master craftsmen still forged exceptional weapons of death intended for bloody use, not display, on the tiny island. Such was the nature and history of Okinawa.

  In addition, given the robust military presence ever since the end of the second world war, the existence of a deeply hidden weapons cache was not a surprise, though finding it amid the fields of rubble from the alien invasion and subsequent deconstruction would be a challenge.

  The rugged jungles of the interior were beautiful and lush, left untouched by the Ra’az assault. The pig population of the island––left unchecked once their human consumers were gone––had exploded, and you could barely tread through the thick vegetation without coming across a porcine resident.

  It was the pigs––introduced to the island by the Chinese several hundred years earlier––that provided Omar’s team a most unexpected and excellent form of cover. So long as they moved with the flow of the large creatures, the sheer mass of biological readings would overwhelm the Ra’az scans. Add to that a few hundred years of constant movement on the island lulling the aliens into complacency, and they could almost let their guard down.

  Almost.

  Every so often, a Chithiid ship would pass overhead, making the several hundred-mile trip toward the main island of Japan. While the aliens would fly, Omar and his team would utilize the comprehensive undersea loop tube system when they departed Okinawa Island.

  It was a wooden structure the repository was hidden beneath.

  In its heyday, it must have been a beautiful building, but centuries of neglect––and pigs––had left the structure in an advanced state of disrepair. Fortunately for the team, the sturdy concrete-and-lead structure beneath it was perfectly intact.

  With the hidden entrance long ago rotted away, it was as easy as walking down a short flight of stairs to reach the lone keypad guarding the heavy door. The nearest pigs jumped with surprise at the hiss of air being released after so many years, but quickly went back to rooting and foraging for food.

  “Let’s be quick, but thorough,” Omar said to his team. “I’ll handle the heavy ordinance.”

  “I would be glad to be of assistance,” the slender, protective-suit-wearing cybernetic personal assistant accompanying him offered.

  “I appreciate it, but I’m the only one who knows what goes boom and what doesn’t, so how about you help the others look for any other useful things that may be tucked away down here.”

  “Of course,” the metal man replied.

  Omar began opening crates and piling high the most powerful of the explosives. He had been fortunate to be the one team member to possess a spare Faraday suit, and it was going to come in very handy. Since it wasn’t needed by any of his team, this meant he could carry an exceptionally large quantity of explosives wrapped in it, safely shielded from prying scans and eyes.

  “Excuse me, Omar?” the cyborg said, looking inside a hastily opened crate.

  “What is it?”

  “I heard you mention these during the ride here. Might this be of interest to you?” he asked, holding aloft a finely crafted katana.

  Omar’s eyes widened at the sight of the ancient sword. Someone had stashed away a souvenir, and it was a beauty.

  The sword had been sealed in an airtight crate, and the fine oil coating on the blade had kept it in immaculate condition. He took it in his hand, feeling the weight and balance of it. Looking closely at the blade, he realized it was definitely not a cheap tourist toy.

  “Wow. Nice find!”

  He gave it a few practice swings, a broad smile blossoming on his face.

  His technique was mediocre at best, but for time immemorial, boys had loved swords, and Omar––despite the century of his birth and cybernetic limbs he sported––was no different.

  “Definitely taking this with,” he said cheerfully as he wrapped it up with the explosives.

  Twenty minutes later, the team, laden with bombs, a few useful supplies, and one deadly katana, headed to the surface to begin the trek back to the undersea loop tube that would bring them to Tokyo.

  When they had made the subterranean hop to the hidden arms cache in Parammatta Council on the outskirts of Sydney, Finn found himself posing an unusual question.

  “I thought Australia was an ally,” he had mused.

  “It was,” Reggie replied.

  “Right, but look at this stockpile.”

  “And?”

  “You’re missing the point, Reg. Why did we have secret bunkers squirreled away on friendly turf?”

  Reggie thought a moment.

  “There’s an old adage, amigo. ‘Hope for the best, expect the worst, and prepare for both.' Seems that’s exactly what they were doing. Trust your allies, but be prepared, just in case.”

  Accessing the nondescript bunker was far easier than they expected it would be, but the facility was completely off-radar, and only a very select few knew it even existed. For that reason, a simple keypad had been the only deterrent once they found the squat building and made their way to its basement.

  Once inside, the sheer quantity of weapons took them aback. Crate after crate of firearms, racks of rocket launchers, and, of course, cases of high explosives and their accompanying detonators, lined the rooms.

  The question of moving the explosives once out of the protective cover of the lead-walled facility was a simple one to answer. With only the suits worn by the augmented humans being capable of shielding the additional inorganic materials, there was really only one way.

  “Oh, hell no!” was Finn’s immediate reaction.

  “Come on. Your suit is looser than mine. You can fit more,” Reggie cajoled him.

  “Great, so I can blow myself into even smaller pieces than you? No, thank you.”

  “Look at it this way,” Reggie said as he strapped more explosives around his torso. “Would you rather be captured during the assault and vivisected alive by Ra’az scientists? Or would you just as soon go out in a blaze of glory.”

  “I don’t want either, Reg.”

  “Obviously. But given the choice, I think we both know which one you’d take. I know which one I would.”

  Grudgingly, Finn opened his suit in the cool air of the secret bunker and began strapping explosives to his torso.

  “If I blow up, I am so taking you with me,” he said with a grim chuckle.

  Chapter Eighteen

  San Francisco was quiet, even without its ubiquitous layer of sound-deadening fog swallowing up ambient noise.

  No rumblings of unrest were to be found anywhere in the Ra’az facilities, nor anywhere along the perimeter of the sturdy building. But deep within its service and repair shops, an old Chithiid sat in front of a non-priority––and unmonitored––comms unit.

  A very old friend, several hundred miles south in Los Angeles, was on the other end of the line, making an unexpected request.

  “We are sympathetic to your plight, Maarl, but what you ask is too much,” the elder Chithiid said quietly over his video comms unit. “We can help your allies enter the facility by leaving an access door unlocked, but beyond that, I am afraid none of my men are willing to risk the loss of our hard-won positions for nothing more than a hypothetical opportunity.”

  “But surely you understand the importance of this, to not only our people on this planet, but also our homeworld itself,” Maarl replied. “You are in the position to help prevent the warp ships from departing. Why, you could even be pivotal in overthrowing the facility. After all these years as the senior maintenance technician, you have nearly as much access as the loyalists.”

  “Maarl, I am a janitor,” he said with a tired sigh. “Yes, a very senior janitor, bu
t a janitor all the same.”

  “Yes, old friend, but that means you have access. Access and the luck of being largely ignored by the Ra’az and their faithful.”

  The old Chithiid thought a long moment as he sat deep within the secure walls of the San Francisco research facility.

  “I personally support your cause, Maarl. We have known one another for many, many years, but I will not disable the hangar doors entirely. Too much suspicion would be aroused by such an act. I can, however, see to it that there is at least some maintenance underway that will hinder the Ra’az and slow the doors’ opening sequence. The rest is up to your people.”

  “Thank you, old friend.”

  “It is all I can do. My men will not interfere with your plans, but, beyond providing entrance, and a clear, unmonitored path to that exterior access door, I am afraid we cannot help you further. It took too long to achieve our positions in this facility. None wish to return to the deconstruction and salvage teams.”

  “I understand,” Maarl said. “And I thank you for your assistance. Even a brief delay in the hangar door systems will help our cause.”

  The line disconnected, and Maarl slowly rose to his feet to find Craaxit. The conversation hadn’t gone as well as he had hoped, but at least there had been enough support to give them a chance.

  He found his friend leisurely eating a nutrient bar, while leaning against the doorframe to their barracks. Craaxit looked relaxed and calm to the casual glance, but closer examination would reveal alert eyes scanning the area for loyalist eavesdroppers.

  Craaxit’s target walked into view, and he nonchalantly pushed off from the doorway and walked over to greet him.

  “Maarl, it is good to see you. May I offer you a sustenance bar?” he asked, a nutrient bar held out in his extended hand.

  “Thank you, Craaxit,” the old Chithiid said, accepting the snack. He kept a casual smile on his face as they spoke, though their topic was anything but relaxing.