Remote Control

by Jack Heath

  “Don’t trust your instincts today, Six. Think before you act.”

  The hand left Six’s mouth, and he fell to the floor. Landing feetfirst, he whirled around to see…

  …an empty corridor, gritty and gloomy, with pale dust stirred from the floor by a faint breeze.

  After searching the immediate area and finding no trace of the mystery woman, Six decided to take her advice. Alarmed as he was by the fact that he seemed to have been overpowered by a ghost, he realized that if she’d wanted to hurt or kill him, she would have done so when she had the chance. If she’d wanted to exploit him somehow, she would have given more specific and suspicious advice than “think before you act” and “don’t go in the front door.”

  The last possibility was that she was trying to help him, for whatever reason—and Six lost nothing by changing his search route slightly.

  He went inside the apartment she had suggested. It was unremarkable—glass and grit on the floor, wallpaper yellowing at the edges, a boarded-up window on one wall, and a single lightbulb above his head. There was a dirty sledgehammer lying in the corner, surrounded by brick dust. Perhaps someone had planned some renovations that never took place.

  The closet door was leaning against its frame rather than attached to it. The closet was empty except for one crinkled shirt, with a large coffee stain, on a coat hanger. Six slid it gently aside and saw that there was indeed a hole—about one meter square and presumably made with the sledgehammer—leading to the next apartment.

  And through it, he saw the face of Methryn Crexe.

  The former Lab boss was sitting on a rickety wooden chair, facing the door to the apartment, with a Hawk 9-millimeter pistol in his hand. Crexe hadn’t seen Six yet. His eyes stared straight ahead at the door. His gun hand was perfectly still.

  Was this what the mystery woman had been trying to warn him about? Six thought. He wants you to shoot before you think, she had said. It seems like a game, but it’s not.

  Why would Crexe want Six to shoot him? And why lie in wait in a room of this ancient apartment building? Crexe would probably know that Six abhorred killing, and that he was hesitant to use lethal force, even in self-defense. But would he stake his own life upon that?

  He wants you to shoot, she’d said. None of this made sense.

  Six thought he heard a distant rattling sound. He took his eyes off Methryn Crexe for a moment to look over his shoulder, but the apartment was still empty.

  Could be Kyntak, he thought. Could be the other agents on the floor below. Could be just the wind, or the building shifting.

  Crexe didn’t seem to have heard the noise. His knuckles were white around the grip of the Hawk.

  Six leaned forward very slowly and put one leg through the hole in the closet, keeping his Owl trained on Crexe the whole time. His foot touched the dirty concrete without a sound. He slipped his torso through the hole into Crexe’s apartment.

  Six lifted his other leg through the hole, and stood in a defensive crouch, his gun aimed at Crexe’s temple.

  “Don’t move a single muscle,” he hissed.

  Crexe was still.

  “Drop the gun, and put your hands behind your head,” Six said. “Slowly.”

  Crexe ignored him completely. His gaze didn’t falter.

  Six lunged and grabbed the Hawk out of Crexe’s hand. He met no resistance. Crexe’s empty hand fell into his lap. His skin was ice-cold.

  Agent Six pressed two fingers against Methryn Crexe’s throat, searching for a pulse. There was none.

  Crexe’s narrow, focused eyes turned from the door to the ceiling as he pitched sideways off his chair, his delicate balance disrupted by Six’s touch. He landed with a thud on the concrete floor.

  He wants you to shoot before you think, the woman had said. He aims to deceive.

  So “he” was not Methryn Crexe, Six thought. And if I’d entered through the front door, I would’ve seen Methryn Crexe pointing a gun at me.

  I probably would have shot him.

  So “he” wanted Six to think that he’d killed Methryn Crexe? He’s trying to put you off balance, she had said. To unnerve him, confuse him?

  “Six, where are you?” It was Kyntak. “My half of the floor is clear.”

  “Copy that,” Six said. “The rest of the team can move up. I’ve found Crexe—he’s dead. I’m in the room with the closed door. Come and meet me.”

  Six’s earpiece crackled. “This is Agent Two; we’re on our way.”

  If someone was trying to confuse or unnerve me, Six thought, they’ve succeeded. Methryn Crexe escapes from the Deck. Blood at the scene leads us to an abandoned apartment block. All the occupants have vanished, leaving only a pile of phones and Methryn Crexe’s corpse behind, arranged in such a way as to try to force me into a one-sided gunfight…and in the middle of it all, a strong, fast, seemingly invisible woman gives me a warning that is too cryptic to be useful.

  This is too weird for ChaoSonic. It must be something else.

  What if I had fired? Six thought. Crexe’s body would’ve been damaged—perhaps there was a clue which could’ve been destroyed by the shot. But why leave the body here for them to find if it had evidence on it?

  He thought of the mystery woman’s words. All hell is about to break loose, but you can survive it, if you’re careful.

  What else would have happened if he had shot Crexe? The noise would have carried—and the other agents would have heard it. They would have raced up here to the second floor to back him up…

  Kyntak and Agents Two, Four, Five, Eight, Nine, and Ten would all have been on this floor, where they were headed right now anyway…

  There was a scuffle, close. Six whirled around, but the room was empty. Crexe stared blankly up at him.

  “Two,” Six hissed into his radio. “Wait! Are you on the second floor yet?”

  “Just arrived. Why?”

  “I think—” Six broke off. He was looking up at the ceiling, at the small holes that riddled it.

  In one of them, just for a moment, he had seen an eye staring at him.

  “We have hostiles,” Six yelled. “There are hostiles on the roof!”

  And then the ceiling exploded into millions of tiny concrete chunks.

  PINNED DOWN

  The gunfire shrieked through the air as Six dived for cover. The ceiling was gone, just gone, leaving the sky exposed. Fog flooded down to fill the room. Six felt as though he’d been hiding in a box and someone had lifted up the lid.

  The attackers were dressed in black fatigues, with gleaming gas masks and Kevlar combat vests. They were armed to the teeth, hefting Eagle OI779 automatic rifles fitted with laser sights and Raptor sidearms. PGC387 stun grenades and long diamond-edged Feather knives hung from their belts, along with devices that looked curiously like TV remotes in synthetic rubber holsters.

  Six landed with a thud, elbow first, as bullets tore over his head and ripped the wall behind him to shreds. A pair of armored combat boots landed beside him. He grabbed them and pulled.

  There was a growl of surprise as the man lost his balance. He landed on his back, and Six punched him in the head.

  The man kept struggling, his skull protected by the gas mask. Six ripped it off, sending shards of plastic buckles flying, and jabbed a gland in the assailant’s throat. He slumped to the floor immediately.

  There were five attackers in the room now, but Six noticed that the gunfire didn’t seem to be directed at him. It was aimed at the walls, shredding plaster and cracking bricks, leaving holes like the ones Six had noticed in the now-demolished ceiling. They seemed intent on making a lot of noise and creating panic, but the force used didn’t seem to have lethal intent.

  Or maybe it did. One of the attackers in the room had spotted Six on the ground next to the unconscious man and was leveling his Eagle.

  “Surprise,” Six said as he pulled the pin out of one of the PGCs on the unconscious man’s belt.

  In the moments before the explosion, he scram
bled to his feet and dived for the bullet-riddled door, shutting his eyes tightly.

  Crack!

  The white light was dazzling even through his eyelids. The sound of the grenade bursting mingled with the crunching of the door as Six plunged headfirst through it.

  The stun grenade didn’t disorient the soldiers for long—the goggles in their gas masks protected them from much of the impact. But they were still blinded for a moment, and when that moment was over, Six was gone.

  Outside in the corridor, Six took a quick look around—and his jaw dropped.

  It wasn’t just the ceiling to Crexe’s room that had been demolished. The attackers had blown the roof off the entire building. And out here in the corridor, there were more than thirty men storming out of the fog, firing bullets into the walls and scanning the corridor with goggled eyes.

  Nine’s voice echoed through Six’s head. What if it’s a diversion? We’ve got our eight best agents here on this. If there was a perfect time to attack the Deck, wouldn’t it be now?

  Perhaps it wasn’t a diversion intended to leave the Deck unprotected; instead, it was a trap for the best agents. Lure them here, then exterminate them—crippling the Deck.

  But why do that with a platoon of soldiers? Why the elaborate trap with Dehayt’s blood and Crexe’s body? Why not just blow up the building once the agents were inside?

  Boom!

  As if on cue, the floor shook beneath Six’s feet, and he staggered against a bullet-peppered wall. For a moment he thought the building was being blown up; but no, the foundation stood. The shock wave had come from nearby, but destroying the building clearly wasn’t the aim.

  Six pointed his Owl at the crowd of attackers. Whoever they are, he thought, whatever their motives may be, they’ve underestimated me. We’ll see who cripples whom.

  Six opened fire, emptying the entire eighteen-shot clip into the crowd. Nine of the soldiers were hit in both knees—but not a single one fell.

  The armor seemed to cover their entire bodies. All Six’s shots had done was attract their attention.

  Thirty soldiers turned as one to face him, and leveled their rifles.

  Maybe I should have used a grenade, thought Six.

  He turned and ran.

  Bullets chattered over his head and slammed into the roofless walls, cracking the plaster and spilling brick dust into the corridor. The fog smothered everything, like a cold, grey blanket. The soldiers were dim shapes and shadows behind him—but the bullets were still very solid.

  Six dived to one side, into a doorless apartment. He crouched behind the wall and tapped his earpiece.

  “This is Agent Six,” he hissed. “Two, do you copy?”

  “I read you, Six,” came the reply. “What’s your status?”

  “I’m hiding. Don’t worry about me, I’m safe. Where are you?”

  Six kept his voice low. He could hear the troops moving about in the corridor outside—getting closer, he thought.

  “The whole team is pinned down in one of the apartments. The enemy knows we’re here, and they don’t seem scared of our bullets. I reckon we’ve got maybe a minute before they move in. After that, we’re dead.”

  Six clenched his fists. This has been well planned, he thought. We’re lucky to still be alive now. Almost too lucky.

  “Two,” he hissed. “Get back to the south stairwell. Don’t use the corridors—climb over the walls between the apartments. Get two agents to lay down a suppressing fire through the doorway while you’re doing it. Tell them to throw a grenade before pulling back. I’ll meet you at the stairs. Do you copy?”

  “Copy that, Six. Wish us luck.”

  The gunfire outside seemed to be getting nearer. A lone bullet punched a hole in the wall above Six’s head. He ducked lower. “Kyntak! Where are you?”

  “I’m in one of the apartments with a bunch of sleeping soldiers,” Kyntak’s voice crackled. “They’re not so tough. The backs of their necks aren’t armored, so you can knock ‘em out that way.”

  “The other agents are headed for the stairs,” Six said. “I suggest you follow suit.”

  “Retreat? Are you crazy? How’re we gonna find out who they are?”

  “Getting the agents out safely is more important, Kyntak. Understood?”

  “Got it. Good luck.”

  Six changed the frequency. “King, do you copy?”

  “I read you, Six. What’s going on?”

  “No time to explain. We’re retreating, but when the hostiles leave, I want to know where they go. Can you hack into a satellite above us?”

  “Downloading the pictures now. What the—”

  The radio crackled and died. Flat battery? Six thought. Not likely. The hostiles had to be jamming their communications.

  Outside in the corridor he heard the boom of a grenade. The Deck agents were headed for the stairwell. Time to go. Six sprinted out the door into the foggy corridor.

  The other agents emerged from the apartment nearest the stairwell as he arrived. He couldn’t see Kyntak anywhere. But Kyntak was superhuman. He wasn’t in as much danger as the other agents. Six knew they couldn’t wait for him. The stairs were the only way down, and that was where the soldiers would expect them to go. They all ran towards the stairwell door.

  It was a clever plan, Six thought. A double trap. Crexe was the bait for Six, and Six was the bait for the other agents. They hid on the roof, and demolished the ceiling once they were sure all the agents were on the top floor. Thanks to the mystery woman, it didn’t go quite as planned: Six didn’t fire his gun to make his colleagues come running. But it turned out the same way. They were up here, outgunned and outnumbered.

  But coming at us from above might be their undoing, Six thought. They’d left the stairs unguarded. They were putting too much faith in their strategy, which depended upon killing all the agents immediately. No one was stopping them from retreating downward. An image of the soldiers firing into the walls and floor sprung into Six’s mind. They don’t seem to be trying to kill us, he thought. It feels like we’re being toyed with.

  But all this was of secondary importance. What mattered was getting out of there—and even though their communications had been jammed, Six had managed to get a request for satellite monitoring through to King. They could puzzle over the motives of the mystery troops later.

  They had reached the door to the stairwell. Though they couldn’t see far behind them through the fog, falling like grey snow from the sky above, they had to assume that the hostiles were on their way. Six pulled open the door…

  …and gasped as he fell into open space. The stairs were gone. He caught himself on the door handle and pulled back, bumping into the agents behind him. The walls of the stairwell were charred and burned, and besides a pile of twisted aluminum debris about twenty meters below, there was no evidence that there had ever been stairs. The well looked more like an elevator shaft—without the elevator.

  Six remembered the silver box he had found attached to the wall, which he’d thought was a relay. Yes, it was designed to receive signals, but not so it could pass them on. It had been a bomb.

  The explosion he’d heard a few minutes ago had been the demolition of the stairs. The hostiles had been cleverer than he’d thought. They had cut off the escape route in advance.

  There was no other way down. They were all trapped on the second floor, with no roof above their heads.

  And now Six heard the whirling of helicopter blades.

  NO WAY DOWN

  We must look like rats in a maze, Six thought. Eight Deck agents hiding from thirty hostile troops in a roofless apartment block.

  “What are we going to do?” hissed Nine. “There’s no way down! That helicopter’s going to shoot us to pieces!”

  Six stared up into the fog. The silhouette of a big Twin-600 helicopter was forming above them. As it got closer Six saw a gunner leaning out of the side, scanning the corridors below. He was holding a bulky Pelican GN860—a super–machine gun capable o
f pumping out huge slugs at a rate of 900,000 per minute.

  Okay, focus! Six thought. What do they want?

  They want to kill us, he answered himself. But if that was the case, why hadn’t they? They could have blown up the building. They could have left the soldiers out of it completely and mown the agents down from the helicopter. There were a million methods for killing people more efficiently than this.

  So they’re not trying to kill us. Not all of us. They need something from us. But what? How can I form a strategy when I don’t know what they want?

  New thought. What didn’t they want? They didn’t want Methryn Crexe alive. Six frowned. What else had they done?

  They’ve blown up the stairs. Six’s eyes widened. So whatever it is they want from us, they can’t get it if we’re on the floor below.

  But there’s no way down!

  Think. Just because there are no stairs and no elevator, does that mean there’s no way down?

  He peered back into the stairwell. The stairs and landings were gone, and there were no hand or footholds in the walls. But the doors were still intact. If someone opened the one directly below them from the other side, they could drop down and grab hold of the doorway.

  Six whirled around to face the others.

  “Wait here,” he said. “Stay low. Don’t give away your position by firing, unless they see you and shoot first. I’m going to create a distraction, draw them away. Then I’ll come back for you.” He checked his watch. 12:09:48.

  “Six, the stairwell is a dead end,” Agent Five objected. “We’re sitting ducks here.”

  “We trust you, Six,” Two said, ignoring Five. “Go.”

  Six sprinted into the fog without another word.

  Three soldiers loomed out of the mist in the corridor in front of him, but Six didn’t slow down. He ran into a crouch-jump, hurling himself a meter and a half into the air, then slammed shoulder-first into the skull of one of the soldiers.

  Before the unlucky commando had even hit the ground, Six had executed a perfect landing and was back on his feet—with the other two troops on either side of him, leveling their weapons.