Lord Banshee Lunatic (Nightmare Wars Book 3)

by Russell Redman

  With that how-bad-can-it-be sensation, we returned past the dark hallway that led to WR87-19 and continued north to the next cross-corridor. Two sliding doors blocked the entrances to the east and west sections of the other corridor. The door blocking the next section of C35 was hinged far enough past the intersection that it could swing all the way open into a recess on the wall. Following our usual drill, we flattened against the wall behind the door as I unlocked and opened it a bit.

  Bullets cracked against the door and one binged along the corridor before embedding itself in a garbage bin. Someone behind the door shouted, “Die, rebel scum!”

  Several more voices began shouting, similar sentiments but more extreme and all jumbled together. Hysterical, angry, fearful, the kinds of sounds people make when facing a mortal threat that they cannot defeat. Corporal Mirza began to squirm silently.

  Nasruddin/private, “The corporal seems disturbed. I want to try something.”

  Nasruddin asked, “Corporal Mirza, could you speak with them? Tell them to put down their weapons. We don’t want to fight them if we don’t have to.”

  The corporal stepped away from the wall, walked closer to the door and called, “This is Corporal Konstantine Mirza of the Vallis Patriotic Force, Alpes Division. Identify yourselves.”

  From beyond the door, someone answered, “Mirza? What happened to Tsung? I’m Private Yang Isabella, Snellius Division. Are you alone? What happened to your officers?”

  Mirza replied, “Isabella? Tsung was killed in a pointless attack on the TDF. I have no idea why our sergeant ordered it. Then we were called to another firefight, but our officers ran through a door that closed in front of us. We were trapped until the real TDF arrived. We are with them now. Who is in charge with you?”

  There was quiet for a moment, then another voice answered. “Private Melenchon Karishma. Both our officers are dead. They went mad. Corporal tried to shoot the sergeant. Sergeant shot the corporal, then himself. Now, no one is in charge. Yang and I are the only ones who had practiced leading a patrol during training, so we are trying to be leaders but we have no idea what to do.”

  Yang continued, “It feels like hours since the doors slammed shut and the lights went out. We have been trapped by ourselves in the darkness. Can we come out?”

  Nasruddin stepped closer. “TDF Commander Nasruddin speaking. Come out, one at a time. Keep your weapons but hold them over your heads as you come through the door.”

  He waved the guards forward, spread across the corridor in a line, then had them lie prone to present smaller targets. He also waved the rest of our VPF soldiers forward except the two who were guarding our suspect rebels. These he formed into a line standing at attention behind Corporal Mirza, a kind of almost-honour guard welcoming their comrades back into the light.

  Mirza seemed to recognize what was expected and stood beside the gap I had opened in the door. I opened it just wide enough for them to come through. He directed them to announce their names, shoulder arms, and fall in at the end of the line. Last out were Karishma and Yang, who were shepherding the others forward.

  Nasruddin reordered them into three rows. I was counting seconds until the air tanks exploded in the airtight room, but recognized the importance of what he was doing. He gave them a one-minute summary of who we were and where we were going. Several of the new soldiers were sent to help carry and guard our prisoners, then we formed up to advance through the dark hall. Two and Three took their places with me, One and Five stepped up beside the soldiers, and Four fell back to help guard the prisoners.

  I swung the door wide open. Those of us with armour switched on our headlamps. The maintenance workers and public officers carried lights that clipped onto their shoulder belts. Everyone else kept as close to the middle of the pack as they could. It occurred to me that the staff of the Public Office were still with us, although they could have stayed with the civilians making their way home in the previous section. It was a touching gesture of faith but belatedly felt more than a little foolish. Regardless, we marched into the dark corridor, dodging past the bloody corpses of the two officers.

  I urged Two and Three to push me closer to the new soldiers, calling Nasruddin to ask them for a report on conditions ahead. Unfortunately, they had come through just before things got exciting. At that time, Renoir Street had been largely clear of people and the few they had encountered ducked into doorways as they approached. They had heard a muffled explosion as the lights went out. Since then, there had been a few quieter thumps that may have been secondary explosions or fighting on Renoir.

  As we approached the door to Renoir, we could hear somebody banging on a door up ahead. As we drew closer, we realized that the banging was not coming from the door onto Renoir, but from the last building on the right, which faced onto Renoir but had a service entrance from the corridor.

  I tried to open the door and heard a click as it unlocked, but it did not move. No power, of course. Locks had small backup supplies so people with sufficient authorization could unlock them, but the door itself required real power to move.

  The banging stopped immediately. It was hard to hear anything through the heavy steel plate, but easy to imagine a panicky reaction when the occupants realized that some unknown person had unlocked their door without permission. I considered the banging to be a request for help but had to admit it was ambiguous.

  We all stepped back, away from the possible line of fire. After a few minutes, I asked One to knock on the door, trying to be polite after my indiscretion with the lock. Very slowly, someone inside the building opened the door a crack.

  A fearful voice asked, “Who is out there?”

  Nasruddin stepped forward. “Excuse us, Sir, we are a small detachment of TDF guards, a patrol of soldiers and a number of Public Officers and city workers. We are clearing the corridors of people who were trapped when the airtight doors closed and the power failed. We heard you banging on the door and were concerned that you might need help.”

  From inside, “No, we don’t. Go away.”

  Nasruddin tried a different approach. “Excuse us again, Sir, but it is dark out here and the corridor doors are closed. Do you have any idea what is happening on Renoir Street? We are about to open the door and would appreciate any information you have about the current conditions.”

  From inside, “There is a crapload of soldiers on Renoir. It is dark as damnation. We have no lights either. We hoped to escape into the corridor, but if it is also dark and filled with soldiers we might as well stay put. We are going to close and lock the door again. Please go away and leave us in peace.”

  The door banged shut. I did not hear the lock click and guessed that the current occupants did not possess the key, so I locked it again for them. As an afterthought, I wondered if the banging had been them attempting to disassemble the door to override the lock.

  I had Three roll me up to the door onto Renoir and asked everyone to be silent. I butted my helmet against the door and turned up my microphones. I could clearly hear a whispered conversation amongst the soldiers and had to hush them again. Nothing coherent came through, just a low mumble that might have been quiet conversations or the moaning of injured soldiers. There was nothing that sounded like gunfire or screaming. It was not a definitive test, but it seemed unlikely that we were facing a firefight, so I called the guards forward and unlocked the door.

  It was a split door that opened on each side to lie flat against the walls of the corridor. It was also massive, much bigger and sturdier than the doors to individual buildings. The doors into buildings always opened inwards; a pressure drop in either the corridor or street would force one of the doors shut even without power. The motors that drove these monsters had to close them against of a quarter of an atmosphere of air pressure on the other side.

  We would never move the door by direct pushing or pulling, but we had both maintenance workers and Public Officers in our party. Both knew where the emergency power could be turned on and where a han
d crank existed for truly desperate emergencies. The rest of us stood back as their cliplights moved around in the inky darkness. Finally, we all doused our lights as Guy and Dado manned the hand crank to winch the right-hand door slowly open a notch.

  Guard One moved up to look through the crack. Even from a distance, we could see headlamps and cliplights moving around and could hear people talking in the darkness, as well as groaning and occasional muffled curses. One drifted back to let Nasruddin step up to the crack. He angled his helmet to position an external microphone beside the crack when there was sudden shouting, “BEWARE! REBELS IN THE CORRIDOR!”

  Nasruddin jumped back from the crack and turned his light back on. Bullets cracked off the door and a few whickered by into the darkness.

  “CEASE FIRE! This is Commander Nasruddin of the TDF with a party of people we found in the corridors. Who is out there?”

  I expected he had turned up his microphones and was half deafened by the shouting. I could hear a clatter and shuffle outside, until a commanding voice stated, “There is no such person in the TDF. Lay down your weapons and surrender, rebels.”

  Nasruddin replied, “Check again. I am a marine commander from the TDF battleship Mao, currently on special assignment.”

  The voice, with considerable irritation, replied, “How the hell am I supposed to verify that with the comm down? Lay down your weapons and surrender or I will be forced to take measures.”

  I tried to send Nasruddin a bit of advice by comm and realized the outside voice was right. The comm was not drowned by static; it was down completely. I had imagined our poor reception was due to the DDoS, but around here it was probably just the power outage.

  I called out loud, “Wait, everybody, please stop arguing. I need to check something. Three, take me back to Sergeant Nguyen.”

  Three obliged, but there was angry confusion outside the door at this inexplicable request. I ignored it. The sergeant was standing in her immobile armour, propped up by two soldiers. She looked stunned, bewildered and fearful. I was reminded of a bird with its feet trapped in resin, surrounded by cats.

  “Sergeant Nguyen, I believe you should now be completely free of the voices that have been tormenting you. You are entitled to the genuine beliefs that you hold, but those voices were not part of any legitimate chain of command. How do you feel right now?”

  She looked at me, a pale white figure in the dark corridor, illuminated mostly by my own headlight reflected off her armour. Her teeth chattered with fear, but the soldiers on either side tried to calm her down with soothing words. She finally whispered, “Where am I? What happened? I can’t move. Who are you? You are all as pale as ghosts. Am I dead already? Is this hell?”

  I replied, “You are in Orientale Tereshkova, fairly close to the TDF base. Nothing is badly wrong, but in this part of the city the power has failed and the comm is off completely. I can assure you that you are quite alive and free from the voices that gave you false orders through the comm. We are friends and are trying to link up with the TDF to help restore order.

  “I gave you two tokens earlier. Could you install them now? They will prevent the voices from tormenting you ever again.”

  It was not clear whether any of that got through, nor could I tell whether she had installed the tokens. Finally, though, she seemed to focus on me.

  “Ghost, you carry no rank, no name. You are dead white and faceless. Who are you?”

  “Please,” I replied, “I prefer to be known as Agent Wheels in our current company and I admit that is not my real name. There has been considerable trouble in the city today. Until we are safely inside the TDF perimeter, I cannot expose my proper insignia without inviting even more trouble. Even Commander Nasruddin is working under an official alias today. Have you installed the tokens?”

  She still looked unhinged. “If this is not hell, then you must be the ghost of my grandfather, come to save me from my stupidity. Again, as always. Grandfather, what can I do? I have sworn allegiance to the evil voices who tried to make me kill myself, who told me to kill my friends, my soldiers, and my neighbours, and then MADE me do it. I deserve to be in hell forever.”

  I let out a big sigh. “Sergeant, I expect your grandfather is here with you, along with his father and grandfather. Your grandmothers will sit in the Council of Judgement. Stand before them with a contrite heart and a proper shame for your offences. I am sure they will be just, and lenient within that justice.

  She hissed, “I will accept no judgements from those witches."

  Looking contrite, she continued, "Grandfather, you are the kindest soul I ever met. I know you want me to forgive them, but I can’t! They wanted me dead. They drove you to suicide. How can I forgive them?

  She looked around at the dots of light and shadowy figures moving in the darkness. “Councillors, I beg that you not judge me as they did. Grandmother Kunchuga despised me as a disgrace to the family, as though I was the one who got pregnant. She raised my mother to be a selfish, drug-addled bitch, who slutted herself at fourteen, beat me as a baby, and died from an overdose when I was three. Grandmother Nguyen was the self-righteous hypocrite who sold drugs to my worthless mother. Her son Vlad gave me my surname, although the witch denied I was her granddaughter even after the Genetic Database proved I was. Vlad was an underage moron when he tried to be a man and managed to electrocute himself in his first job as a janitor. I was born into contempt and abuse.

  “Grandfather Kunchuga, you were the only one who cared, the only one willing to raise me. I thought I was finally doing something you would approve of when I joined up, but here I am again, a worthless failure. Even my employers want me dead.”

  I could not let her plea go unanswered. “Sergeant Nguyen, I don’t know who your employers are. I strongly suspect that the orders to commit murder and the contempt you received through the comm came from our mutual enemies, not from the people who hired you. But I’m not your grandfather nor any kind of spirit, just someone wearing white armour.”

  She moaned in despair, finally hearing what I was saying. “Then I am alone, truly alone. No one cares anymore.”

  Her face showed utter desolation. I was sure she was no longer speaking to me when she murmured, “Oh, Spirit of my Grandfather, let me die and end the shame.”

  I tried again to catch her attention, “Sergeant Nguyen, you are surrounded by people who want to help. We have not been very good at it, but I know one thing that will work. Please, have you installed the tokens?”

  She whispered, “I don’t know how.”

  Behind me, one of the Public Officers spoke up. “Sergeant, was your grandfather Cedric Kunchuga? Ahhh, then I must apologize to you on behalf of the entire Lunar Government. We failed him so terribly. I did not realize he even had dependents left alive, yet that disaster happened so long ago you must have been quite young.”

  The sergeant jerked as if insulted. “I don’t need your pity. I left home when I was twelve because I couldn’t stand the endless fights with Grandmother Kunchuga. Grandfather helped when he could and saved me from my worst mistakes. I had my own friends. I got along just fine without your help.”

  The officer replied, “Then please accept my shame for our failures. Nothing that happened to you sounds the least bit fine to me. Did you know that all new Public Officers learn about your grandfather’s case as an example of what not to do? He was afflicted by a long string of mistakes, cover-ups, lies and abuse. I’m less aware of trouble from Silvia Nguyen, but it is easy to believe that Zoe Kunchuga drove her husband to suicide. Regardless, we share the blame. He died in large part because of our indifference to his trouble and our failure to act in his defence.

  “I’m afraid Silvia Nguyen took the drugs she peddled and is beyond our justice now, but Zoe Kunchuga still has friends amongst people who owe her money. So far, that has preserved her from justice. She has successfully blocked every investigation, destroyed some evidence, and buried the proceedings in committees and litigation, all by bribing the ri
ght people. I’ve heard rumours that she is trying to worm her way into the Viceroy’s government. I fear she will be a baleful influence if she succeeds.

  “However, none of the documents I have seen even mention your existence. If we can establish your genetic relationship, the whole case might be re-opened. You and your grandfather might yet receive some justice. It will be very dangerous but we collectively owe you the protection you have not received before.

  “You needed help the moment your mother conceived, but did not get it. We failed you continually as a child and the failure continued after you left home. I’m glad you had friends but we should have been among them. Even in the TDF, you have rights and we have responsibilities. May I talk with you as we go, at least until you can rejoin your unit?”

  I added, “I am still failing you, sergeant. Whoever installed your comm unit should have enabled the interface for you to install security updates. Clearly, they did not, nor have they maintained the system properly themselves. I can do nothing about that while we remain in a place so utterly without comm and when we move into a district that does have comm you will be subject to the voices again.”

  Nasruddin spoke from behind me. “We have a possible solution and we really need to keep moving. May I introduce Hacker Felicia Edozie, a field agent for Law Enforcement’s Communications Branch who came when the power failed. She has been attempting to repair enough of the comm system that she can call a full team out to fix everything that was broken by the blast.

  “She is carrying a personal comm repeater and has all the latest updates and tokens. She should be able to help you harden your comm unit. She can enable the interfaces you will need to function in situations like this. It should only take a few minutes. When you rejoin your unit, you might have a better comm unit than your superior officers.”