“Tell them to let up. We're not getting it done that way.” Jazz flashed a hologram into the center of the room. Looking over the blueprints to the facility, she pointed to a section on the other side of the secured office that interested her. The section enlarged, popping into a video feed of the submariner's launch just outside of the office.
“Mr Haas' private dock?” the captain asked.
“Accessible?”
The captain pointed to a section of the map directly above them. “If you go up a floor and dive down or crawl down the face of the facility, you might be able to loop around to get in. The submarine has a direct link to the doors on the dockside.”
“That's probably how they got in. I'll take the Dobies with me and try it. Keep your men here. Be ready to exfil Haas when I open those doors.” Jazz said while running down the hall.
“You'll freeze before you make it to the launch bay on that swim.” Keebora called after them.
“Then I'll see you in the Twin Hells.”
The trio packed into the elevator for a lift to the next floor. The doors flashed open, revealing an empty level with periodic bits of equipment covered in plastic sheeting strewn throughout the hall. It had an antiseptic smell, reminding Jazz of a hospital or lab.
She'd been to plenty of each over the many years since the war. There were more than a few upsides to being in a humanoid shell. She could smell, taste, and touch all of the galaxy's magnificent experiences. The one downside to her treasured existence was pain. Having flesh meant having early warning systems to protect it. She wished someone would've told her those systems don't use a HUD or text message to get their point across. Instead, it was suffering wrapped in a cold, hard ache. Some design.
She sprinted down the hall, propelled by the ultra-frame she'd been issued. Jazz would've preferred to use her Dreadmarr armor, but the client had insisted she cypher-cast into a cloned body rather than traveling in a more traditional method. This had cost her the standard complement of gear she carried in return for being able to slip by any enemy defenses to contact the client during the height of the intrusion. The benefit of the ultra-frame was that she was at the end of the hall faster than she would have been with her own kit.
Checking her environmental seals, Jazz hit the plate for the door release. Wind swept into the hall, casting about the plastic covers in a haunted fashion. She jumped out to the dock, shattering ice with each step on her rush to the edge. “Both of you climb the outside of the facility down to the launch. Once there, crawl up and reinforce my position as we make our way into the room. Mr. Haas is not to be harmed. You will not take any direct action that puts him in danger.”
“Understood!” both mechs said in unison, the digital reverberation of their voices echoing strangely across the water.
Jazz risked a look up, seeing all the way to the dark, cloud-strewn sky. This particular dock held a sub launch and a landing pad for VTOL enabled vehicles. Not seeing anything like a drone or ship hovering above her, she never slowed her sprint to the edge of the mooring. She dove into the water, letting the weight of the ultra-frame drag her below the surface. Two splashes later, One-Six and Nine-Four were crawling their way down the ice-strewn building that looked more like an iceberg than it did a structure.
Warning indicators eclipsed her vision, making sure that they had prime real estate in the HUD so she wouldn't miss their message.
WARNING: DANGEROUS TEMPERATURE LEVELS DETECTED.
WARNING: DANGEROUS PRESSURE LEVELS DETECTED.
GUNNAR EXRAY SEVEN NOT RATED FOR EXTREME ENVIRONMENT
RETURN TO DRY DOCK
Norris’ face flashed on her screen. “I’m getting some warnings on your armor. Need I remind you that even though you are in that enhanced body, the dangers of the environment are still dangerous?”
She didn’t answer. Norris was the chatty type. More so lately since this whole Lasher thing had kicked off. Jazz was content to serve as his personal hammer when he needed one, but she’d draw the line at needing his advice. The Gunnar X7 ultra-frame was well suited to Halikos’ harsh environment in the event they had to go outside. It just wasn’t rated against the extreme cold and crushing pressure of being this deep in the ocean. Of course, this all had to do with being an operator owning a basic knowledge of the system, which she wasn’t. The Dreadmarr live in their armor as a second skin, tailoring it along the course of their lives to become the perfect complement to their skill as soldiers.
Jazz activated the power shield, exciting the water in a bubbling flash that tickled against her myoprene suit. A wisp of crimson crossed her vision, prompting the armor to flash more text across the HUD. Of course Norris would prefer chatty armor.
TEMPERATURE NORMALIZING.
PRESSURE AT DANGEROUS LEVELS.
SHIELD REDUCED TO 82%
She withdrew the phase knife from her belt, activating the shivering blade. It pulsed, the weapon going in and out of phase with reality, trailing bubbles from the effect displacing water, then shunting it to somewhere else along its surface. She struck the outside of the building, slowing her descent into the abyss.
SHIELD REDUCED TO 58%.
FOUR MINUTES UNTIL SHIELD FAILURE
Looking below the overhang she attached to, she saw a shimmering disc of water where the sub launch should be. She aimed her gauntlet at the disc, waiting for the targeting algorithms to factor in pressure, water density, and distance to optimize what would come next. A shadow dashed across the corner of her HUD, interrupting her firing off the next part of her plan.
Tendrils wrapped around her ankle, yanking the Fallen Dreadmarr from her perch at the bottom of the structure. She whirled in time to see a mammoth writhing creature. It looked like a giant eel whose back end broke into a tangle of tentacles. The maw at the front was lined with baleen rather than teeth, with fins on both dorsal and ventral sides. When the mouth closed, Jazz saw the dense bony ridges along its skull's surface. Central to the undulating mass of horn-barbed tentacles was a beak like mouth with a protruding jaw of jigsaw teeth. While the shield held firm, it was sparking from the toothy appendages trying to puncture through.
SHIELD REDUCED TO 31%.
SHIELD FAILURE IMMINENT.
RETURN TO DRY DOCK.
“Mute all warnings!” Jazz hissed. Taking hold of the tentacle, she bent it against its considerable strength. Judging by its size, this thing probably took out whales and all sorts of giant marine life. It wouldn’t have a problem dragging her to the ocean floor to make a meal of her. A second, then a third tentacle enveloped her, trying to pull her straight so the beak snapping at the base of the tangle would have an easy time chomping down on her squishy bits. Placing her other foot beside her first, she relented to the other arms dragging her, adding to her force against the grab of her leg. Something inside the tendril popped, and the creature flailed about to unhand her, thumping her away back toward the motor launch.
The shimmer was too far away now. There was no way to accomplish a launch of the suit’s grappling line to pull her directly to the vehicle bay. She’d have to improvise firing to the corner of the building, pulling her to the Doberman mechs waiting for her. The spiked piton locked itself on the glacier face, immediately triggering the built in winch to haul her out of the depths. She strained against the system, nearly pulling her arm off, trying to keep her body straight to cut down on the resistance of the water.
“One-Six, coming to you!” Jazz called into the comms.
SYSTEM OVERRIDE.
SHIELD FAILURE.
PRESSURE WARNING – SUIT FAILURE IMMINENT.
Just ahead, the Dobermans were firing past her. Blaster bolts seared through the depths as rays of brilliant light hazing out the darkness. Looking past her feet, the last thing Jazz saw as the pressure crushed the consciousness from her was the rapidly closing form of the monster she’d just left, trying to get reacquainted.
The Fallen Dreadmarr flashed awake, gulping in vast amounts of recycled air laying a
cross a grated floor. Her helmet was close to her leg, sitting upright with its visor staring at her accusingly. The sensor suite on top of One-Six was studying her, most likely attempting readings now that her helmet was off.
“Thanks for the assist, boys. You guys are aces!” Jazz said, patting one of the immense robots.
A rotary arm swiveled from outside the mech, handing her helmet back. She brushed it away, instead focusing on getting up. Unlike the dock they’d just left, this one had a controlled atmosphere. She took a moment to savor the regular air in her lungs before stuffing her head back into her helmet. Unfortunately, she was still on the clock which meant she couldn’t just stand here breathing. She brought up a holo over her wrist, assessing her injuries. One arm was strained, easily handled with suit-injected meds until this was over. The armor was also sealing several fissures that had formed when the shield had failed, resulting in wide sweeping pain from decompression sickness. Wouldn’t do any good to rush in to help the client if she doubled over in pain from air bubbles forming in her blood.
A blinking light on the screen drew her attention. “Is that why you wanted me to put on the helmet? You trying to tell me something?”
One-six: STILL NO CONTACT WITH PRINCIPAL.
One-Six: SUBMARINE IS INTACT.
“Sheesh! And I thought I was pushy.” She thrust her helmet back on, bringing up the medical display to see if she was well enough to move. The pressure cycling from the armor would take another few minutes, which meant she could move about, albeit uncomfortably. She raced to the end of the dock, keying the entry for the hatch. Jumping into the submarine, Jazz slapped through the control screens until she found what she was looking for. “Boys, get ready for anything!”
The heavy blast doors jumped apart, venting steam from the warmer environment. The two Dobermans flanked the space, careful not to expose themselves to anything that could shoot from the room.
“Nine-Four facing out, One-Six facing in.” Jazz activated the sensor suite on the ultra-frame, working through different modes to give her the broadest spectrum possible for when she entered the room. “Mr. Haas? It’s Jassinia Nox. I’m coming in.”
Haas sat behind an expansive desk, dominating a good portion of the room. The window behind him had a view of the depths, various sea creatures periodically moving in front of the screen to break up the boredom of the view. The office had everything a panic room could offer, much like a studio apartment in the finest neighborhoods on Mylos. The CEO wore a confused look on his face as he stared at her intrusion with her rifle up in front of two heavily armed Doberman assault mechs. “Would you care to tell me what’s going on? I’ve been trying to call anyone for the last several minutes. Coms are down with the security team. I can hear Norris but can’t talk to him. There was nothing from you either.”
For decades, Jazz had lived in a real flesh and blood body, after escaping the confines of an Exodus ship’s core control matrix. She’d experienced many of the pleasures and pain associated with a biological form, but there was one she’d never become accustomed to. The shiver that ran up the back of her neck from her realizing all too late that something was wrong was at once both annoying and frightening.
Spinning on her heel, she put two shots into the plate for the door control. Something outside her field of view pushed One-Six into the doors as they slid shut. The mech was caught in between the heavy slabs of duradium, unable to escape being pressed by the closing portal. Several shots rang out from Nine-Four's blaster turrets, outside of Jazz’s vision, lighting up the outside of the motor launch.
“Get behind the desk!” Jazz shouted. She slid toward the center island in the kitchen, coming to rest on her belly in a prone, unsupported shooting posture. She cursed herself for telling him to use the desk as cover, that being the closest thing to get him safely out of the line of fire. The desk was Mylosi Black Vender Glass and could take a hit from an Atlatl launcher. The problem was that it was in line with the exit jammed open with a wriggling Doberman mech. The second she had a bead on someone she’d have to draw the fire to her rather than risk the over pressure or debris from an explosion damaging the client on the other side of his hiding spot. She should have put him in the bathroom.
A shock wave outside blew chunks of armor across the elegant floor, making tinkling noises as the echo from the blast died down. One-Six pushed up from the floor, trying to free itself from the grip on the blast doors. Several slashing sounds marked the bot’s death as something pierced its armor all the way to its control matrix, showering the floor in a cascade of sparks.
A lithe woman in shining black armor over a flight suit and full-faced helmet glided under the ruined One-Six, coming to rest halfway between the mech and the desk. Rolling left and right, she dodged repeated blaster fire from Jazz’s weapon. The intruder dove to the side, using part of the desk away from Haas as cover.
Jazz sprinted across the open floor, catapulting off the lush furniture to the top of the desk. She put a flurry of bolts toward the assailant she was now above, cursing not being able to hit her target. A hard slam against the desk sent Jazz sprawling onto her back. “Bathroom now!”
The fighter rose, looking to take a shot with a wicked carbine. Jazz kicked the rifle, thankful that she seemed to be a better kickboxer today than she was a shooter. Using the momentum of the attack, she rolled onto the floor, sprinting once she hit her feet. She collided with the other woman, having her momentum redirected into a throw that sent her crashing into the wall, leaving a formerly brilliant minimalist piece by the Core Worlds painter, Silvah, in tatters on the floor.
“You’re not taking him.” Jazz growled.
The other woman’s voice hissed through external speakers. “You can’t stop me.”
“My armor can take whatever that blaster can dish out, right before I feed it to you.”
“Is that what you think, traitor?” The intruder’s face mask, a beak-like visage of sculpted resicarbon, peeled back.
Jazz didn't recognize her. She was pretty in a rough-shod sort of way, but nothing stood out so much as to give away her identity. She was just about to pull the trigger again when she noticed it. A line of ancient script across what looked like armor, only it was the sculpted metal of a bionic arm. The Exiles from the fleet who'd kept in touch had been trading in rumors about a new Sentinel acting as a reaper throughout the Frontier. Those who'd escaped her had all mentioned the same saying sculpted on her forearm. Officium sine nomine. Service without name.
Both women rushed, slamming together in a tangle of choreographed violence. A head smashed against the desk. A foot kicked out dropping a combatant to the floor. With each flash, they smashed some part of the apartment to ruins. Bits of stone, glass, and fluff littered the air as the two fighters traded whatever was the preferred version of assault for that exchange.
“I didn't come this far to be taken out by some wannabe cyborg enforcer!” Jazz roared into the woman's face. She batted away the carbine to get a better hold around her throat. Throttling her high into the air, the Dreadmarr brought her in an arc to slam head first, shattering the floor.
The intruder lay motionless. Jazz aimed her blaster toward the woman's head. Her motionless adversary went from immobile to hostile, making a sound like an old blade clearing a scabbard, followed by a flash in her vision. She attempted to pull the trigger, bringing her eyes level with two empty stumps where her arms should be.
Auto-sealing nanites flooded the ends of her arms, cauterizing the wounds from dumping liters of bodily fluid onto the cracked surface. She slammed her foot down, trying to stamp out the life from her assailant. When her foot crushed more of the once elegant stone floor, the intruder whirled her legs, tripping Jazz beside her. She came up quick, pushing a blaster pistol into the back of the Fallen Dreadmarr's helmet.
“Mara, it's Kat. Security down here is dealt with. We have Target One. Target Two should be on the move to you, now.” There was a pause as she changed channels in the interface o
f her HUD. “Move again and I punch the contents of your skull across the room. Even that lovely lid isn't strong enough to protect you from that.”
Kat dragged Jazz to the desk, slapping her hard enough against the Vender glass to crack it. Fiddling with a hologram above her wrist, Katarina, long time shipmate of Orin Lashra, broke her long imposed radio silence. “Boys! You'd better not be sleeping up there.”
“Good to hear your voice again! You causing trouble down there?”
“Yuzheff, you should know me better than that.”
Another voice drifted into the comms, “So you need an immediate dust off because something's going to blow?”
“No, Tolin. What I need is an immediate scan of the surrounding facilities to make sure we're not going to get molly whomped. Can you do that for me?”
She could almost feel the giant horned simian shifting in his seat trying to figure out what molly whomped meant. Yuzheff, AKA Yu, was a native of the planet Tythian. A dear friend to the former crime lord, Kel Durado, the giant long-limbed pilot had flown their ship through impossible odds to great success. The crew of the Baby Doll had been thick as thieves until the Dreadmarr soldier, Singh, had taken Lasher.
Tollin keyed the comm, his voice academic as always. “We have, what appears to be a mass mobilization of forces from three nearby facilities. They are moving via submarine to the various wet docks on your structure.”
“Moon pools,” Yu said.
“What?”
“The humans like to call them moon pools.” Yu noted to his simian friend.
Kat tried not to laugh at Tolin's exasperated huff through the coms. “Fine, you have an invasion force heading toward your moon pools! Best to finish phase two and get this done. They have AI piloted fighters locking down the airspace. When you're on the way out, let me know so we can clear things up here.”
“You going to fly down to my moon pool to scoop us up?” Kat said on the verge of hysterics.
The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3) Page 25
