“He with them?” Zakan asked.
Kat took Ronnie's pulse to make sure the man wasn't dead. “He was. The way he was speaking pegged him as a butcher so I wasn’t sure, but then he just perfectly, albeit tragically, used the word, ‘semantics.' Terrible secret agent.”
“What if he was just good at words?” Zakan asked.
“Lucky guess? How far until our new friends breach?”
Zakan pushed a video feed to Kat, showing an armed team in body armor stacking outside the door.
“That’s not local security. You have a plan?”
Zakan nodded. “We are Dreadmarr. We know the Way.”
The door flashed open, slamming when it reached the end of the frame. Five men slithered inside, armed with blaster compacts along with an assortment of gadgets spread throughout their kit. They cleared to the end of the room, stopping when they got to the next hatch.
“Looks like whoever did this took off.” One of the troopers slid off his face wrap and hood. Impact-resistant smart glasses had the faintest hints of blue outlines moving through the lenses. He watched whatever was scrolling across his display for a moment, then popped up hand signals to his men. They took to the corners of the room establishing interlocking fields of fire should someone else come in. Kneeling, he checked the butcher’s pulse.
“Control, this is Dickson. Someone gave Ronnie a lump on the head. Security is saying that the crypt has not been breached, but we have no sign of ECOS. We're proceeding to Crypt to secure. How copy?”
“We going to wake up Ronnie and see what happened?” a trooper asked.
The team lead shook his head, followed by holding a finger up to his lips. Rapid-fire hand gestures were signed toward the other man. In response, the group took a knee behind anything they could use for cover against whatever counter angle they had their weapons pointed to. When the team was set, he flicked his eyes to one side of the display and then back. He repeated the process like a detective eliminating clues in a case. The leader didn’t hide his surprise after viewing the last color change in the lenses, bringing his rifle up to aim at one of his own men.
Kat dropped from the ceiling, spinning over to land with her hand on the top of his head and her pistol pressed into the base of his skull. She drove him forward, forcing him to release his weapon to keep his face from becoming a kickstand.
“Neat trick. I assume these are Triton issued kit?” The face plate of Katarina's mask slid back, allowing her to look through the lenses. Inside the wrap arounds were a full head’s up display complete with retinal tracking so the operator could keep his hands free for the grizzly work of getting them dirty. Scanning across the room, Kat saw their adversaries with vaguely man shaped environmental smudges standing behind them. “Hey! Our Triton friends can see you through the camo.”
The Dreadmarr warriors materialized behind the Triton soldiers, each one with a compact rifle pressed into their necks.
“Alright, Dickerson...” Kat said.
“It’s Dickson.” The Triton team lead cocked his head toward Kat, before she pushed against him with her pistol to let him know what he was doing was not on the list of things keeping him from getting shot.
“I don’t care. We know this is where you’re holding the Baroness. We want her.”
“I don’t remember you having clearance for that.” Dickson shrugged.
“I have clearance with a ten millimeter aperture aimed at the back of your head,” Kat argued. “Hyper kinetic bolts usually win that argument, but I have more to say about it. Norris is dead. Kenner killed him and took his place. What do you think your bosses will say when we tell them that seasoned agents couldn’t tell the difference between their chief and a plant? However, imagine the kind of accolades coming your way when the top brass learn that you discovered all this in the nick of time to stop the violence tearing the city apart. Or that you routed out an Exile agent subverting Triton assets for their own personal gain.”
The agent huffed, slightly nodding his agreement to the last part of her comment. “Yeah, those would be some agents on the rise. Of course, no one would actually ever find out he gave the asset to a former Exile agent.”
“That wouldn’t happen because technically, you’d be giving it to the Dreadmarr working for Marco Sorrin.”
“That’s a good one,” the agent said. He stood slowly, not bothering to pick up his weapon. Keeping his hands visible, he turned to see her backing away.
“So you guys like Sorrin?” Kat asked.
“What’s not to like? He’s got the cool armor, motivated friends, and every time that guy opens his mouth it’s like Victory Day. I swear time slows down so he can do the cool slow motion walk thing. Agent T-R-O sixty-seven sixty, match voice and ocular. Open sixteen.”
One of the butcher block tables slid apart, ratcheting support bars across the floor into another sliding table, turning the space between them into an elevator.
“Katarina is it? I hope you know what you’re doing. That asset you’re going for wasn’t known for her ability to make friends and play well with others.”
Kat holstered her weapon. “We’re old friends, Agent Dickson. We’ll be fine.”
The agents recovered their blasters, pulling away from their captors to straighten their gear. The team lead gave the cyborg a two-finger salute. “Thanks for not shooting us in the head. Norris might not have been rainbows and teddy bear stuffing, but he was always good to us. When you find Kenner, make it hurt.”
Kat waited for them to leave before stepping onto the lift. “Anything we can do to seal the room?”
Zakan tossed two circular plates to either side of the door. They adhered to the wall, glowing red twice before turning the same color as the surface. The Dreadmarr team followed Kat and were swallowed up by the floor.
“Trooper 761874, sorry to interrupt the ongoing patrol, but I had a few things I wanted to clear up.” Russo said.
The commando didn’t answer. Like the other members of her unit, she was a partial conversion cyborg. A human torso placed within a combat chassis, the framework still provided for most of the body’s natural functions. This granted their elite soldiers a body far superior to that of a normal human’s mental and physical capabilities while keeping enough of their humanity to stave off the personality issues that came with full conversion, a head or in some cases, only a brain stuffed inside of a robotic combat frame. In all cases, Russo found them dull.
“Trooper, I need a consciousness download for period 98123 to 98706.”
The faceless helmet was unreadable as the trooper beneath held out a hand. Russo placed a curved bar roughly the length of the trooper's palm into her grip. She clipped the object to the back of her neck with a metal-on-metal snap. The commander pulled another bar from his belt, this time stretching a holographic filament, turning it into a data slate.
“Trooper, explain the lack of information for 98123 to 98706.” Russo demanded.
Faceless reached back, returning the interface bar to the commander. Her voice had the digital tic that all external speakers were prone to. It seemed that no matter the tech level, helmet audio would have to suffer a loss in quality to withstand the rigors of combat. “We pried these loose after our fight with the tribal cavalry.”
Russo took the tiny objects. They appeared as metal plugs with notches cut on one end. He didn’t wear confused well. After crossing the galaxy multiple times, one would think there’d be little in the universe that would stump him.
“They're the nocks from enemy arrows. The heads were vibro enhanced to cut through our armor. Four injuries and two deaths resulting. The nocks are more interesting than the heads. They send out several types of signals upon leaving the string. They can track targets, even through buildings or act as receivers. The squad's been off since that fight, sir. This might be the cause.”
Rolling the pieces over in his fingers, Russo cracked one, exposing delicately elegant micro circuitry. “This is brilliant. Roll in the savages
, let them shoot their primitive weapons all over the place, and never once consider that it's doing, what? Flashing our location? Has your commando been checked for any residual broadcast?”
“Yes,” came her reply.
“Just to be on the safe side, push your unit out to engage that cavalry. If their entire purpose is reconnaissance and target acquisition for the larger force, I'd rather have a unit that's already marked hunting them. At the very least, if they still have your scent and avoid you, there might be a way to use that to drive them into an unmarked unit to cut the legs from under them. Take four Dozers with you,” Russo ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Faceless said.
“Good hunting, Trooper 761874.”
She set off from the assembly area to join the rest of her unit. Set against the spaceport, the converted warehouse provided optimal use of the city's road works, fast transit, and landing pads. It also gave them access to air traffic control, turning the entire affair into a tactical surveillance network. Even with the tech to support the Exo Commando at their disposal, they hadn't been able to pinpoint the routes the cavalry was taking. It also seemed that they were breaking up into smaller clusters of either Dross riders or bikers to take advantage of inherent utility they offered.
Stepping from a cluster of side buildings were four, three meter tall assault bots. Carrying belt fed alternating phase machine guns, they looked like demon-faced walking tanks.
“Trooper 761874, we've been assigned to your detail for purposes of hunting the insurgent cavalry.”
“Follow me.”
The behemoths fell in line, their plodding steps ending with the sound of impact compensators bleeding off the shock of every footfall to the associated joints. The full conversion cyborgs would make short work of any cavalry they came across.
Working across her HUD, the trooper scrawled out a message. It was short and to the point so that the encrypted burst sent it amid interference from the various amounts of signal pressed into this side of the city. From wireless net access to secure broadband communications from the various companies operating in Kabran City, there was no shortage of signal that one could hide a hyper data burst into.
BLACK FEATHER TO NIGHT OWL
SECURE BURST LINK TO NIGHT OWL ESTABLISHED
ASSET PACKAGE DELIVERED
COORDINATES DELIVERED
BEING REROUTED TO MITIGATE CAV THREAT
WILL DISENGAGE ASAP
WILL CHECK DROP BOXES FOR UPDATE
BLACK FEATHER OUT
TERMINATE SECURE TRANSMISSION
Another round ricocheted off Lucifer's hide, the heavy duradium armor clanging like a gong from the phase rifle's impact. Acting like miniaturized rail guns, the phase weapons were doing much more damage than a standard firearm. Luckily, they were only doing slightly more damage than the average blaster rifle, which meant the heavy infantry mech wasn't bothered taking the brunt of the incoming fire.
“Morpheus, how long until you have it?” Lucifer called over the net.
“Two minutes.” Morpheus, Madame Tarot's digital infiltrator, was stationed at the control board for the primary broadcast tower to the energy shield. The layers of encryption he was sifting through was on par with the other facilities he's had to crack of late. After the assault on the Halikos facility, most intrusions seemed easy. Unfortunately, this was like entering a door where you had all the keys, but there was more than one lock. It wasn't hard, it just took time.
Lucifer traced a line with his laser across a troop of Exos. The brilliant beam cut a burning swathe across the commando line, decimating a host of cyborgs into a pile of broken toys. “That's a long time if they come up with any weird weapons. Romeo and Merlin are hit.”
“They're hit but still functioning. Continue to deny entry to enemy personnel until such time as I have control,” Morpheus countered.
Madame Tarot stepped away from the window overlooking the firefight below when a swarm of projectiles tore up the ceramaclear windows, covering her in crystalline shards. “Merlin, this is Tarot. Execute stolen car protocol.”
“Yes, Madame.”
The Dreadmarr watched as a squad of heavy equipment transports, often called mules or packers, stampeded from a side street into the opposing force. They trampled, rended, and threw the Exo Commandos from their positions. A trooper launched a missile phasing in and out like a ghost jumping through shadows. The mule knocking into him caused it to fly off course, striking one of the nearby buildings in an explosion of prosteel and glass.
“Morpheus, lock it down! We have another wave of Exiles inbound. Just got word from Black Feather that phase two of Objective Pelican is a go. I want to be out of here in thirty seconds. All Cards, withdraw by fire to rally point November Sierra seven seven. Tarot out.”
“Madame, we have Objective Screen Door.”
“Thank you, Morpheus.” She slid through the contact screens in her HUD, selecting her back door to the Lancer Battle-Net. “Sky Com this is Night Owl.”
“Night Owl this is Sky Com, send it.”
“Objective Screen Door. I say again, Screen Door. Over.”
“Roger that, Night Owl, I read Screen Door. I was told to pass along from your higher that you are to proceed to assist Objective Pelican. How copy, over?”
Tarot looked to the side, her HUD spinning to access the battle map being updated in real time. “Roger. We are Oscar Mike to Pelican. Night Owl out.”
“Madame, I'm transferring shield control to Commander Hylaeus.”
“Thank you, Morpheus. Follow me.”
They climbed aboard a fast lift, terminating its dizzying climb to the roof by slinging its doors open just as quick. A gaggle of lancers were already aiming their rifles at them when she noticed two Vindicator assault bots doing the same. Their triangular torsos mixed with prosteel reinforced armor plating gave them the look of mechanical skeletons. A man in grey tactical plate under a red robe advanced beyond the bots and rifles, removing the face plate on his helmet.
“Madame Tarot. I was told you'd be my escort to the dance.”
“Chief Inspector Esteban Castillo. My pleasure.”
“We taking the lift to the rally point?”
“Yes. But not this lift,” Tarot answered.
The San Verone monk looked confused, then realized that she was probably talking about the lifts in one of the other buildings surrounding the tower.
“What do you, the lancers, and the marshals have against stairs?”
“Nothing. I'm sure they're lovely.” Tarot ignited her jump pack, soaring across the expanse to the other building. Merlin placed repeated shots to the window she traveled toward, shattering the ceramaclear into fragments she slid across upon contacting the floor.
Castillo addressed one of the lancers next to him, a young private scanning the ground to ensure Tarot's harried jump wasn't noticed by forces below still dealing with overzealous packer bots. “Why can't we ever do things the easy way?”
“Easy is ever the recipe for a bland diet. Hard is for those who like their meals complex and lively.”
Castillo's expression brightened at the bit of wisdom. “Did a lancer NCO tell you that?”
“Nope. My mom, using her food stories to temper my taste in women.”
Multiple blasts from jump pack engines screaming against gravity soared the lancers over to the next building.
“Did it work?” Castillo asked.
The trooper chuckled. “Nah. I have a less than sophisticated palate, sir.”
“Your poor mother.”
Twenty-Eight
A flock of citizens armed with cheap knock offs of the M-715 blaster moved in column formation on either side of the street. The Exo Commando running the group from the middle of the street was smart. He had the main body split in two along either side of the road. His two subordinates were within the rows, making adjustments to the men as needed in order to keep their spacing combat effective. Designated marksmen were watching their patrol from over-
watch positions along the route. It was organized and disciplined according to any infantry handbook found in the CORAL.
The procession slowed to a crawl, members of the troop losing their balance or staggering in confusion. The Exo commander analyzed their readings in his HUD, trying desperately to figure out why they were so far out of range. Anaxis had briefed that they would have to remain close to the units now that their relay hub on Halikos was down, yet he'd mentioned nothing that would indicate a total loss of control.
Lasher stepped into the street ahead of the patrol. “They're no longer on your leash! If you run, you might escape before they get their wits back.”
Several men at the front of the patrol shook and nodded, bringing their angry attention toward the Exos. The condition spread throughout their number, the formation recovering from their nanite-induced hypnosis. Almost on cue, the commandos faded into the shadows of the street, leaving the gaggle of confused humanoids to meander about. The ones at the fore approached Lasher, weapons at the ready.
“You the one they call the Mongrel, yeah?”
Lasher gripped the man by the forearm. “That's me. You and yours okay?”
The talker had a scar over one eye, bisecting an eyebrow and part of his hairline. Tattoos of snakes in various scenes ran up from his shirt, stopping at his clean shaven jaw line. He looked down at his once better looking wardrobe and flashed a lopsided smile. “Things could be better, but now you're here, things should be on the up. Big T said if we came across the Lasher we was to help him get his way. I got six of my people among this rabble. If you talk half as good as Big T says you do, you might convince a couple of the others to roll with you. Still, we're ready to pop it off, son.”
“They have the most peculiar way of speaking.” Fluff emerged from the shadows behind Lasher, changing the color of his armor to a matte black. His permanent grin, exposing his magnificent teeth, was the stuff of nightmares.
The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3) Page 34
