by J. N. Chaney
“I see it the utility room.” I hustled toward it, laying a hand over my rifle to keep it from banging into anything. “Now what?”
“There is a box of fireproof tape on the second shelf to your left. Grab one roll.”
“Got it.”
“You’ll need one bottle each of hydrogen peroxide and acetone. They’re at head-level to your right.”
“I see ‘em.”
“Good. Then there is a battery-powered floor cleaner in the far corner. You’ll need the battery located in the unit’s rear. Use the torque driver on the wall to remove the housing.”
I did as Lars said, moving quickly to undo the screws on the back of the cleaner, remove and plate, and pull out the battery. “Anything else?”
“Yes, grab a can of lubricant on the floor, then proceed back to the cutting board area.”
“On my way.”
“You don’t have to say that, sir. I can see you.”
“Pain in the ass…” I mumbled to myself.
Over the next several minutes, Lars led me through the process of creating an improvised detonator. First, I filled one of the jugs a quarter of the way with potassium nitrate and the sulfuric acid I harvested from the floor cleaner’s battery. Next, I taped the second jug to the first, sealing their mouths over one another. The hour-glass shaped apparatus was laid at an angle over one of the large burners on the stove so that the side with the concoction was slightly higher than the empty side. It also got hit with high heat.
While that mixture cooked, depositing a cloudy white fluid in the lower bottle, Lars had me empty the squat sporellia fish can and dry it out. I punctured the side with a utility poker, leaving a hole the size of one of my ammo rounds. After that, I put the rolls of aluminum foil in one of the industrial food processors, grinding the thin metal to shreds. I swore the perps must’ve heard it seven floors below.
Lars had me take a round from one of my ammo magazines and carefully remove the bullet from the casing. I emptied the accelerant and refilled the casing with a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, acetone, and citric acid. I capped the casing with grease and sealed it with aluminum foil, then gently inserted it into the hole in the side of the sporellia fish can.
Once the nitric acid was collected in the second jug, I poured it into the sporellia fish can, coating the surface with thick grease to keep it from leaking out. Then I filled the remainder of the can with ground aluminum foil bits. That, too, was covered with foil.
“That’s your detonator,” Lars said. “Place it in a sack from under the counter.”
“And the flour?”
“That goes in the sack too.”
“That’s gonna be some serious dead weight,” I commented, more to myself than Lars. I could already feel my quads beginning to protest.
“Lastly, grab the hand-held butane lighter beside the stove to your right, along the ledge.”
“We having a smoke or something?”
“In a manner of speaking. Now it’s time to get a move on, sir.”
“You do realize it’s forty stories up,” I said, adding the remaining ten sub-floors to the upper building’s thirty floors.
“If you predict you’ll have trouble getting up, sir, I do have some performance enhancers in Mr. Oragga’s office.”
“Not a chance, Lars. Not a chance.”
10
I swore that from now on, I’d only work in single-story buildings.
The only thing that kept me climbing stairs at such an insane pace was knowing that a whole lot of innocent people were going to die if I didn’t. I had to make it to the roof before Oubrick and his thugs finished cutting through the vault’s shell and acquired the passthrough credentials.
“Might I say that you’re making remarkable time, sir,” Lars said.
“I’d be making better time if you got those elevators going,” I replied through gritted teeth. This climb, under normal conditions, would have been hard enough. But factor in my fresh injuries, the energy I’d already expended, the new weapons, and the two bags of flour I was carrying, and you had a recipe for driving my legs to the brink of muscle failure.
“Nope,” Lars replied. “I’m still locked out.”
“You’re worthless, Lars. Completely worthless.”
“But, sir—”
“Gods, I’m kidding.”
“Ah. Very good, sir.”
Every gasp of air I took was a desperate attempt to oxygenate my failing legs. All I wanted to do was sit down and take a break. But then the faces of the would-be victims started filling my imagination. I knew that if I stopped and they died, I’d be haunted by their faces for the rest of my life. Best to suffer a little now and risk victory than suffer later for the rest of my life. That was assuming I survived at all.
I had to get my mind off this for a second. I only had thirteen more stories to go. I thought about taking a swig of scotch, but I’d just spit it everywhere with the way I was breathing. That, and every second counted.
“Tell me a story, Lars,” I said, spittle flying from my mouth.
“A story, sir? About what?”
“I don’t know… your childhood or something. Tell me what it was like growing up in a rundown neighborhood on the west side of Sellion City with parents that beat you every night, both for different reasons.”
Lars paused, obviously considering my request.
“I’m kidding, Lars. Gods, lighten up.”
“Your jests are unusually witty, sir. I am updating my file on you.”
“You’re keeping a file on me?”
“Of course, sir. What else did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know… carry this flour for me?”
“Ha ha,” Lars said in a mechanical tone. “That was funny, sir.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I am pleased to inform you that you only have ten flights left, sir,” Lars said.
“Only ten, eh? And here I was hoping we had more time to chat.”
Another pause. “That was another sarcastic remark, wasn’t it.”
“You’re learning, buddy. I’m proud of you.”
Ten more, Reed. Just keep going. You’re almost there.
“I could tell you a little about Mr. Oragga, if you like,” suggested Lars.
“Sure,” I said, tasting the rivulets of sweat dripping in between my lips. “Knock yourself out.”
“Mr. Oragga was not always a wealthy CEO,” Lars said.
“He was a wealthy CFO,” I answered. “I know that joke, Lars.”
“I’m not sure I see the humor. In any case, no, he was never a CFO. Instead, he grew up on Ti Bier Prime’s surface.”
“Under the clouds?”
“In the mines,” Lars corrected. “His parents were miners.”
“I’ve never heard this.”
“Most haven’t. It’s something Mr. Oragga rarely shares.”
“So… why are you sharing it with me?”
“For one, I have not been told not to.”
“And for another?”
“For another, you have less than a twenty percent chance of survival, so I figure, what does it matter?”
“Godsdammit, Lars! Do not share stats with me like that.”
“Does that dishearten you?”
“In a word? Yeah.” I was so winded. It was everything I could do not to fall on my knees. But maybe it was a renewed drive to kick Lars in the balls—if he even had a pair—that gave me enough juice for the final push. “You sure do know how to cheer a guy up, buddy.”
“I’ve never been told that. However, given the strain in your voice, I suspect you are being sarcastic once again, and, therefore, I will dismiss the comment as inconsequential.”
“You do that.” I took another few gasps of air. Sweat stung my eyes, causing me to blink wildly. “So how’d Mr. Oragga get from the mines to the office complex?”
“He swiped some of the product and started a sweet little side gig,” Lars said.
&nbs
p; The comment actually broke my rhythm and I hesitated. “Lars, did you just make a joke?”
“I did, yes, sir. Was it successful?”
I managed a winded chuckle. “Not bad.”
“As for illegally selling minerals on the black market, the answer is no. Mr. Oragga worked his way to the top by discovering ways to mine more efficiently, eventually increasing the planet’s output by over twenty-eight percent by the time he was eighteen years old. From there, he caught the eye of the Union, and it was they who ensured that Mr. Oragga had access to everything he needed in order to maintain and increase production in the system.”
“He must be quite a guy,” I said when Lars was done.
“He is, though this last year has been hard on him.”
“Oh? Did Oragga lose a few of his vacation homes in bad gambling wagers?”
“No, Mr. Oragga does not gamble.”
“Of course he doesn’t.”
What kind of a CEO doesn’t gamble? I thought. At least he drinks.
“It seems that the refinery is reducing output,” Lars said. “And rather unexpectedly.”
“As in, it’s going dry?” My mouth was clammy. Damn if I didn’t need a drink.
“The research is inconclusive, but that is what the experts are assuming, yes.”
“And that’s odd because…”
“Because EnerTron Corporation is nowhere near close to depleting the planet’s resources.”
“Remind me to send Mr. Oragga a sympathy card when this is all over, would you?”
Lars didn’t respond right away. Then, suddenly, he said, “I’m beginning to catch on to your sense of humor now, sir.”
“Atta boy, Lars.”
“Thank you, sir.” He paused again, then said, “Congratulations, sir. You have arrived at the top of the Oragga Complex. Well done.”
The view from the top of the building was breathtaking. Were it not for the fact that several dozen hostages were moments away from being murdered at the hands of blood-thirsty thieves, I’d have stopped to take in the city lights. All I really noticed was how windy it was and how fresh the air smelled.
“Where to, Lars?” I asked, taking a knee and gasping for air.
“The generator station,” Lars replied. “It is the building in the center of the roof.”
“I see it.” The structure was maybe twelve meters square and had several conduits and pipes stemming from into other sections of the roof. “You want me to set this up in there?”
“You would like maximum effect to draw as much attention to the building as possible, correct?”
“That’s the intent, yes.”
“Then that’s where you should place the bomb.”
I raced across the roof as Lars assured me the door would be unlocked due to the particulars of the lockdown protocol. I tried the latch, but it didn’t budge.
“Huh, that’s strange,” Lars said.
“Any more sage advice, all-knowing AI?”
“I never claimed to be all-knowing, sir. That is entirely your—”
“Eh, the hell with this.” I pulled the MX090 from under my shoulder, aimed at the deadbolt, and fired a short burst. Bullets shredded the locking mechanism and pushed the door open. Damn, I liked this weapon.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Place it in the center of the room. We need maximum aeration of the flour in order to reach an energy level sufficient to destroy this facility.”
I moved around several bays of equipment before finding the room’s center. It was wide open space with a clear view to a glass ceiling above. I knelt and placed the detonator on the ground first, following Lars’s instructions. Then I balanced both bags on top and finished by laying the butane lighter beside the improvised blasting cap.
“I do hope this works, sir,” said Lars.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean you hope this works? You’re the one who came up with the idea.”
“But you’re the one who built it.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
“Biologically impossible but rhetorically probable.”
“Light it?” I asked.
“Tape off the trigger, then set the lighter beneath the blasting cap.”
“Here goes nothing.” I flicked the lighter on and then wrapped the depressed trigger with tape. I placed the lighter so that the blue flame was gently caressing the aluminum-wrapped ammo casing, then backed away. “How long do I have?”
“About fifteen seconds, sir.”
“Dammit!” I jumped to my feet, spun around, and started running. I slammed into a stack of pipes, nearly tripped through the blown-apart doorway, and then made for the stairwell.
“Five seconds, sir. Please keep your mouth opened and cover your ears.”
My adrenaline was pumping once again. I made it into the stairwell and used the railings to bound down the steps four at a time, ignoring Lars’s instructions. But by the time I reached the landing on floor twenty-nine, there was only silence.
I waited, hands covering my ears, mouth slightly agape. I was familiar with the damage that air pressure from large blasts could have on soft-tissue. But when the detonation failed to ignite, I took my hands away.
“Someone screwed up, Lars. Damn you.”
“It wasn’t me, sir.”
“So you’re pointing your finger at me, then, are you?”
“Might I remind you that—”
“That you have no physical—”
A blast shook the platform and knocked me off my feet. The detonation’s sound filled the stairwell. I saw starbursts of light dance in my vision as my ears rang, forcing me to blink several times before coming to focus on the orange glow somewhere overhead.
As the deafening roar dissipated, I grabbed the railing and pulled myself up. “What the hell, Lars?” I asked, probably louder than I intended.
“It seems my bomb was a success,” he replied.
“Oh, now it’s suddenly your bomb, all because it worked?” I started up the steps, careful not to fall again as I regained my balance. I touched my nose and pulled away a bloody index finger.
“Absolutely,” replied Lars, his voice suddenly taking on a superior air. “Better an explosion too late than one too early.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I mumbled.
As I emerged onto the roof, I noticed smoking debris and small pockets of flames scattered all the way to the building’s edges. But more than that, I noticed the building—or, rather, the complete lack of it. “It’s gone, Lars.”
“I see that.”
“I mean, like, completely gone, pal.” There was a small crater where the generator station had been. Electricity sparked from several broken conduits while vapor hissed from mangled pipes.
“It was a genius idea, was it not?”
“Don’t give yourself too much credit there,” I said. “You think maybe you overdid it a little?”
“I am as surprised as you, sir. The bomb’s yield was significantly higher than I intended.”
“Well, congratulations, Lars. In my world, Heather would say you Reeded the shit out of that one.”
“You blow things up often, then?”
I allowed myself a little smirk. “In a manner of speaking, yeah.”
I looked up and watched the remains of the fireball billow into the midnight air. A thick cloud of black smoke spread out over the city, growing larger and larger as the winds took hold of it.
I walked to the building’s edge, reining in my fear. I needed to see if emergency vehicles would respond. “Come on,” I said, willing the emergency response alarms to pierce the night. But none came. “Come on.” I pounded the halfway with a fist. Someone had to see that! How could they not see it? A fireball the size of a small village just erupted from the top of the most important building in the city. Was everyone drunk out of their minds?
Then, a clarion call that pierced the darkness—a single alarm coming from the south. It w
as the fire department. Few things would sound sweeter right now.
“Well done, sir,” Lars said. “That’s mission accomplished.”
“Whoa! We don’t say that! We never say that until the whole mission’s done. Are you trying to jinx us or something?”
“Jinx us, sir?”
“Never mind. Just don’t say that again.”
I peered over the ledge, feeling my stomach lurch as I saw several emergency response vehicles hover toward the building. That was when I noticed what kind of vehicles were pulling up.
“Uh… we have a problem,” I said.
“How so, sir?” Lars asked.
“We’re only getting the fire department.”
“How is that a problem?—if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Because the fire department is going to investigate right up until they encounter the lockdown protocol. After that, they’ll stay clear until your boss man is dragged out of bed and brought here to turn it off. But by then—”
“It will be too late for the hostages.”
“You got it, pal.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. Had we really gone to all that effort and we still weren’t going to get the backup this situation called for? Looking down on those emergency response vehicles… it was infuriating. They were so close, and yet so far away. And the wrong damn kind.
“What I need are the cops,” I said, running a hand over my sweat-soaked hair. “Hell, we need the Union too.”
“Why don’t you just fire on them?”
I spun around as if to face Lars. “What?”
“Fire on their vehicles. Won’t that get the cops to come?”
“Lars… you crazy son of a bitch.” I laid my MX090 down and pulled the sniper rifle off my back. “I like the way you think.” I charged the weapon, racking a round into the chamber, and then activated the target-assist sights. Then I wrapped the rifle’s strap around my forearm, leaned against the halfway, and pointed the barrel nearly straight down. I chose the closest hover fire truck and locked on the drive core in the front of the vehicle.
“Here goes, Lars. Might want to cover your ears.”
