by J. N. Chaney
I moved along the left wall in a crouch, my legs and ribs protesting with every step. But it was the pain that reminded me I was alive—and that I needed to stay that way.
As I neared the glass, I could see a mass of people huddled in the center of the hangar floor. They moved nervously, several crying and clinging to one another. But they were alive, and that was all that mattered right now.
The hangar’s ceiling rose at least ninety meters high, maybe more. The cavernous space must’ve taken up nearly the entire floor, and certainly extended up into floors twenty-nine and twenty-eight. Mr. Oragga could fit several star fighters in here, maybe even a small starship. On the far side of the hangar, massive openings gaped, exposing the hostages and thieves alike to open air and the cloud floor several kilometers below.
Two guards oversaw the hostages, standing several meters back, assault rifles raised and at the ready. Then, to the right, I saw Oubrick, standing near several large black cases and holding the ABET in his hand. A fourth enforcer worked on the cases, while the fifth and final thug pulled something from a duffle bag.
“Can you see what those guys are doing, Lars?” I whispered.
“The ones beside Oubrick?” he asked.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“One individual seems to be removing several suits from duffle bags and laying them on the floor.”
“Suits?” I asked. “As in, business suits?”
“No, sir. As in skin-tight synthetic utility suits. According to my resources, I suspect they are most closely related to exosuits that are compatible with jump rigs used in atmospheric avionic operations. The head section of each suit boasts a self-contained breathing apparatus and face shield.”
I scratched my stubble. “You mean to tell me… they’re planning on jumping?”
“That is a suitable conclusion, sir. Especially considering the fact that the other man is securing large backpacks to the black cases with webbed slings.”
“Parachutes,” I offered.
“My conclusion precisely.”
“They’re going to get away with the stolen—whatever it is, and then blow the hostages and Union shuttles sky-high. It’s… genius,” I said. “The explosion covers Oubrick’s escape, and for all the authorities know, they were killed in the blast along with the hostages and the Union pilots, so no one will track them down.”
“That does seem like the most logical plan given their violent track record, yes.”
“If I go in guns blazing, they’re likely to kill the hostages,” I said, more to myself than to Lars.
“I concur.”
“If there was some way to separate them, however, maybe I could pick them off.”
“A distraction, perhaps.”
“You have any bright ideas?”
“In fact, I do. There is power substation on the far side of the hangar. While I don’t have full access to it, I can back feed amperage into the unit. This would cause a minor electrical explosion, allowing you ample opportunity to combat the enemy and allow the hostages to take cover.”
“I can work with that,” I said. “Let’s do it. Is there any way you can address the hostages once this goes down?”
“I have access to the hangar’s loudspeaker system,” Lars replied.
“Great. I want them going back up these stairs to the lobby as I draw the enemy’s fire toward the hangar doors.”
“Understood, sir.”
I paused, shifting my grip on my MX090, then asked, “You think this will work, Lars?”
“I calculate a forty-three percent chance of success, sir.”
“That’s almost half.”
“But still not half.”
“I’m trying to be optimistic,” I replied. “What are the chances of success if we do nothing?”
“A zero percent chance of success,” Lars said.
“Exactly. I’ll take forty-three percent all day long.”
“Very good, sir.”
I psyched myself up, taking several short breaths in rapid succession. “Let’s do it, Lars.”
“Doing it, sir.”
A bright electrical explosion shot sparks all over the far side of the hangar. Everyone, including the criminals, ducked. Several of the hostages screamed as Oubrick’s men raised their weapons and broke off from their respective duties.
That was my cue.
I pressed the hangar door open and slipped into the large space. Within a matter of seconds, the hangar bay’s light began to flicker. I ran as fast as I could toward the massive openings, hoping to find cover before the firefight began. I spotted several shipping crates—they would do nicely. I slowed and ducked behind one of them.
“Kill the lights, Lars,” I said. “And get those people out of here!”
“Very good, sir.”
The banks of hangar lights went out one after the other, replaced by red emergency lighting. The hostages screamed as the thieves tried to regain control. But they were understaffed, thanks to my last hour’s worth of handiwork, and struggled to corral the panicking crowd. Just then, a loud voice filled the hangar’s public address system, one I knew all too well.
“To the EnerTron employees currently gathered in the lower hangar bay,” Lars said in a thoughtful tone, “please note, you are being rescued.”
A sudden cheer of elation went up among the hostages as they looked at one another. Then someone else yelled from across the group. I couldn’t see him, but I knew from the sound of his voice that it was Oubrick.
“You’re not being rescued!” he declared. “Stay where you are!”
“That man is incorrect,” Lars countered, his voice booming impressively throughout the space. “Please proceed along the highlighted path to the stairwell doors.”
The hostages looked down at the yellow path that led toward Oragga’s office corridor.
“Stay where you are!” Oubrick ordered, and then fired a single shot into the ceiling. Several hostages cried out as the group ducked.
It was showtime. I stood up from my cover, aimed at the nearest enforcer, and squeezed. The gunfire caught both the hostages and the thieves by surprise, especially the one I’d struck. He fell backward from the force of my rounds, weapon clattering to the floor. But as he tried to roll to his feet, I realized he wasn’t out of the fight yet. I’d struck his arm and leg, but his body armor had kept the most dangerous shots from hitting vital organs. This man was better outfitted than Fabian and Nico had been.
For their part, the hostages wasted no time in following Lars’s instructions. Sensing the two-way firefight on the shuttle-bay-entrance side of the hangar, they set off running for the illuminated double doors. Lars made it as easy as possible for them to see the intended destination. I watched just long enough to see the first few souls pull the windowed doors wide and begin to usher their coworkers inside.
“Good job, Lars,” I said over comms.
“You too, sir.”
Bullets sprayed the opposite side of my crate. I leaned to the left side and fired at the first enforcer again, blowing his knee apart. His body armor might be better than most, but his limbs were just as exposed as mine. “And stay down, you punk-ass bitch!” I yelled, like every action holo star ever. He was back on the ground, crying in agony.
The roar of ion engines grew in the sky to my left as two Union transport shuttles came inbound. Either Mrs. Vickers never got through or they didn’t believe her if she did. I knew she was a wild card anyway, but it was worth a try.
The Union pilots were skilled, coming toward the hangar at high speed and then flaring violently at the last second to bleed off momentum. Their engine wash blasted my face, whipping my hair around. The assailant closest to the opening—the one I’d shot—slid backward along the hangar floor, scrambling for his weapon. The shuttles were so close, I could see their pilot’s face in the cockpits. The one closest to me was a woman in her thirties maybe, blonde hair. Her skin shimmered in the glow of her instrument panel, and I thought about wink
ing at her.
Focus, Reed.
I had to get these shuttles out of here. If Oubrick wanted to, he could still take the hostages and the Union ships out right now. But he’d take himself out with them, and something told me he loved his own skin too much to do that. So I did the only thing I could think of. An image of blowing up the hover fire truck came back to me. Damn if I wasn’t going to get fired for this. Probably tried, convicted, and executed too.
I brought the MX090 up and squeezed off a burst of full-auto fire. The rounds stitched up the side of the hull and cracked the cockpit window. I watched the pilot’s eyes grow wide as she yanked on the control sticks and veered away from my assault. The second shuttle followed her lead and banked away. “Good girl,” I said.
The gun fire hitting my crate became more intense as the thieves took cover. Whatever element of surprise I’d had, it was long gone. But so were the hostages—well, almost. I blindly fired around the crate while watching the last of the people hustled through the doors. It was the first truly good news I’d had all day.
My magazine was running low, so I grabbed a fresh one off my belt and reloaded. Then, to ensure that the enemy didn’t go after the hostages, I leaned around the right side of my crate and took aim at a punk hiding behind a support beam. My bullets popped and pinged off the metal and electrical conduits, sending sparks up like fireworks. While exposed, I sent several rounds toward Oubrick himself. He was running for cover behind one of his precious cargo crates. I hoped maybe my gunfire might destroy the boxes, but the rounds only appeared to produce small pockmarks in the reinforced containers.
“Sir,” said Lars over comms, “the hostages are proceeding well up the stairs. Be advised, however, that I expect their pace to slow, given how fatigued they are already. We’re only at sub-level twenty-five, and they’ve already reduced their average speed by thirty-seven percent.”
“Copy that, buddy.”
I looked around at Oubrick. I needed to keep him from escaping. The moment he was free of the sub-building, he’d blow it up.
Or not.
The hangar floor lurched as a massive explosion shook the building from somewhere far overhead. Sweet mother of the gods, he’s detonated the bombs.
20
I started to slide toward the hangar opening along with every item in the hangar that wasn’t bolted to the floor.
Son of a bitch!
I spotted one crate that was strapped down—it was coming up on my left, fast. With my MX090 slung under my shoulder, I used my hands to create drag against the floor, angling myself toward the crate. Then I pushed off with my legs and slammed against the box with enough force to jar my jaw. I blinked against the spots in my vision and waves of pain and nausea rippling through my body.
I watched as the thief I’d shot left the safety of the hangar and slid into open sky, arms and legs flailing. A trail of blood followed him as he left the flood lights and disappeared beneath the deck into the darkness. More crates followed him, flying out of the hangar.
Another violent vibration made every beam in the hangar groan. The hangar floor dropped out from beneath me by a meter and then stopped. I slammed against the ground, only to feel the building begin to lurch in the opposite direction. The floor was leveling out—with any luck, it would stay that way. I stood to my feet and peered around my new cover. The thieves had all but forgotten about me, struggling with their precious crates that were bunched up against a wall, only a few meters from the opening’s far edge. Some of the men pulled off their business suits to reveal lightweight exosuits. Then, from inside the crates they removed jump rigs—modified flight gear that fit over the exosuits and prepped them for an atmospheric escape.
Satisfied that Oubrick had no more leverage, I bolted for the double doors leading to Mr. Oragga’s office. What did I care what Oubrick stole now? As far as I was concerned, that was Oragga’s problem, not mine. I needed to get the hostages off this death trap. Any sense of relief I had at getting them free of the hangar bay was short lived—there was still a very real chance they were all going to die if I didn’t get them to the lobby.
Gunfire erupted from the far side of the hangar, but the bullets went wide. I burst through the doors and ran into the hallway, safe at last. Well, at least from assault rifles. The floor was still trembling beneath me. New emergency klaxons were ringing up the stairwell and emergency light strobed along the hallway. An automated voice blasted from the speakers, saying, “Catastrophic building failure. Please evacuate through the nearest illuminated exit immediately.”
“Lars! Lars, are you there?” I yelled.
“I am, sir.”
“Can you shut that voice off?”
“I can. Please stand by.” I waited a moment, listening to the automated voice repeat itself until the sounds and the lights stopped blaring. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, sir. And, I have good news.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, turning into the stairwell and heading up the first flight after the hostages. “What’s that?”
“I have regained complete control over all the building’s systems,” Lars replied. “The lockdown protocol has been overridden by the catastrophic failure procedure.”
“Well, it’s nice to know the engineers had our best interests in mind, isn’t it.” I moved my hands around the railing, practically pulling myself up each flight. The taste of iron filled my mouth, and my quads shook with each step. “Does this mean I don’t have to take the stairs, Lars?”
“I would not recommend that, sir,” he said. “While some of the elevators remain operational, as their motor systems are housed in the top of the upper tower, their housing and rail guides have been damaged by the explosion.”
“No shit,” I replied. “What’s the damage report overall?”
“It seems that not all of Oubrick’s neutron bombs received the detonation sequence transmission. That, or they are duds, as you say.”
“How many went off, then?”
“By my calculations after estimating the number of devices in each shuffle bag, and given their volume and weight, along with how much ground Fabian and Nico—”
“Lars! How many?”
“Three, sir.”
“Thank you,” I said between clenched teeth. “Was that so hard?”
“I was only trying to—”
I cut him off. “So, three bombs did what, you think?”
“I don’t think, sir. I am not fully cognizant. Rather, I—”
“Dammit, Lars! Quit being such a pain in the ass right now! What’s the condition of the building, and how much time do we have before this thing goes south?”
“Why south, sir? I believe the building will fall in the direction—”
“LARS!”
“The sub-level tower’s platform cohesion integrity has diminished by thirty-one percent,” the AI replied.
“And what does it need to tear away, one hundred percent?”
“Negative, sir. At fifty percent, cohesion deconstruction will accelerate algorithmically, covering the remaining fifty percent in less than five seconds.”
“So, we have a cushion of nineteen percent before this thing breaks off,” I concluded.
“While that is not the descriptor I would have chosen, that is essentially correct, sir.”
I looked up to see I was passing sub-floor fifteen. “And how much time do you think we have?”
“Given the current strain on the structure, I’d say we have less than fifteen minutes but more than three.”
I wiped sweat from my eyes. “Well, that’s comforting.”
“I’m glad I could provide that for you.”
“Sarcasm, Lars. Sarcasm.”
“Ah, I see, sir. Very good.”
“Wait.” I came to a full stop. “If the lockdown protocol is no longer in effect, that means comms are working again.”
“That is correct, sir,” Lars replied.
“Well, damn, buddy! Let’s call in the cav
alry!”
“I already have, sir. Local law enforcement, search and rescue, and the Union have been sent a full brief, based upon my observations over the last hour.”
“I can’t fault you for being efficient, pal.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anyway you can patch me through to someone in charge?”
“My pleasure, sir. Please stand by.”
I resumed my ascent, feeling a wave of relief at the prospect of getting to talk with someone on the outside. Suddenly, an all-too-familiar voice came over my comm—one I swore I never wanted to hear again.
“This is Lawrence Lessard, Sellion City Chief of Police,” said a man with a raspy tenor voice. “With whom am I speaking?”
“This is Reed, EnerTron Security badge number—”
“Reed? Flint Reed, is that you?”
“It is, Lessard.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The man laughed. “So are you the one responsible for all this? Because if there’s anyone to blame, I’d put credits—”
“Listen, I have about four dozen employees coming up the north security stairwell. Most have minor injuries, and there are a few elderly.”
“North stairwell… okay, well, we’ll check it out.” The chief’s voice was surprisingly calm given how serious this was.
“Check it out?” I repeated. “I don’t think you understand how bad this is.”
“And you need to remember who you’re talking to, Reed. Put someone else on, would you?”
“Someone else?” I repeated the words with no attempt to hide my astonishment. “Dammit, Lessard, there is no one else!”
“Now don’t you get belligerent with me, Reed. I have men reviewing the data sent by Mr. Oragga’s computer system as we speak. We’ll make sure the fire crew gets to that stairwell after they clear the building.”
“Sir,” I said, trying to compose myself, “if these employees don’t get free of this building right now, there won’t be anyone to rescue.”
