by TR Cameron
“That all is not as it seems, here in Grefta.” She fluttered her finger, and the exterior view was replaced by an image of the building as if it had no walls. From the outside, it looked quite normal, and he said so. She replied, “And I would agree, if not for this interesting feature.” She snapped, and a shaft appeared on the back wall’s interior, terminating at the highest floor on one end and disappearing into the ground on the other.
Jax frowned. “A lift?”
Elle nodded. “According to an administrator who has a particular affinity for roulette and an ongoing streak of questionable luck, yes. She says that it’s only open on the top floor, not visible on any of the others she’s been to. Apparently, she saw something she wasn’t supposed to, which keeps her quiet about having revealed it to us.”
“Or she’s a double agent,” Jax mused. “How secure is your operation?”
She replied with a thin grin. “Completely. We surveil our contacts’ comms at all times. A clever little piece of software that someone at the Academy designed at our request. We hear and see everything that occurs in proximity to the devices.”
Kimmel said, “That must be a big job.”
“It is. But our Artificial Intelligences don’t complain.”
Verrand inquired, “Another gift from the Academy?”
Their host chuckled. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, Maarsen isn’t really in the habit of giving gifts without strings attached. Let’s call it an exchange of services.”
Jax asked, “So where does it lead?”
“That’s the fun part. We don’t know. But I’d wager my whole business on a bet that what you’re looking for is going to be wherever that thing goes.”
Once she’d given them all the intelligence she could think to offer and answered all the questions they could think to ask, Lady Elle bid them goodbye with a parting, “Don’t forget, companionship on the house when your task is complete.”
When they were in the elevator heading back down toward the casino floor, Cia muttered, “Yeah, and it comes with free surveillance video, no doubt, to be used at a time of her choosing.”
The female guard who’d ridden up with them was their escort again. She gave a small snort at the comment but didn’t reply. That was confirmation enough for Jax, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Cia. “You never know. They might have someone really interesting for you, and you’d want the recording.”
She glared at him. “No thanks. I prefer to find my dates the old-fashioned way.”
Verrand chuckled. “Hit them over the head with a club and drag them back to your cave?”
Cia grinned. “Exactly.”
The elevator passed the casino level and continued down to a basement. Like the Administration building, the gaming hall had secrets. They included an underground garage with an anonymous delivery vehicle they’d use to get close to the building when it was time for them to make their move. The truck would be vanished afterward by Lady Elle’s people.
With a soft whoosh, the doors parted to reveal the back-backstage portion of the casino. Noise aplenty filled the air as mechanical and human workers did laundry in a huge area to the left, and a substantial kitchen was sealed off from the rest of the space by a thick transparent material to their right. Ahead was a large garage with several kinds of conveyances, and to the side of it was a room-sized metal box that looked like it could double as a safety bunker in case of orbital bombardment. The guard’s palm print opened a number pad, and she shielded it from their view as she typed in a string of fifteen digits, based on the sound of her nail tapping on the screen. The heavy entry portal swung out to permit access.
Inside, it was as spotless as the upstairs had been. Weapons adorned two of the four walls, and shelves laden with various other items took up the rest of the wall space. High tables filled in the middle portion, and benches at intervals were placed in the remaining area. He looked with longing at the tactical uniforms hanging in a corner, but that wouldn’t work with their cover as pirates. The requirement to perform reconnaissance had been rendered moot by Lady Elle’s resources, so now it was all about getting in, getting the stuff, and getting out clean. To accomplish that, they’d need to keep up the illusion of being freelance pirates, which meant wearing what they came in.
But that didn’t mean they were equally limited in their choice of equipment. Even the most roughly outfitted crew would be expected to put their money into their gear, and they could scuff up or otherwise cosmetically damage whatever the room had to offer before taking it into the field. He said, “We’re going for quiet. No grenades unless they’re web grenades.” Despite that command, he slotted a pair of flash-bangs into the belt he’d pulled from one of the shelves. It was worn enough to mostly fit the image they’d be trying to pull off, and if their foes managed to examine it closely and pierce the illusion, he’d likely be too dead to care.
He trusted each of them to make their selections and focused on his choices. He added a second holster and moved his pirate handgun to the left, replacing it with a better-looking model from the casino’s inventory. Military rifles lined one section of the wall, and he pulled one from its clips and gave it a once-over. UCCA military, a couple of generations old. Probably still too obvious, even if it’s familiar. He replaced the weapon and grabbed another, a Confederacy model that was similar in function but would be a little less natural to operate. He announced, “Stay away from Alliance weapons. Stick with neutral or Confederacy stuff. We don’t want to give them any reason to think this was a sanctioned operation.” Which begs the question, is Stephenson approved to be pursuing this inquiry? Ultimately, since it’s through the Academy, does it matter? He gave a mental shrug. Now’s not the time to worry about it, in any case.
When they finished, he performed one final check of his team. Nothing seemed glaringly out of place, and he was impressed at the variety of additions they’d chosen, each of them consciously or unconsciously supplementing the selections of their teammates. Since the situation was mostly unknown, options were essential. He nodded at the guard, who was standing beside the door. “I think we’re ready to go.”
She returned the nod and handed him a rectangular box. “Boss said to give you this. It’s a magic key. Should be able to open most encrypted locks, unless they have the latest military-grade stuff. In that case, you’re on your own.”
He accepted it and slipped it into his inner jacket pocket. “Good deal. Convey our thanks.”
She frowned. “Don’t get too appreciative. Since we can’t have anyone tracing that item to us, if it’s not back here or in the truck in two hours, it’ll explode rather impressively and ruin your whole day. So, don’t get caught, and don’t dilly-dally.”
“Excellent advice.” He raised his voice. “Let’s go, people. Clock is ticking.”
Chapter Nine
The truck was either autonomous or remotely piloted. In any case, Jax and his team didn’t need to worry about it. They waited in the back as it rolled slowly along the service lanes that ran mostly unnoticed through the middle of each city block. The guard had told them it was shielded from detection and would provide a reading that showed only foodstuffs hidden within if it was scanned. He noticed a sense of discomfort at the thought and decided it was due to the confidence he’d been repeatedly called upon to place in others not in his chain of command. A lot relied on the Professor being a good judge of character. If not for the reassurance that Stephenson was involved, he might not have been able to deal with that level of trust in unproven people.
When the truck stopped and the rear door slid silently open, he was ready. He pulled down the black full-face mask to obscure his features, jumped out of the back, and crossed to the Administration building’s rear entrance. He pointed at the palm lock, and Maria Verrand got to work on it with a multi-tool. Anton Sirenno leaned his shoulders against the wall with his hand hovering over his pistol on the far side of the entry, and Cia and Ethan Kimmel positioned themselves
next to him. Their rifles were in sturdy duffel bags that served the double purpose of making the run look like a simple theft. The team would snag anything that looked valuable during the operation as misdirection.
He handed Verrand the magic key once she’d exposed the line that connected the palm reader to the security system, and it did its thing in less than five seconds. A click sounded as the door unlocked. Sirenno pulled it open and led the way forward. The rest of them followed and held inside until Verrand finished reattaching the plate and joined them. Instead of wasting time to relock the exit, she slipped two thin pieces of metal from her belt pouch into the frame and wedged the doors closed. “Won’t hold for long,” she muttered softly, “but it’ll keep out any random passersby.”
He nodded and reformed the line, using gestures to command his people. Sirenno and Kimmel freed their rifles and guarded forward. Cia and Verrand did the same and stood next to the doorway they’d come through. Their entrance had deposited them into the receiving area, as expected. To the left was a locked storage cage filled with boxes and crates. Ahead was the door that led to a small kitchen, according to the blueprints, and to the right was the reason that coming in the back had made perfect sense: a freight elevator. He pointed Kimmel toward it, and the computer expert grabbed his bag.
During their planning session, they’d agreed that while the magic key would probably be enough to get the lift moving, it might not be adequate to keep that activity secret from the building’s security systems or personnel. So, accessing and compromising the network was their first priority. Kimmel attached a line from his tablet to a maintenance port inside the elevator. While the primary means of communication was almost universally wireless, many individual pieces of equipment still had local accesses for repair purposes. To the right person with the correct gear, they provided a potential way in.
Kimmel stood and waved them into the lift. He whispered into Jax’s ear, “As they thought, it doesn’t go down. But it’ll be invisible to the system for the next ninety-seven minutes. The other security systems will also think everything is fine until then.” All of their actions were now tied to the timeframe of the two-hour time bomb he’d handed off to Verrand.
They rode to the top without incident and exited the lift, leaving it locked down at that level. He checked his wrist comm, a poor replacement for either his military version or the Academy’s, but one that would be appropriate for a pirate crew, and pointed at the wall to their left. “Kimmel, see if you can find a wireless access for the thing. Everyone else spread out.” The floor was what you’d expect from an administrative building. Their entry area had a doorway connecting it with an office section that closely resembled every other example he’d ever seen, multiple corridors with reasonably large chambers along them. The nicest ones were at the front, with broad windows looking out over the street. He grabbed several items that looked expensive but not sentimentally valuable, stashed them in his bag, and returned to the rear.
Sirenno and Cia were already there, and Verrand stepped through moments after he did. Kimmel emitted a soft “Yes,” of triumph, and a wall panel slipped away to reveal the elevator behind it. The computer wizard pointed up at tiny indentations in the ceiling. “Focused holographic projectors to hide the seams. Clever stuff. Never seen it used that way.” Another moment and he had the doors open. Jax held up a hand to still his team until Kimmel announced, “We’re good. Security systems in the lift are ours too. I can’t say what we’ll find at the other end, though. There’s nothing on this system that suggests anything below surface level.”
Verrand’s scowl was audible in her words. “They’ve thought of everything. Bastards.”
Jax chuckled. “If it weren’t for competent enemies, we’d all be out of a job. Let’s see what they’re hiding.”
The ride down was silent. It wasn’t only a lack of conversation; the oval-shaped car transmitted no sound at all from beyond it. The experience was eerie and surreal, reminding Jax of the quiet moments during a space jump before you hit atmosphere and things got wild. His fingers twitched on his rifle. Here’s hoping this thing isn’t delivering us to something too hot to handle.
He pointed at the selector on his weapon, prompting the others that theirs should also be set to stun. There was no value in leaving bodies behind them if it could be avoided. The people in this building were their political enemies, but not personal ones. If they could eliminate the obstacles in their way without actually eliminating the obstacles in their way, that would be a total win. Cia whispered, “Yeah, yeah, who would have thought that the big, bad, Special Forces captain would be such a mewling pacifist?”
Grins accompanied the reply, along with a snort from someone behind him. Jax shook his head and forced his game face on to cover his smile. When the doors opened, he was ready, right foot back, rifle extended, sighting down the barrel. But he was completely unprepared for the shock that greeted him.
He squeezed the trigger in reflex at the sight of the monstrosity that stood ten feet away down the corridor. The stun blast hit its metal skin and flowed over the surface with a familiar pattern of dissipation circuitry, accomplishing nothing. He’d faced other combat robots, but they’d tended to be based at least loosely on the human form. This one would probably be featured in future nightmares, if he survived.
It had four legs, each with a joint in the middle and ending in a small tripod that flexed as its weight shifted slightly. The torso section, if you could call it that, was a thick cylinder that reached from about a foot off the floor to about five feet high. Even now, it was in motion, spinning to bring one of the many wicked-looking melee weapons attached to it to face them. Where a head would have been, had this thing had any sliver of normalcy to it, was a turret. Or, more accurately, four double turrets, one pointing in each cardinal direction. The two barrels facing him belched out an attack.
Jax yelled, “Down,” and dove forward into the corridor. Staying in the elevator would be nothing short of suicide, and he needed to clear enough space for his team to get out as well. On his way down, he automatically analyzed his surroundings. Flat walls, floor, and ceiling. No doors. It all appears to be plastic or white metal. A dark chuckle echoed through his mind. Probably for easy cleaning. Projectiles flew over his head, and he recognized them as a steady stream of small caliber rounds. He hit and rolled on his shoulder, then came up with his rifle raised and the selector already flicked to the energy setting. He pulled the trigger hopefully, then cursed as the dissipation circuitry drained the power away. The impact made the thing wobble a little, but no more.
Jax ducked and scuttled to his right as the line of bullets slashed at him. A pair of grenades appeared from behind, sailing over his head toward the robot. Its center portion swiveled and something that looked like a cricket bat smacked one of them out of the way, but the other detonated, coating the enemy in sticky strands. It seemed to struggle against them, the middle section and top part moving in different directions to try to pull it apart. Then it simply sprayed flame out of the turret facing to the right. The attack rebounded from the wall to splash over it, burning away the white tendrils that had momentarily held it captive.
“Damn it,” Jax breathed, then fired with his rifle on its third setting. Bullets hammered into the robot, and it deployed a metal shield from its torso to absorb them. The barrier covered it from top to bottom and protected it at the cost of limiting its ability to attack. For at least the next five seconds, until my magazine runs dry. His mind raced, seeking options and finding nothing more promising than charging it and trying to shove his flash-bang grenade into a vulnerable spot, maybe one of the places where its weapons emerged from the central cylinder.
Fortunately, his team members had better ideas. Cia and Sirenno stepped up next to him, and as his rifle ran dry, the pilot’s took over. He swapped magazines and waited for a turn. Verrand yelled, “Nobody move,” and slid into view through Sirenno’s parted legs, holding a brick of brown clay with a smal
l chip in the center. She stayed to the right, out of their line of sight, and sprinted up beside the shield. Her throw left her hand at the same moment that a blade scraped along her side, slicing through the leather of her coat and splashing red blood onto the white wall. She backpedaled with a shout of pain accompanied by a curse. “Stupid mother-scratching toaster, blow it!”
An explosion emanated from behind the shield, and pieces of metal made tinkling noises as they flew away from the robot and slammed into the walls and ceiling. Its defenses dropped, and Jax opened up on its turret head. The thing fired back, but Verrand’s move had apparently damaged something important because the bullets went up into the ceiling and traversed down to the wall rather than hitting them. Sirenno stopped firing and yanked Verrand out of the way an instant before the line intersected her position.
After another tense second, the combat robot suddenly shut down, going from active to immobile without any transitional moment. Kimmel, sounding shaken, said, “Okay. We’re good. I have it in a loop, and can keep it there.”
Jax lowered his weapon slowly, fearful that the thing would prove the other man wrong, but it stayed passive. He crossed to where Verrand sat on the floor, her back against the wall and her hands pressed to her side. She managed a weak grin. “I probably didn’t think that all the way through.”
He returned the smile and shook his head. “Maybe not, but you gave us enough time for Kimmel to shut it down. Good work.” He grabbed the medical pouch strapped to his thigh and withdrew a compression bandage covered in clotting powder. Sirenno was already helping her out of her jacket to expose the wound.
Kimmel said, “She did more than that. Without her blasting it, I wouldn’t have been able to get past its defenses. The shell was hardened against signal intrusion. If it hadn’t been cracked or broken, we’d be toast.”
