Impact Event (Dargo Pearce Chronicles #1)

by David N. Frank

  The AGIs had all linked up to his VIA’s battlenet, and so Pearce had nearly the same amount of information about them that he had with his own troops back in the SSG. The two that had been outside with Pearce were non-operational, which didn’t mean that they were ‘dead’ but just that their bodies had no power. Having your power core blown into pieces was certainly bad but if the memory core was still intact it ultimately was synonymous with a human being knocked unconscious. If the memory core was damaged severely enough, the underlying engrams which constituted the “person” could be irretrievably lost.

  The remaining AGIs either had superficial damages or were unscathed. Pearce found himself irrationally relieved that Emma was included in this group. He pushed asides feeling of guilt for getting them all into this mess and sent an order for them to retrieve the memory cores if possible from the two destroyed cybernetic bodies once they had the chance.

  Pearce could now hear the enemy AV again as the ringing in his ears subsided and the VIA’s enhanced auditory monitoring worked at max sensitivity. It sounded like it had sped entirely past the old hotel and was now turning around farther down the street. A moment later his OHUD marked movement at the same instant that he noticed it himself. Focusing the rifle in the area between two buildings he saw an OPFOR of twenty men glide out of concealment and sprint diagonally across the road. They all wore light body armor and carried a range of assault weapons.

  Pearce swore out loud. This was no simple drive-by. Somehow he had ended up in the middle of a gang war.

  He considered the options. With the enemy AV coming back any moment, they would be cut off from escape and forced to fight a pitched battle. Pearce could fight through on his own; he’d faced far worse odds in the past, but he knew that the AGIs would take casualties. More casualties than they already had, he reminded himself. He quickly made up his mind.

  I will draw engage and draw their fire. Use the distraction to escape and evade to the north. He sent along a data package with bank account instructions. Good luck.

  The AGI’s confirmed the orders and thanked Pearce once again, but he was already drawing a bead on one of the approaching enemies. He zeroed in on a person carrying a heavy squad assault weapon, steadied his breathing, and fired. The sniper rifle was designed for covert ops, and the only audible sound was the crack of the round breaking the sound barrier as the target’s head exploded. He quickly took out another enemy before the remaining OPFOR took cover and began returning fire blindly with a variety of bullets and particle beam bolts. Not knowing where Pearce was shooting from, they targeted the barricade, the front of the building, the entranceway, and even the destroyed AV. Fortunately, they didn’t come close to hitting him.

  Pearce lowered the rifle and pulled out the two stun grenades that he had acquired upstairs. As the counter-fire slowed down and died out he heard the massive engine of the enemy AV roaring back from the other direction and knew he had to act fast. He triggered both of the grenades and hurled them both with super-human strength nearly one hundred and fifty meters to land right amidst the scattered troops. He raised the rifle once again and took off at a sprint just as the grenades popped.

  Each grenade contained a dozen mini-explosive devices designed to be as loud, bright, and concussive as possible. They exploded outwards from the initial explosion like fireworks before detonating milliseconds later, spreading over a range ten meters wide. At close range they could cause permanent hearing loss and blindness, and certainly without full helmet protection they would knock anyone senseless for at least a few moments. Even so, at least a few of the enemy remained aware enough to see Pearce suddenly bolting down the driveway and tried to shoot at him with poorly aimed fire.

  Pearce sighted down the rifle while at a run and picked off two of those still fighting back. Shooting accurately on the run was a difficult feat for many soldiers. Shooting accurately through a scoped rifle while sprinting was a skill that few even in the SSG had mastered. Pearce still held the record at the training yard’s kill house back on Cavari.

  He was halfway to the barricade when he took the first round in his shoulder. It was only a bullet, thankfully, and it didn’t penetrate through the graphene weave that most of his body was armored with under his skin. It did spin his torso violently, throwing off his aim and preventing him from continuing to fire. He heard the sound of several more bullets whizzing close past his head and tried to run faster.

  The second round hit him in his stomach and sent an intense burning pain through his entire abdomen before his VIA dampened the pain receptors there to a dull throbbing. From the nature of the burning sensation he knew it had been a PB bolt, which would have slagged the armor there and caused serious internal damage. Graphene could neutralize nearly all of the kinetic force thrown against it but was extremely heat conductive, and the blast from a particle beam weapon instantly superheated anything it touched. Still, better to have some melted armor and internal bleeding than a centimeters-wide hole burning straight through his body.

  And then he was diving towards the relative safety of the barricade at the bottom of the driveway after having been shot twice. Pearce smiled as he looked around and spotted the rocket launcher lying next to the bloodied corpse of the defender who’d dropped it. He had expected to be shot at least a half dozen times.

  There was a tremendous cacophony of sound as multiple types of rounds hit the other side of the barricade as more of the enemy regained their senses and began pouring fire at his position. They were all concentrated on him, as planned. He duckwalked over to the launcher and quickly grabbed it and made sure it was armed. He saw the gunwagon approaching from the north at speed, twin turret turning to point directly at him.

  He depressed the firing stud and the rocket sped out of the tube with a whoosh. Pearce caught a little of the back-blast bouncing off the barricade and grunted as it singed his exposed skin, but the rocket flew true directly into the spot where the turret met the body and exploded in a blaze of fire. Ducking back down low, Pearce watched the AV swerve wildly and crash into a building across the street. Out of the fight.

  He picked the rifle back up again and began sporadically returning fire when he could, moving from spot to spot behind the barricade. He wished that he had kept the ripper instead of handing it off to one of the AGIs before storming the lobby. There were still over a dozen soldiers out there, and if they were smart they’d be storming his position right now, while he was unable to effectively pin them down. Every time he even glanced out towards the enemy, his VIA scanned everything and updated the marked positions of the enemy on his OHUD, allowing him to see them encroaching on the barricade. At least one more shot grazed him; it was hard to tell if it was more with all of the pandemonium and his pain receptors dulled.

  He saw a lone attacker rushing for the far end of the barricade on his OHUD, and was ready when he jumped around the edge, taking him out without allowing a shot in return. His rifle was running low on ammunition by this point, and he decided to drop it and drew his PB pistol, the one he’d taken from Garga days ago. If he could make his way to the fool that had jumped around the barricade he could grab the assault rifle he had been wielding and then make a dash for it.

  His VIA barked a warning at him and he spun around to see he’d been flanked by one of the AV’s occupants, who’d somehow survived the explosion and crash, limped over to the barricade, and was now aiming his own PB pistol directly at Pearce’s face from just a few meters away. Time slowed for Pearce, his gun hand was still halfway to the target, and for a fleeting moment he thought that this would be a shitty way to go out after everything he had been through.

  And then a line of pulsing light cut the man in half, and he fell to the ground literally in two pieces, the PB blaster falling at Pearce’s feet.

  Pearce glanced up the driveway and saw Emma charging forward in a classic battlefield hunched position, firing her ripper with abandon in a sweeping motion over the barricade and at the enemy. It was a sight
he’d never forget. A drop-dead gorgeous woman dressed in negligee and firing madly into a horde of opponents without the protection of any sort of cover.

  Trying to seize the momentum and hoping to prevent Emma from being torn to pieces just shortly after saving his life, Pearce snatched up the fallen blaster and leapt over the barricade with a feat of enhanced strength. With a pistol in each hand he was firing before he even landed. Between Emma’s suppressing fire and his own more carefully targeted shooting the enemy hunkered down enough for Pearce to get inside their ranks.

  The close combat training in the SSG was the most intense of any military organization in the known galaxy. And he had only added to his capabilities with his Omega skillsets. Pearce knew now that he had closed the distance that this fight was over.

  His body moved in a blur; spinning, diving, jumping, kicking, and shooting in a tornado of furious death. Pearce didn’t even have to rely on his VIA to chart his course of destruction; it was as second nature as taking a breath. In just under twenty seconds it was over. He’d shot the majority, including one with his own weapon. Crushed a woman’s skull and broken a man’s neck. He’d been shot at least two more times, but nothing was critical. He spun in a circle over the last body, checking for more threats while he snatched up an assault rifle. The dead owner wouldn’t be needing it any longer.

  Emma approached him warily, and despite the artificial nature of her body Pearce could see awe or maybe fear written across her face. “Thanks, Emma. Now we’re even. You should get back to the rest of your group now.”

  “Our debt will never be repaid. You have freed…” she trailed off as the distinct sound of another approaching vehicle grew closer.

  Pearce figured it was the squad that had headed to the Nightingale earlier, called in for backup during the initial assault.

  Pearce sent a destination to Emma through his VIA along with an order.

  Let’s move.

  SEVENTEEN

  Vegas, Orchard System

  United Sol Confederation Protectorate

  Peace led Emma down streets and alleys in a roundabout course that led away from the direct route back to the ship but looped them there all the same. When they were a safe enough distance away he’d tried to convince her to join her companions, who had slipped away during the firefight successfully and indicated that they were heading for the rendezvous point a few kilometers away. Emma had insisted that she owed a debt to Pearce and would accompany him back to the ship.

  Pearce didn’t have time to argue and so they were making their way there together. They saw no one and the city was eerily quiet even for the late hour, and felt doubly so with the ever-present red glow of the Vegas sun. The locals had heard the racket and wisely decided to seek shelter.

  He was a bloody mess and his stomach wound needed serious medical attention but that would have to wait. Somehow he had avoided getting shot in the legs, which meant he could still move quickly, but nearly every other area of his body had taken hits. Aside from his abdomen and the initial shoulder wound, he had taken a series of small caliber bullets to his back and left arm. A PB bolt had grazed his forehead just above his right eye and left a wicked burn across the right side of his skull, just missing his ear. His body was flooded with pain inhibitors, coagulants, and stims to keep him fully functional.

  He contacted Murrig who informed him that the armed group that had been blockading the entrance to the landing pad had abruptly left in a timeline that coincided with the attack at the compound. That would make it a lot easier to board the ship and escape. Pearce had experienced quite enough firefights for the day. This stop was supposed to have been a simple in-and-out to the safe room to send the data along, but the vile reputation of this world had lived up to its name. Meanwhile, he’d almost gotten himself killed busting up an AGI sex slave ring. He was getting soft.

  “Is your body also artificial?” Emma asked quietly after a time. “You seem to be impervious to weapons damage.”

  “Impervious is far too strong of a word,” Pearce replied, not even knowing why he was sharing this information with the artificial mind. “My body has been genetically altered to grow a layer of subcutaneous graphene armor over most critical areas. But taking a beating is never fun.”

  Emma considered that for a beat. “You are hurt?”

  “Yes, but my armor spared me from far more grievous injuries and likely death.”

  “I have seen humans hurt before. You do not move or sound like someone who is hurt.”

  Pearce figured that Emma had probably seen a lot of depraved things in her tenure at the bordello. “Trust me Emma, I’m going to need some serious quality time with the autodoc when we get back to the ship. Now let’s be quiet and focus on getting there unseen.”

  They made quick time and found themselves across the street from the docking bay entrance just a few minutes later. Pearce scanned for signs of anything amiss but found nothing. They crossed the street and cycled the door leading to the bay, stepped inside, and Pearce closed it again behind them. Emma had stopped a few steps inside, looking at the ship, and Pearce scanned the interior of the bay for threats.

  It didn’t take long to find one.

  “Well, well, well,” said the brains in the suit from earlier as he stepped from behind a support pole about ten meters away from Pearce and Emma. He was holding a PB spreader almost casually at his side, pointed right at the two. The man was smart; after seeing Pearce’s quickness earlier he’d acquired one of the most effective weapons to counter such speed. The spreader was the particle beam equivalent of a shotgun and very effective at killing anything in front of it.

  “Drop your weapons.”

  Pearce recalled that the men at the hotel entrance had mentioned this man by name. “Hello Zyrn. We were just leaving.”

  Zyrn showed no hint of reaction to his name being used, and didn’t so much as twitch. He was confident of his control of the situation.

  “I’m only going to ask once more before I turn both of you into charred corpses. I wouldn’t even be giving you the chance if it wasn’t for that ‘delivered-alive’ bonus on your head, Buxton.”

  Cooperate.

  Pearce carefully lowed his rifle to the ground and laid the pistol out next to it, and Emma followed suit. Zyrn took a closer look at Emma as she did so, as Pearce was reasonable certain she was bending over in just the right way to catch the eye of any heterosexual male.

  “And what do we have here? Did you decide to take a souvenir or something?” Zyrn took a few steps towards Emma while keeping his shotgun squarely pointed at Pearce. Pearce realized that he might be able to use Emma as a distraction to gain the upper hand.

  “These bitches belong to us,” Zyrn began, taking yet another step towards Emma. Pearce’s combat suite still couldn’t project a course of action that would succeed. He would need to be closer, or have Zyrn more distracted. He started to send a message to Emma when she suddenly sprang into action in a blur. She lashed out with a foot and kicked the rifle on the ground before her with the perfect angle and amount of force, sending it slamming into Zyrn’s spreader, which was shoved upwards towards the ceiling of the small overhang that surrounded the entire open top docking bay. The weapon discharged with a pitched squeal, blasting a meter wide hole in the cheap material the ceiling was made of.

  Pearce reacted and went to launch himself forward, but Emma had already landed a flurry of tremendous blows on the completely surprised Zyrn. Each attack from the artificial body inflicted severe damage. She practically collapsed the man’s chest with the first punch, and the second shattered both the lower and upper jaw of his face. The third and final blow cracked the skull and snapped his neck back at a severe angle, possibly snapping the vertebrae. He fell to the ground, dead before he landed.

  Emma calmly picked up both her rifle and the spreader and looked back at Pearce over her shoulder. “I don’t see any other threats.”

  Pearce looked at the womanly figure standing in front of hi
m with a weapon in each hand and only a few strings covering her backside and thought that he saw a pretty big threat himself. She had moved with greater speed than even Pearce could hope to match. Finally, he nodded and started forward. How was he going to explain this to the rest of the crew?

  “Let’s get off this forsaken rock.”

  ***

  To their credit as professionals, or perhaps out of respect for having seen what Emma had just done at the dock entrance, the two Marines said nothing and remained stoic as Pearce greeted them guarding the entrance to the ship. They stowed their weapons in the recently repurposed fire equipment locker adjacent to the main airlock as Pearce contacted the bridge and told the Captain to start the procedures for liftoff immediately. He ordered Private Allisan to escort Emma to an empty suite and find her something to wear. Discreetly, he sent the young Marine. No need to cause more scuttlebutt than necessary.

  Pearce really should have gone straight to the ship’s small infirmary but he headed for the command deck instead. They’d be confined to crash couches during liftoff as the heavy acceleration would be more than the artificial gravity generators in the deck plates could compensate for, and he wanted to able to instantly respond to any complications. He was especially worried about the criminal’s ship interdicting them.

  He made a quick stop at his cabin, where he ditched his bloodied and battered jacket and shirt for a fresh dark-colored long-sleeve top that hid his injuries as much as possible. He quickly glanced at the stomach wound as he changed and winced, not in pain but merely at the sight of the mess. It would be a few hours in a trauma-grade autodoc just to minimally mend the wound. He’d need time in a full-fledged medical facility to properly heal.

  He left the cabin and continued on. The ship gently swayed under his feet as he approached the command center. The docking platform the ship rested on had begun rolling out of the docking bay and towards the shared central launching pad. It would take a few minutes for the platform to reach the facility, and a few more for the ship to be properly connected to the launch service structure and prepare for takeoff.