by Adrian Smith
The room beyond was vast, taking up one whole floor. No windows, and temperature controlled. Row upon row of servers were stacked in neat rows. Millions of red, green, and blue lights blinked like a Christmas tree. As they entered, their breath clouded in front of their faces in the chilled air.
“Which way?” Ryan said, stepping in front of Touma and drawing his weapon.
“Main console is there.” Yamada gestured deep into the rows. The console was just visible, shaped like the Burj Khalifa— the world’s tallest building in Dubai. Orange and black lights flashed across its surface in neat intervals. Most server rooms were kept at 20 degrees Celsius, but for a mega supercomputer like this, the temperature was maintained at around 10 degrees Celsius, or 53 Fahrenheit.
A noise like a cat with long claws walking over tiles echoed around the expanse. A thousand cats. All walking at once. Ryan snapped his head up. He cast his eyes around the room, trying to locate it. He knew that sound, had heard it in the forests of Koya.
Kumobots.
They were ten meters from the console when the Kumobots swarmed out of the box tubing, out of the cooling system, and from panels behind the servers, pincers clicking together like glass bottles chinking in a fridge.
Click. Click. Click.
They halted a few meters away from the team, surrounding the banks of servers.
“What the hell!” Sofia shouted. “What is this, Yamada?”
“They aren’t meant to do this. Only if an unauthorized person gains access.”
Sofia pulled out her handgun and aimed it at the nearest Kumobot. Touma took another step forward. The Kumobots followed his movement, clicking their pincers.
“Stay still,” Ryan instructed. He activated his comms. “Cal, we’ve got a problem.”
Cal’s voice came through, clear but faint. “Us too. Some sort of robot sentry.”
“Standby.”
“Yamada?”
“Offenheim must have done something. Once I shut down the computer, they’ll go dormant.”
Ryan sighed. His finger itched on the trigger guard. He tried to count the Kumobots. Twenty? Maybe thirty. He ran through the possibilities. They could shoot a few of them, but the sheer numbers would overrun them. He pulled the taser batons from his satchel and tossed one to Sofia.
“Use this.”
“Got it.”
“Cal. You copy?” Ryan said into his radio.
“Go ahead.”
“Use the taser batons Booth has. I gave him a couple back on the sub. Two minutes, then we shut down this beast.”
“Wilco.”
The Kumobots looked the same as those on Mt. Koya, except these were smaller and didn’t hesitate to attack once Touma made a dash for the main console.
Ryan and Sofia activated their taser batons and used them like truncheons, swatting away any of the bots that got too close. A jolt of electricity stunned the Kumobots; another jab and they fried, falling to the ground, once again, just pieces of metal and circuitry.
“Back to back. Protect Yamada,” Ryan said as the Kumobots swarmed around the servers.
A couple reached them and stabbed their legs with their razor-blade claws. He booted one away and zapped another one. In no time, there were three more. They were barely holding them off.
“Yamada? How are you doing?”
Touma was tapping away at a small keyboard. He paused and wiped away sweat before clicking the mouse. “Starting shut-down procedures now.”
“Can’t you just pull the plug or something?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
A Kumobot leapt, sailing through the air, and landed on Ryan’s arm. Immediately it sank its claws into his flesh, tearing it.
“Sofia!”
“I thought these were for search and rescue,” Sofia said as she zapped the Kumobot and kicked it away.
Ryan glanced at his arm and noticed the torn flesh was healing already. He hated the thought of millions of nanites in his body, but it sure made combat easier.
A panel in the wall behind them opened, and hundreds of red eyes flared in the darkness. A chorus of clicks joined the din.
“Incoming. On our six,” Ryan shouted. He drew his Glock with one hand, firing as he stabbed with the other. It was clumsy and often threw his aim off, but he ignored it and kept firing.
Seeing the hundreds of Kumobots swarming reminded him of Cal being tortured and the ants they had used to break her.
He went into battle mode, solely focused on the fight at hand. Jab with one arm, fire with the other. The bots swarmed around him and Sofia, concentrating on Touma. Touma shouted out in panic as several broke through and stabbed his legs.
Ryan ejected his second magazine and slammed in a fresh one.
The Kumobots swarmed in as one. He squeezed the trigger until it clicked empty. Cursing, he zapped every bot that he could reach.
“Almost!” Touma shouted.
The Kumobots surged again, as if sensing danger. They sprang forward as one, leaping over each other until several landed on Yamada’s back. He rolled away, screaming.
“Enter, press enter,” he managed to gasp out.
Ryan and Sofia went back to back again, stabbing at any Kumobot that got too close as though they were using pikes in a medieval battle. Sofia yelped and reached back, jabbing a finger at the keyboard.
The reaction was instantaneous. The Kumobots froze, shutting down, as the lights on the main console blinked off.
Ryan and Sofia kicked the bots off Touma and helped him to his feet. Dozens of bleeding cuts marred his blemish-free skin. Already they had begun to heal.
“You okay?” Ryan said.
“Shaken, but yes,” Touma answered. He pulled a portable hard drive from his pocket and returned to the keyboard. A monitor blinked to life, showing the backup room. Ryan was relieved to see Goro standing at his console.
He left the Yamadas to it and nudged his radio. “Cal. All good?”
“That was crazy. We’re fine.”
“Meet in the parking garage in five.”
“Wilco.”
Yamada cheered as the console lights came back on. “Success. Updates installed.” As if to affirm his victory, the undamaged Kumobots came back to life and scurried away, disappearing back into the panels, the box tubing, and the cooling vents.
As they returned to the elevator, Ryan’s radio blared to life.
“Hostiles inside the building,” Cal said. “I count at least eighteen coming in the front entrance.”
“Proceed to extraction point,” Ryan said.
The elevator descended for a few seconds before screeching to a halt. He eyeballed Touma. The old man shrugged and reentered his code. The elevator remained motionless.
“They’ve cut the power somehow,” Ryan said. “We’re on foot. Stairs?”
“Yes. Of course. Access on every floor.”
Ryan popped the hatch on top of the elevator and hoisted Sofia and Touma up. He glanced around the shaft and spotted the doors to the floor above. As he stood there, he had an unerring sense of déjà vu. He couldn’t seem to escape being trapped in elevator shafts.
It didn’t take him long to climb up and release the doors. Bullets stitched the wall above his head as he peeked out. One grazed his cheek.
Sloppy. Real sloppy.
Ryan returned fire as Sofia joined him.
“What have we got?”
“Two so far. Down the hall. It’s like they were waiting for us,” he said. He looked down at Touma. “Pass me the fake plant in the elevator. I have an idea.”
Ryan removed the fake palm tree and tossed it away, cradling the bright gold ceramic pot. Next, he rolled it down the hallway. As he hoped, the Black Skulls reacted to the movement and opened fire, exposing their positions. Ryan didn’t hesitate. He shot them both in quick succession. The gunmen grunted as they fell to the floor. One had wounds to his neck and was trying to staunch the flow of blood. The other—a female—was still alive but breathi
ng shallowly.
“Who are you?” Ryan asked.
The female grinned at him before shooting herself in the head. Ryan took her rifle, a HK416, and checked the magazine.
“Clear,” he said to Sofia and Touma as they joined him.
“Hostiles in the hallways, Cal. SITREP,” Ryan said into his radio.
“On our way via the stairs. Parking garage is hot. Floor five…” Gunfire echoed up the stairwell. “We’re taking heavy fire from above and below.”
“On our way.”
Ryan, Sofia, and Touma were on the ninth floor. If Cal, Booth, and Goro were taking fire from above, there was a good chance they could attack the Black Skulls on two fronts.
This time Ryan was careful and used the camera probe to check around the corners once he’d cracked open the door. His floor was clear. He eased the door open farther and bent the camera, checking the perimeter. He spotted the five soldiers two floors down. Cal and Booth had them pinned.
He turned and signaled to Sofia. Five men, two floors. Take the two on your right. I’ll take out the other three. She nodded and moved into position.
The Nameless had done this before, trapped with no obvious place to go. Ryan counted to three in his head and burst into the stairwell. With practiced efficiency, he scored direct hits on three of the gunmen before they knew what was happening. Sofia managed to shoot one before the last Black Skull dived through the doorway and disappeared.
“Cal. All clear. Watch the door on floor six. We’ll cover your retreat.”
“Affirmative.”
Their footsteps bounced softly up the stairwell. Ryan and Sofia waited until Goro was through before wedging the door with an office chair.
“We can’t use the stairs now. We’ll have to find another way.”
Goro bowed to his grandfather before turning back to The Nameless. He pulled out a radio. “Tanuki One. We need assistance.”
“Inbound. Five minutes,” came the quick reply.
“Floor nine. Hurry.”
“You have backup?” Ryan shook his head. “Were you going to tell us?”
“It was for emergencies only.”
Heavy bootsteps sounded in the stairwell, as if to emphasize the imminent threat from that direction. Ryan shook his head again and let his anger go. Now wasn’t the time. He spun and pushed the Yamadas away from the stairwell and farther down a long hall. Several offices filled with cubicles blinked back, lifeless and empty.
They looked inviting, somewhere to hide. Perhaps they could barricade themselves inside and wait out the Black Skulls. If Yamada’s men were on their way, that could work.
“Get down!” Booth yelled, and he pushed Cal and Touma down as automatic rifle fire puckered the soft fabric on the walls.
Ryan cursed and shoved his back against a door, checking his magazine. Half full. He didn’t have long to wait before the commandos began to close their trap. He cursed again and fired a couple of bursts to hold them off. The pops of Cal’s, Sofia’s, and Booth’s pistols joined his. To say they were in a sticky situation was putting it lightly. Unless the cavalry arrived in the next minute, the Black Skulls would be shooting fish in a barrel.
The commandos calmly advanced down the hallway, taking cover behind pot plants, coffee machines, and printers.
“Inside!” Ryan shouted.
He and Booth held the advancing Black Skulls back and slammed the door shut. Immediately, they pushed a desk across it.
“I believe I have a way out,” Goro said over the din of the firefight. “It will be easier to show you.”
He stood next to a photocopier and opened a cupboard, pointing inside.
Ryan peered down the cushioned tubing.
“Earthquake escape,” Goro explained. “We installed them after the 2011 earthquake. It goes straight down to the parking garage by the entrance.”
“Go! No time to think about it,” Ryan said.
Rounds began to smash through the door and walls as he returned fire, waiting for the Yamadas and The Nameless to drop out of sight. Ryan flicked the selector to auto and sprayed the door with bullets, anything to buy them enough time. Without looking back, he jumped through feet first.
The ride reminded him of a waterslide. Surrounded by a green rubber tube, he bounced from wall to wall, descending at a steady pace. A minute later, he dropped onto soft pads at the bottom.
More Black Skulls stood facing the elevator doors, rifles raised. He didn’t bother aiming. When the last commando fell, he and Cal walked over to them and put a bullet in each of their heads.
It wasn’t something he liked doing, but he didn’t know what level of nanites these Black Skulls had, and they needed to be sure of their escape.
“Everyone okay?”
Nods greeted him. Booth, Sofia, and Goro all nursed wounds, their blood dripping. It was going to be difficult getting used to the fact that the nanites made surviving gunshots easy. It was something they would all have to adjust to and consider when taking down enemies. Ryan gripped his carbine. A few well-placed bullets still incapacitated, but did they kill?
“Good. Let’s get out of here,” Ryan said, looking around the parking garage as he spoke, searching, waiting for more commandos to pop up and start shooting.
They had achieved what they had come for: reboot Yamada’s computer, stopping Offenheim from taking over. It was a small, but vital, step. If Touma was indeed part of a dissident faction within OPIS, then The Nameless needed him as their ally.
The enemy of my enemy and all that.
Touma opened the walkway door using another biometric scanner and held it open. “This way, ladies and gentlemen. My train awaits.”
Forty
Hood River, Oregon
Pandemonium was the only way Lisa could describe Highway 30. She and Cordwell were heading east toward the city of Hood River. Vehicles of all sizes and types had careened off the highway. Some had slammed into the barriers, flipped over, and lay on their sides, twisted, burning. Others had gently rolled to a stop, blocking lanes. A mail delivery truck had smashed into a bridge pylon and the trailer had jackknifed, scattering packages all over the road.
“Will you look at that,” Cordwell said, whistling through his teeth.
Up in the hills of Beacon Rock State Park, a large plane had hammered into the pine forest, leaving a long trail of destruction. Trees lay at odd angles, as if snapped in half by giants, some blackened and burning, while others were on fire, sending dark plumes of smoke into the air.
“Holy hell. This is worse than I imagined. Those poor people.”
Lisa swerved around another semi-trailer lying on its side. Milk, from the large tear in its tank, covered the asphalt. She gunned the engine once she was clear, eager to get to Dr. Monica Johnson. Lisa wanted answers, was desperate for them. She had grown accustomed to knowing what was going on, being in control. She was the one who delegated missions to her operatives, sought out answers, and implemented plans, stopping acts of terror. Now, for the first time in her professional career, she had little intel. She was all but cut off from her agents. It frightened her right to her core. To that piece inside that never wavers, never diminishes. That piece that keeps going, even through the toughest of times. That core belief that refutes doubt. For some, it is the satisfaction of a job well done, for others, the pride when the children you raised grow up and achieve everything you dreamed for them. For Lisa and others in LK3, in the military, it is the knowledge that what they do is for the greater good. The few saving the many.
They drove past cars with doors open and personal belongings strewn across the road. There were signs of fighting. Pools of blood and shell casings. Lisa slowed the truck to walking pace and edged around two minivans. An overweight man wearing a Seattle Seahawks jersey, his legs twisted at an odd angle, stared into the forest that hugged the highway. His head was all but severed from his body, spine exposed, licked clean. Lisa halted the vehicle.
“What the hell?”
“Sh
it,” Cordwell cursed, banging his fist against the window. “What in God’s name happened here?”
Dark blood coated the ground under the Seahawk supporter, spreading out in a river-like pattern. He still gripped a tire iron in his right hand.
Lisa and Cordwell exited the Chevy, rifles raised, and swept their immediate vicinity. Lisa breathed out slowly, checking the tree line. Only birds and insects moved. Nothing else.
“Cover me,” she said, and crouched beside Seahawk. Lisa had been in enough firefights to know the destruction caused by weapons, but this was unlike anything she had ever seen. The muscles in the man’s neck had been torn away but were left untouched. Whatever, whoever, had done this had only been interested in the spine. Using her foot, she nudged the skull, exposing the other end of the broken bone. That too had been licked clean. All that was left was a clear mucus-like membrane.
“I want to get a sample of this for Dr. Johnson. Do you have anything I could use?” said Lisa.
“Glove compartment.”
Lisa opened it and fossicked among old sports mags, burger wrappers, and an old, melted Baby Ruth. Her fingers brushed a black plastic cylinder. A film container.
“You still use film?” she asked, popping the lid and wrapping the film in a burger wrapper.
“I’m old. I like old stuff,” Cordwell said. He clicked his safety off. “Incoming. One hundred meters.”
Lisa scooped up the mucus and snapped the lid shut. She rose. Bringing her M4 to her shoulder, she peered through her scope. Five figures were heading toward them, dodging around cars and plowing through debris like it wasn’t there. Lisa flinched at their ivory skin covered in red lines. Their mouths were pulled back in snarls as they gnashed their teeth together.
Fifty meters out.
Lisa’s finger caressed the trigger. Instinct told her to drop them, that they were a threat. But her heart empathized. They were human.
Had the virus mutated?
Cordwell shot the lead runner, taking the top off his head. He shot another two in quick succession, one through the neck and another in the chest. Lisa adjusted her aim and took out the last two, shooting their legs. She checked her six and made up the space between herself and the runners.
