Balance of Power (Battleborn c23), page 30
"I'm not that easy to break." Skip hoped that wasn't a lie.
Silently, they squatted side by side. Without the clock on his interface implant, Skip would have lost all sense of time long ago. Only a dull roar, carried to them by the station's structure, testified that the peace over the plaza was an illusion. Skip strained his ComLink, but all channels were blanketed by jamming transmitters. He was tempted to send a dispatcher out to find out what the situation was in the other sections of Aurora. But the risk of losing another man just to satisfy his curiosity was too high.
Another rumble sounded. This time brighter and louder. Everyone present raised their heads.
"That was close," Mace stated.
Skip closed his hands a little tighter around his weapon. Straining, he watched the corridors that led in all directions from the plaza. Several times he thought he saw movement, but a blink later all was quiet again. His tense nerves were playing tricks on him.
A flash of light from above made him wince. Mace and the two security guards entrenched with them behind the barricades also jerked up their rifles. He hadn't imagined that.
"What was that?" Mace's eyes wandered unsteadily back and forth.
"Plasma weapons," Skip commented.
The blood drained recognizably from the Alpha's face. "Shit!"
Another flash shone behind the picture window. Not a sound reached Skip's ear. Beyond the pane there was no air to transmit the sound.
Suddenly, something banged against the window from outside. Steel claws sought a foothold on the smooth surface. More six-legged objects followed the first. In less than a second, they had formed a circular formation and extended their plasma torches.
"Masks on and hold tight," Skip yelled.
He hurried to carry out his own order. The breathing mask smacked against the collar and hood of the spacesuit. The visor fogged briefly before the climate control reduced the humidity. As the view cleared, Skip saw a wreath of blue-white lights above him. The torches effortlessly burned their way through the panoramic window. Skip wrapped an arm around the nearest steel beam and wedged his legs under the barricade. With a deafening crack, the several-inch-thick composite disk gave way to the brute force of the plasma cutters. A segment about two yard in diameter came loose and was hurled into Aurora's interior by a gale force wind. Within an instant, the hurricane spread across the entire plaza, sucking the air out of the room. Pressure sensors registered the leak and caused the armored doors to close. Alarm sirens wailed. After a few seconds, the entire administrative district was sealed off from the rest of the station. Skip clung doggedly to the barricade to avoid being swept away by the escaping air. The sensor in his breathing mask showed the rapidly falling ambient pressure. Slowly, the gale force winds subsided. Cautiously, Skip checked to see if he could stand on the ground again without being swept off his feet by the storm. He still had to lean against the barricade, but succeeded. Again he peered upward. The killer robots also registered the slackening current. They prepared to climb through the hole, but seemed in no hurry. Mace was the first to react, raising his railgun to the ceiling and unleashing a steel inferno. The weapon twitched in the Alpha's paws as it hurled twenty large-caliber iron blocks per second across the room.
Skip put on his own rifle and joined in the choreography of annihilation with short bursts of fire. The security forces did likewise. With the atmosphere by now almost completely drained from the plaza, the firestorm raged in absolute silence. Skip's rattling breath was the only acoustic background to the hail of bullets.
The remains of the ceiling window around the hole the AIs had blown was turned into a sieve under the onslaught of projectiles. Within seconds, a dense network of cracks covered the glass surface. Man-sized pieces burst out and rained down on the plaza. Like a blow, Skip was struck by the realization of why their opponents had not stormed through the hole at the first opportunity.
"Cease fire!" he yelled, taking his finger off the trigger.
No one responded. How could they? Beyond Skip's breathing mask, there was no air to transmit his command. And the radio channels were still blocked by the jammers.
He left the cover of the barricade and stumbled in Mace's direction. Shards of glass hit him. He ignored them and hoped the spacesuit didn't take any damage. The Alpha was fully focused on his target. The railgun in his hands spewed incessant death and destruction toward the ceiling. When Skip put his hand on Mace's bicep, the giant instinctively jerked the weapon around and nearly rammed the red-hot barrel into his face. Eyes widened in terror as they stared up at him from under the giant's fogged visor. Skip waved his arms and formed the words 'cease fire' with his lips. Mace's look showed complete incomprehension, but he had already stopped firing anyway. Skip looked up again. It was too late. Instead of the manageable hole the robots had cut in the picture window, half the roof was now in ruins. Steel claws forced their way through the cracks and bullet holes from above, levering yard-sized pieces out of the glass without effort. The entire window lowered jerkily about a yard. More cracks spread out. Then the roof shattered into thousands of fragments and chunks weighing tons began to move.
Skip stared up at the ceiling in horror, paralyzed by the falling debris. Without knowing what was happening to him, he was suddenly jerked around and pressed against the barricade by a massive body. It was Mace, who lay protectively over him. The impact of the fragments was completely silent, but the shock wave caused the steel beams under Skip's ribs to tremble. Mace's massive body twitched only imperceptibly. Then the giant rose and released Skip. He got his bearings. At least, he tried to. The entire plaza was covered in rubble. Centimeter-sized chunks fell from Mace's broad back as the Alpha straightened. Blood oozed from between the tears in the fabric of his spacesuit. The wounds were exposed to the vacuum that sucked the lifeblood from the giant's body. But that was by no means the only problem. Bodies crawled out from under the fragments of the panoramic window elsewhere as well. But these were not flesh and blood. Steel claws pushed the scrap aside, making way for metallic figures unfurling their spider-like legs. Ignoring his injuries, Mace raised the super-heavy railgun and opened fire on the nearest enemy. Only a dull vibration of the ground accompanied the soundless volleys of projectiles. Sparks flew where the high-velocity rounds struck the robot's armor. Steel and plastic bent and buckled until one of the legs detached and flew off in a high arc. More shots hammered the spherical body of the machine, hurling it several yards across the room. Mace swung the barrel of the gun and took aim at the next enemy. The enemy was already lunging at the Alpha with claws raised when the railgun unloaded its hail of metal on him. The impacts slowed the killer robot's attack, but they did not stop it completely. A wide-arcing blow from one of the claws struck Mace's head with full force, knocking him to the ground. But even as he fell, the mutant kept the railgun pointed at his opponent and kept firing steadily. At close range, the bullets shredded the machine's armored torso and tore its metal guts to shreds. Cable fragments and hydraulic fluid streaked away in all directions. Then the robot collapsed. Mace, meanwhile, stood back up and turned his head toward Skip. A thick crack ran across the visor of the breathing mask. One of the oxygen tubes hung uselessly. He looked Skip in the eye. His lips formed a single word: 'Run!' Then he grabbed his gun with both hands and covered the next three robots with volleys. Skip pulled his own rifle from among the rubble and marched toward Mace. A movement in the corner of his eye made him spin around. The killer robot that Mace had first knocked back stood up again and stalked on its remaining legs right at Skip. He raised his gun and fired. The projectiles hit, but they seemed to do little significant damage. Most bounced off the armor and streaked across the room as ricochets. With his light railgun, Skip could not stop the attacker. Mace could not help him either. The Alpha was doggedly fighting off several opponents at once, but could no longer keep them at bay. In a flurry of claw-armed metal limbs, he went down and was buried under the robots. Skip wanted to rush to his aid, but it was clear that he was powerless to do anything. The only option left to him was to heed the last call of his comrade-in-arms. He turned and ran. The entrance to the central administration was blocked by a reinforced gate that had closed when the pressure was released. There was no way through there. Even if he managed to open the gate, the blast of air that would come his way would hurl him back into the plaza, right into the clutches of the AIs. He looked around for alternatives. One of the corridors was still open. The gate had gotten caught in a pile of debris and had not completely closed. Partially on all fours, Skip stumbled over the uneven surface. He didn't look around, didn't hear a sound from his pursuers. Only his own frantic panting reached his ears. He concentrated exclusively on the narrow vertical gap in front of him, the only remaining escape route, mechanically put one leg in front of the other, stumbled, fell down, scrambled a few feet, picked himself up again, and kept going toward the gate. Then his breath caught. A figure stood in the middle of the opening, misshapen, superhumanly tall. He stood still. He watched motionlessly as his opponent raised a powerful weapon. He stared down the barrel of the plasma gun. Breathed deeply. Prepared for his end. According to the stories he had heard, in the last moment before death, one's life was supposed to flash before one's eyes. But all Skip saw was the silhouette in front of him. It seemed to be waving at him. No. Not at him. It was gesturing for him to step aside. With a human hand. In an instant, the energy returned to Skip's body. He dropped to his right and lay as flat as he could on his stomach on the floor. A glistening light shone at his back. Even through the airless space, he felt the heat of the plasma discharge. Under atmospheric conditions, the dispersion of the energy weapons was so high that he would have been in the middle of the field of fire. But in a vacuum, the discharge was not deflected by the air molecules and formed only a narrow beam. Where it hit its target, it arrived with considerably more intensity. Cautiously Skip lifted his head and looked back. Only a molten pile of slag was left of the killer robot. With difficulty, he pushed himself off the ground. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him up. Definitely a human, wrapped in one of the cheap emergency suits that stretched tightly over the much too large body. Skip looked at his rescuer. Behind the glass helmet, he recognized a hairless, angular skull with an Asian face. Hato. The Musha shoved him behind him, eyes locked on Skip. The charge indicator on the beefy microreactor on the battle mutant's back was slowly approaching readiness again. Skip glanced back toward the plaza. The remaining robots had taken cover. One picked up Mace's railgun with its claws and pointed the weapon at Hato. The latter leaped backward and dragged Skip with him behind the armored gate. Dents that appeared spontaneously testified to the fact that even this cover was not safe in the long run. More people were waiting behind the gate. Three Combine mutants, one Alpha from Earth, two Norms. Hato waved frantically toward the corridor, away from the plaza. The squad began to move. Skip hesitated for a moment, but for Mace any help came too late. All he could do now for his comrade in arms was to retaliate. But not here and not now. Still, he swore to himself, he would return. He would not rest as long as a single one of the killing machines walked Aurora. He would avenge his companion, his bodyguard, his most loyal friend.
06-10-2211, New Groningen Station, Mars Orbit
With a noticeable jerk, the ferry docked. If you paid close attention, you could hear the crunch as the clamps closed around the lock ring. Most of the passengers, however, had other things on their minds than listening to the intricacies of the docking maneuver. To them, the push merely meant that they had finally reached their destination. Most of them impatiently gathered up their hand luggage and shimmied along the handrail through zero gravity to the airlock where the passenger bridge was just mooring. Kareena finished the news feed she had been watching during the flight and joined the stream of people. She was obviously not the only one interested in current events in Earth orbit. Several of the people around her were discussing the battles on Aurora and the origin of the mysterious attackers. A little more than half a year ago, Kareena herself had been on the embattled space station. Given what was going on there right now, her own experiences seemed almost tranquil.
"Who but USI has the resources to secretly keep an entire AI attack fleet operational?" the man in front of her asked his neighbor. "They can deny all they want. I'm telling you; USI is behind this."
"But why?" the man addressed countered. "Why would they get involved in the dispute between the Protectorate and the Federation?"
With those few short sentences, the public discussion was largely summed up. Speculation was flying everywhere, but no one knew what was really going on or why. Kareena agreed in principle with the argument that the USI had sent the AIs. Even more so since she had learned how aggressively the USI was using AIs. There was a significant difference between an agent carrying an AI in his head and a full combat squadron, but both were going in the same direction. As for the reason for such a commitment, however, Kareena was as much in the dark as the rest of the solar system. She knew that the USI was not unprejudiced against the mutant nation - after all, Dan Aden had tried to sabotage the Protectorate. But such a combat mission consumed enormous sums of money. Kareena could not imagine what would justify such expenditures. Especially since Guardian Avenger had made a clear peace offer to the USI with Aden's release.
On this front, however, Kareena currently had no influence. Cynarian did participate in assembling the Transnational Corporate Council's intervention fleet and had dispatched some warships to Luna, just in case the matter escalated further. But that was the sole responsibility of the corporate military. Internal Security was not involved in the operation.
Kareena herself also had other concerns that had led her to New Groningen and which now had her wedged between the ferry's passengers waiting to get into the station. A plump man with beads of sweat on his forehead bumped into her without apologizing. No one took any special notice of her. Without her Internal Security uniform, she was indistinguishable from the rest of the group. When she had entered New Groningen three and a half weeks ago, she had not only come in uniform, but had also been accompanied by a complete task force in combat gear. But this time she was careful to be inconspicuous. She wore an unadorned pantsuit and had styled her hair, which usually fell smoothly to just above her shoulders, into a modern curly hairstyle. Hoping no one recognized her, she joined the line of travelers and obediently placed her forearm on the ID scanner. A green light indicated that the computer had accepted the fake identity. It had taken her nearly a week, a substantial amount of money and a series of favors to get the chip. Normally, this sort of thing was no problem at all for security officers in undercover operations, but Kareena didn't trust anyone at the moment. Not even her closest colleagues. Especially not her closest colleagues. Something was rotten at Cynarian, and she couldn't rule out the possibility that Internal Security, or at least one of its employees, was involved. Or, as Eric Vandemool suspected, Intelligence, which didn't make things much better. Kareena fervently hoped she was wrong. But she needed certainty. That was why she was here.
The elevator took them to the higher of the two wheel-shaped rotational sections of the space station. Artificial gravity pulled everyone in the elevator to the ground with increasing force until a full g prevailed. Once at their destination, the shuttle's passengers spread out across the corridors. Kareena took a deep breath as she finally had some space around her. Since her last visit to Hades, she had a hard time tolerating physical contact with strangers.
The first step of her plan brought her to a public com terminal. She connected her neural interface to the device, dialed into the station network, and ran a few trivial queries. Hidden in the data streams, she slipped her agents into the system. They all had pre-programmed tasks and immediately got to work. Kareena had to pave the way for a few of them manually until they could proceed on their own. A good ten minutes later, everything was done. She stood up, smoothed out her suit, and marched purposefully toward the housing complex of the corporate elite. For all the automated controls as well as the guard posts, she was Elaine Charaille, special agent for Cynarian's Human Resources Administration. Her agents made sure her visit was properly announced and her access to the restricted sector approved. If anything went wrong, she could still pull the trump card of her real identity and claim to be conducting an internal investigation, which was even true. However, the secrecy of her action towards Internal Security and Intelligence would be gone. So for now, she had to stick to the official story.
Without any problems she found the way to Elisa Naratova's former domicile. She did not have an access permit for this. The estate was still privately owned, so no access was possible without a key or the special codes of the Internal Security. At least not legally. Kareena held her breath as she pushed the door opener. Whirring, the lock opened, revealing the way. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her agent had successfully deactivated the lock. Now she could only hope that Naratova's dwelling was not under surveillance. If it was, she would have to resort to Plan B.
She entered briskly and closed the door behind her. The huge living room lay before her just as she remembered it. Apparently no one had cleaned it up. Out of habit, she downloaded from her internal memory the recording of her last visit and superimposed the image over her current field of view. Immediately she noticed that the room had not been left untouched at all. The clothes lying around in disarray were not the same ones that had been here when Naratova was arrested, nor were they in the same positions.
