Lieutenant Arilet Pembrooke knelt beside Richards’ body. Sighing, she closed his lifeless blue eyes. Reaching under the man’s shirt, she extracted his identity tags. Pocketing one, she left the other on the gray, polyferrum chain around the man’s neck.
The soldier’s helmet lay an arm’s reach away. Pembrooke picked it up, turned off the visor’s recorder.
“Zed, link Viper-eight. Playback.”
Pembrooke’s visor connected with Richards’. Her view of the two-story edifice switched to an interior shot of the assault ship that brought team Viper to Grundel at the start of their deployment. In the upper right corner appeared the name “Richards, R. Mission Time: 5. 23” and counting. Strapped in combat seating, the camera panned around as Richards checked each of his squadmates waiting for touchdown.
The recording showed Sergeant Cerelli, callsign Viper-one, a hard man with a permanent scowl placed his PM-5 combat helmet with its high-tech visor over his bald head. Next to him secured in his seat, Viper-two, Pvt. Retro Allen, played a complicated game using four fingers similar to roshambo with Viper-three, Pvt. Cormac Othello. The former winning most throws. African-Canadian Allen relished the competition. The latter, Othello cursed each time he lost. Viper-four, another African-Canadian and the squad’s heavy weapons operator, Pvt. Ransom Brick checked that his HMG 381 Assault Mini-gun rested securely in its stowage position.
The camera panned around to the opposite row of seats. Closest to Richards sat Viper-five. Pvt. Shanty Porcello played with a mind game app on her wrist comms as she jolted around from the turbulence of the flight. Next to her, Viper-six, Master Corporal Petro Chavinski traded insults with Viper-Seven, Cpl. Peter Isinga, the unit’s sniper. Isinga’s calm focus in the face of Chavinski’s best and most colourful insults and targeted rebuffs made Chavinski bluster with frustration. Viper-one-one sat at the end. Cpl. Goest sat with her eyes closed. She probably went through her usual pre-deployment mantra of various martial arts katas.
Richards’ view wiped around to show Pembrooke herself at her command station, a lock of her blonde hair sticking out the side of her helmet. She reached up and tucked it in.
“Zed, skip to mission time three-oh-point-two-five,” said Pembrooke.
The visor white-noise transitioned from the drop ship’s dark interior to a daylight view of the garden in front of the R&D building. It panned around from bush to bush, tree to tree. It looked down. A hooded shadow on the white duracrete walkway stepped from behind. A reddish-olive hand slapped on the edge of the view and jerked it skyward. The sound of a blade slicing flesh. A choking gurgle. A tumble and bounce before the view settled to rest on the walkway and the big granite sign that read, Nakamura Industries Research and Development Division. At the corner of the screen, one Canadian Stellar Services issue boot lay on its side and a growing pool of blood.
“Zed, rewind and stop at mission time three-two-point-one-five.”
A still picture of the hand at the edge of the visor came up.
“Zed, capture left quadrant, analyze. What species?”
The words, “Unknown, insufficient data” scrolled across the bottom of her visor.
“Zed, end link.” Pembrooke popped the memory chip out of Richards’ helmet and placed it in a thigh pocket.
“Viper-one, what’s your status?” said Pembrooke.
“We’re at the Tesla-Ryerson reactor now.” Sergeant Cerelli spoke in a rush. He had to raise his grating, baritone voice over small arms fire. “I don’t think they appreciate us dropping by unannounced.”
“Found Richards,” Pembrooke said. “He’s gone Elvis. Throat slit. Keep the terrorists busy while I find out what happened here.”
“You got it boss, but won’t they just blow the place and put everybody in a bad mood?”
Pembrooke surveyed the large research building. It stood silent and ominous. Dread crept into the pit of her stomach.
“Have a feeling they’re waiting for something else to happen first.”
Something moved at the corner of Pembrooke’s vision. She spun, bringing her assault rifle to bear. A dark, hooded figure flashed from a large planter into the old-fashioned, glass front doors of the R&D building.
“Got movement! Someone just went into the research facility.”
“That should have been evacuated and secured,” said Cerelli.
“Going to check it out.”
“Don’t go in there alone, Lieutenant.”
“Not to worry, Sergeant. Got Goest and Allen with. Take care of the others.”
“We’ll have more fun than a cockroach with the lights out.”
“Viper-one-one, viper-two, meet me at the front entrance.”
“Viper-one-one, acknowledged,” said Goest.
“Viper-two, copy,” said Allen
Pembrooke ran crouched over, keeping behind cover. Goest came in from her left, Allen from her right. They took positions to keep an eye on the entryway.
“Viper-two, maintain overwatch until we’re inside,” said Pembrooke. “Ingress now.”
Pembrooke and Goest rushed to the doors. The right side stood ajar. Pembrooke pulled it open. Goest ducked inside in perfect combat form, Pembrooke close behind.
A semi-circular security counter occupied the center of the lobby set thirty feet in from the entrance. Potted trees spaced around the edges of the massive lobby, stood beside doors to various glass-enclosed rooms. Beyond and on either side of security reception, a set of escalators ran up to the second level and down to the basement. A chrome-railed balcony around the upper level overlooked the lobby.
Pembrooke and Goest hurried to the counter. A Nakamura guard lay amid a pool of blood in front of it.
“On your six.” Allen’s voice came over the comms. He gained entry and joined them.
“Check him,” Pembrooke said, nodding at the guard on the floor.
Goest checked the body with her helmet’s visor.
“Dead, LT,” she said. “Looks like small arms rounds.”
“What was he doing here?” asked Private Allen.
“Standard corporate procedure,” said Pembrooke. “Even if the planet was going to blow, they leave security behind, so nothing gets stolen.”
Pembrooke leaped, rolled over the counter, staying low.
“There’s another guard on this side,” she said.
The body lay on its back. A puff of yellow saliva ran out of its mouth to pool on the floor. His eyes were staring, pupils contracted to pinpoints. He smelled of urine and defecation.
Goest and Allen came around the ends of the counter.
“Be careful. Looks like a nerve agent killed this man,” said Pembrooke.
Goest pushed the body’s head to one side. “Look at this, LT.”
An ugly burn marked the cheek.
“Acid?”
“Something with phosphorus qualities for sure,” said Goest.
“Okay. Viper-one.”
“Viper-one, go,” said Cerelli.
“Be aware. The terrorists may be armed with some sort of nerve agent.”
“Rodger that. Do you want me to send help?” Cerelli asked.
“Negative, viper-one. Have plenty here.” Pembrooke winked at Goest. “Got problems of your own. Those terrorists need to be contained and taken out.”
“As you wish, LT.”
“Do any of you see movement on this level?” asked Pembrooke.
“No, ma’am,” said Allen.
“Negative, LT.” said Goest.
“You two take the escalator down, clear the lower levels. Going up. It’s only two stories. Easy, right?”
“Easy as falling through space,” said Goest. “Let’s go, Allen. Left.”
Corporal Goest led Private Allen to the escalator on the left. Pembrooke covered their move. Once they started their descent, she dashed to the escalators on the right. She took the steps three at a time. At the top, she knelt between the rails.
“Viper-nine, Viper-one. We have breached and gain entry to the reactor building. One casualty,” said Cerelli.
“Don’t leave me hanging, sergeant. Who is it?”
“Brick. Hit in the leg. Chavinski says he’ll be fine.”
“Look, sergeant, you can’t be using explosives in there. Might do what the terrorists want and set off the reactor. No suppression fire. Shoot only at targets you can hit. Sonic grenades only.”
“Got it.”
A red blip appeared on Pembrooke’s visor.
“Got movement on the second level. Anything below?”
“Not yet,” said Goest. “We only just started to clear it though.”
“Keep at it. Will deal up here.”
Smoked glass walls surrounded the periphery of the upper floor. More decorative fauna placed at intervals enhanced the feng shui meant to illicit better productivity.
A quick dart to a large planter under a huge skylight brought Pembrooke to another covered position. The thick conifer’s branches extended past the borders of the planter, providing shadow enhancing the camouflage of her urban patterned war gear.
Lying in the planter, another body wearing a corporate guard’s uniform stared with dull eyes at her. She detected no one else. The blip on her visor indicated that the movement came from a room to the right of the escalator. The smoked glass walls prevented Pembrooke from seeing inside.
Being on her own did not bother Pembrooke. She had full confidence in her martial abilities and if she needed it, Goest and Allen were close by. She panned around the rest of the level. No other movement.
Running at a crouch, she made it to the door and flung it open. On one knee she aimed her ARM-17C assault rifle.
The laser site of her rifle rest, unwavering on the chest of a young woman. Her almond-shaped eyes wide, red-painted lips agape, stared at Pembrooke. She sat on the edge of a shiny, silver, polyferrum desk. She wore a bright red, sleeveless, silk dress, cut low at the cleavage and high up the thighs. Her pale skin contrasted with her hair black. Lines at the edges of her jaw gave away the fact that she was an android of an older design.
“What are you?” asked Pembrooke.
“I am Akane.”
“What model?”
“I am a Nakamura model Geisha-15.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I am sorry.”
“Why?”
“I have been reprogrammed as an early warning mechanism.”
A red dot surrounded in yellow began to flash with an arrow pointing at the bottom right corner of Pembrooke’s visor. She ducked and rolled. Laser fire burned a line across the glass, the door and into the room above her.
She somersaulted back to a kneel and return fire, letting her visor tell her where to shoot. Another laser shattered the damaged glass. A third blazed a diagonal line across the Geisha-15. It toppled over, cut in two.
Pembrooke sprinted and dove to take cover behind the desk. Laser fire hit it, but the polyferrum material reflected the energy beam away.
“Viper-nine. Contact! Second floor! Goest, Allen, come up from behind.”
Over the coms, small arms fire preceded Goest’s voice. “Viper-one-one. We’re pinned down, LT. They came at us the same time we heard fire from upstairs.”
A laser bounced off another polyferrum desk and ricocheted close to Pembrooke. She slid back deeper behind cover. A second came even closer to hitting her.
A metal door with an electronic key lock stood at the side of the room closest to her. Setting her weapon to single shot, she fired at the pad. It shattered in sparks and debris. The door did not slide open.
“Of course, it wouldn’t open,” cursed Pembrooke.
Three lines of laser fire bounced off different desks, cutting into the wall behind her.
“Viper-nine, Viper-one. Cerelli, what’s your status?”
“Viper-one. We’re bogged down on the main floor of the reactor plant. I sent Chavinski, Pidruchny and Orthello to flank. Should have these bastards cleared out in a few minutes. Are you okay there?”
Three more laser shots. One grazed the knee pad of Pembrooke’s armor, another started a small fire in the wall where it scored. The fire suppression sprinklers activated.
“Got this,” she said. “Just take care of your end.”
Pembrooke fired a burst into the frame of the door close to her, creating a small opening between door and frame. She snake-crawled to the door. Laser ricochet flashed inches over her. Jamming her combat knife into the hole, she pried open the door just wide enough for her to fit through. She pushed the door closed behind her.
Three long metal lab tables in the center of the room were surrounded on three sides by small to medium cages. Bio-scanning equipment covered the tables as well as testing trays with securing leashes on high rods. The feral scent of wild animals permeated the room.
Pembrooke moved further into the room. Small, bat-like creatures occupied the first few cages. They sported Brobdingnagian ears, a curved neck and a somewhat nose-less, humanoid face. Blueish-tan, leathery skin with short sparse hairs covered their bodies. Gripping the thin bars with their wing fingers, they looked up at Pembrooke with sad, pleading eyes.
Next to them were reptilian animals with wide, flat tails about the size of an Earth iguana. From tail to neck they featured pointed, boney studs.
A soft sound that sounded like a cross between a meow and a yowl drew Pembrooke’s attention to the far cage. It stood taller and wider than the rest. Inside it, a panther-sized feline with an exaggerated tail paced in circles. It had no fur. Instead, a leathery, orange dermis with small black or dark green spots all along the top with olive and tan stripes covering the rest of it. It had a main of short tendrils from the crest of its head to the base of its neck. It locked gazed with Pembrooke and meow-yowled again.
The cages on the other side had small critters with big eyes, fat, round bellies and studded arms devoid of appendages, like alien penguins with mouths instead of beaks. What did have a beak was a large bird with dark eyes. It lay in its cage moving only its head following Pembrooke as she crept through the lab.
The last cage contained a two-tone gray, striped quadruped about the size of a medium dog. Its short fur lay flat, as did its long, skinny ears. Canines protruded over the lips of a boxy face. Its long, thick tail wagged a slow weave behind it. It lowered its head and whined.
Dried drops of blood defaced one of the steel trays on the middle table. A used syringe lay beside it.
Pembrooke regarded the scanning equipment and testing trays, then considered the caged animals. Pembrooke bowed her head. “One crisis at a time. Sorry guys. I’d let you all go if I could.”
The canine whined again. The bat-like creatures added their pathetic cries. Every sad, animal eye stared at her with pleading eyes.
“Damn it, okay.” Pembrooke went up one side and down the other, opening each cage.
One of the lizards pounced on a penguin-alien and ate it in one gulp.
Pembrooke threw up her hands. “Of course. Should have seen that one.” She opened a door that led deeper into the complex and ushered some out, frantically trying to keep the prey separate from the predators.
Noises came from the office with the dead Geisha-15. Three blips appeared on Pembrooke’s visor.
She snapped open the last cage.
Someone forced the damaged door open.
The canine leaped from its cage and bowled over Pembrooke. It licked her face with friendly ferocity. Its tail swished back and forth strong enough to knock beakers off tables.
The door slid open.
Pembrooke forced the beast aside, brought up her weapon, and fired at the opening. The alien dog skittered away. A scream and a grunt sounded from the other room. A human stepped in, lancing the lab with a laser rifle. Pembrooke rolled out of the way. The canine took the attacker down.
Pembrooke darted after it, put the muzzle of her weapon up to the human’s head, and squeezed off one round. The canine let go of the arm it had clenched and looked up at Pembrooke. The corners of its mouth rose, and its tongue lagged out as it panted.
Pembrooke pushed the door all the way open. Two others lay on the floor, both human. One had a bloody pattern of holes stitched across his chest. The other crawled away, leaving a trail of blood. Pembrooke stepped up to him and put a knee on his back.
“What are you looking for here?”
“Go vacate yourself!”
“Sure. First, tell me why you are here.”
Another blip on her visor warned her of danger. Something splatted on the side of her helmet. She rolled away, firing in the blip’s direction. Too high. A hooded figure bolted from the entrance. Pembrooke touched her helmet. Her gloved fingers came away with a saliva substance.
“He spit at me? What kind of terrorists are you?” She wiped her fingers on the wounded man’s neck.
The skin where the saliva touched bubbled up at once. The man began to convulse. His legs kicked out, arms flailed. Pembrooke crab-crawled away. The man urinated. Yellow foam oozed from his mouth. His body jerked so hard, she could hear bones snapping. The smell of defecation filled the room. He lay still. A slow volcano of foam flowed from his mouth.
“Crap. Viper-nine. Everyone listen. There’s a Braku with the terrorists! I repeat, a Braku is among the enemy.”
“Viper-one. Are you sure, LT?” said Cerelli.
“Just saw what its spit can do. Don’t let it close to any of you.”
A chorus of acknowledgments mingled with swearing came back.
Pembrooke jumped up and raced to the second-level lobby. The hooded figure disappeared into another room at the far corner.
The feline creature bound past Pembrooke and out down the escalator. The canine stood behind her, tail wagging.
“Don’t follow me.”
The canine stared back with bright eyes and cheeks pulled tight, giving Pembrooke the impression that the creature was smiling at her.
She took off running after the Braku in the hood. Three humans and a Manartian exited the same door it had entered. Two were armed with laser rifles, one with a particle projection shotgun, the Manartian had two PP-9 pistols in its three-fingered hands. Pembrooke identified it as the biggest threat. Its four eyes had magnificent depth perception giving it natural aiming talents.
Pembrooke dove behind the wall of a planter. Dirt kicked up beside her as particle rounds slammed into it. A laser cut through the conifer. It crashed down, partially covering her. The canine jumped clear, then wriggled under the branches to cover her with licks.
“All right, boy, girl, whatever you are. Got something for you.” She reached in a thigh pocket and pulled out a small tube. Taking off a plastic knob covering a short needle, she pushed it into the canine’s neck, squeezing the tube. She patted and pet the creature until it fell asleep on her lap. “There you go. Stay out harm’s way until I can come get you out of here.”
She lay it aside up close to the planter, then slid it under the fallen branches.
A round thudded a glancing blow off her helmet.
She flopped onto her back, turned so that she could put her feet against the planter wall.
“Zed, schematic view.” Pembrooke’s visor outlined the edges of the edifice around her in gray-blue. A three-dimensional display showed four red-outlined humanoids hiding behind planters and in a doorway. A fifth, hooded, worked at computers two rooms over and behind them.
Pembrooke angled her head down. Two floors below a firefight raged. Two green outlines, labeled viper-one-one and viper-two, exchanged bursts with three red outlines.
“Viper-nine. Check the structure around you, Goest. If it’s safe, go grenades.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
One enemy dashed to flank Pembrooke. She sat up and fired a burst. The human with the laser rifle tumbled in a heap, blood spurting over the floor.
“Their end game is close,” said Pembrooke. “Viper-one, sit-rep.”
“Viper-one. We’re clear. Isinga used the Nion rifle. Made a path. You know how he loves that thing. Chavinski, Orthello wounded. One or two tangos left.”
Pembrooke popped up, fired, and dropped back down.
“How are you doing, Viper-nine?” Cerelli asked.
“Could use a hand, but you’re all too far away.”
Explosions buffeted up from below.
“Goest and Allen not far from me. Zed, sonic dampeners.”
Inside her helmet, flaps closed over her ears. She rose again, aimed for a point along the far glass wall, and shot off a grenade. It bounced off the durable glass and rolled towards the enemy.
A thunderous boom erupted. Glass all along the wall shattered and flew inward. Planted trees and shrubs flattened. The sonic blast blew the Manartian and two remaining humans away from the epicenter of its concussive wave. They sailed through the air, smashed against glass frames, bounced off ceilings, and careened into doors.
Pembrooke rose up, ordered the dampeners to withdraw and ran. She put a few rounds into a still moving human on the way. Jumping over glass and overturned chairs, Pembrooke reached the room with the hooded alien.
A heavy industrial table took up most of the center. On it, an oval, footlocker-sized object showed a small screen reading two minutes. Around it, computers and electronic testing equipment lit with readouts.
A palpable screeching assaulted her. She pressed her hands on her helmet over her ears and bent back in pain. Writhing, she fell to the floor. The hooded figure approached, pointing a thin metal device at her. Pembrooke couldn’t speak, couldn’t order the ear flaps back down.
The alien tossed back the hood. An olive coloured, bulbous head with a fly-like mouth and small squinty eyes looked down at her. The Braku.
It ripped Pembrooke’s weapon from its clasp and threw it aside. Slurping in a mouthful of air, it tilted its head back. Bringing its head forward, it spit at her.
She tucked her head and kicked out. The spittle landed on the top of her helmet. The Braku’s leg buckled from the kick. It hit the floor. The sonic attack stopped.
Pembrooke rolled to her feet. The Braku struck her neck with the edge of a hand. She spun away and fell.
The alien jumped to a console and yanked out a flash drive. Pembooke lunged at it, but the Braku met her with a kick to the head.
The Braku placed a thumb on top of the oval object, then punched a command into a computer. A low hum filled the room.
Pembrooke plucked out her combat knife and charged again. The Braku hawked up another sputum. Pembrooke ducked under and slashed her blade across its inner thigh. It gulped, crumpling to its knees. She drove the knife into its mouth, up through its brain.
The timer on the object counted down past one minute, fifty-five seconds. On the computer screen, a status bar flashed, ‘Upload Complete’.
“Viper-actual, Viper-nine. The terrorists have uploaded something. Can you guys up there figure out what it was?”
“Viper-actual. Open a link for us,” said Major Biker in mission control.
“Affirmative.” Pembrooke keyed in commands, sending the IP address to the Tommy Prince orbiting above. “Invite sent.”
“Got it, viper-nine.”
The cursor on the monitor moved around the screen, clicking on various icons. 3-D images of an explosive prototype flashed up in one window, while other windows opened with details of the project. The schematics looked like the object on the table behind her.
“They uploaded it to a ship in orbit that just jumped out system,” said the major.
“What is it?” Pembrooke stood in front of the object. The timer read one minute, ten seconds.
“If I read this right, it’s a minute hydrogen collider. It would give off a massive electrical discharge that should incinerate anything in a one-kilometer area.”
“That’s wonderful, viper-actual,” said Pembrooke. She pursed her lips as she stared at the explosive device.
“That’s not the best part. The particles are designed to collide with a minuscule amount of anti-matter.”
Pembrooke’s head dropped to her chest.
“That should give a yield big enough to blow—”
“Half the planet,” said Pembrooke.
Fifty-five seconds.
“Viper-one, Viper-nine. How close are you to my location?”
“Viper-one. We’re still at the reactor.”
“Of course, you are. Have Porcello link with me. I need her help disarming something.”
“LT. she’s tied up with some bombs of her own. The last few tangos placed them at the base of the reactor. They’re set to go off in thirty seconds.”
The time in front of Pembrooke read forty-eight seconds.
“Okay, I’ll wait.” Pembrooke stuck her thumbs into her utility belt. She tapped her fingers, rose up onto the balls of her feet. Back down.
Forty seconds.
“Viper-actual, Viper-nine. Any ideas?”
“Searching. We sent an abort signal. Nothing happened?”
The timer clicked down to thirty-six seconds.
“Nope.”
The canine lumbered in, tail between its legs, up to Pembrooke and sat down beside her.
“That wore off fast,” said Pembrooke.
“One more to go,” said Cerelli.
Twenty-nine seconds.
Pembrooke yanked her combat knife out of the Braku, wiped it off on its cloak.
Twenty-one seconds.
The canine pushed the top of its head into Pembrooke’s hand. She rubbed it.
“It’s okay, pup. Just a little tension-filled drama. It’ll pass.”
Seventeen seconds.
“I should be hearing life-ending explosions.”
“Got it, LT,” said Cerelli.
“Oh, good. Think you can help me now?”
“I’m linked with you, boss,” said Porcello. “Holy shit. Can you take off the panel to the left of the timer?”
“Wait one.” Pembrooke retrieved a universal power tool from her belt. Unscrewed the indicated plate, popped it off, revealing a small motherboard.
Nine seconds.
“Zooming in,” said Porcello. “Hold steady, please.”
Pembrooke tapped the power tool into one hand.
“I got nothing,” said Porcello.
Pembrooke noticed a print scanner to the left of the timer screen. Cables hooked a similar one to the computer on the desk.
Five seconds.
Pembrooke picked up the Braku.
Four seconds.
She struggled to get his heavy body to the table.
Three seconds.
She held up one of the Braku’s hands.
Two seconds.
She jammed the thumb of the hand onto the print scanner.
One second.
The scanner beeped.
Zero seconds.
Nothing happened.
Pembrooke let out a heavy sigh. The Braku’s body slipped to the floor.
“LT?” said Cerelli.
“Still here,” said Pembrooke. “Seems we saved the day after all.” She hooked her fingers in her combat harness and smiled down at the canine.
The alien dog stared up at her with happy eyes.
“Want a beer? Gonna have a few myself. Come on, boy.” *****