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Nightless Dreams, Radiant Nightmares
Posted By: Turpertrator<pneumatika@netzero.net>
Date: 30 November 2006, 10:42 pm
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Nightless Dreams, Radiant Nightmares
"The greatest enemy of revolution is not the greater power. Forces much weaker who believed have thrown down some of the greatest powers in history. No, the greatest enemy of revolution is despair. Even if those who are cruelly oppressed become convinced that they have no hope to overcome, they will give up their struggle and accept their slavery. The death of the dream is the poison no believer can withstand."
– MajGen Onitumi Hasegawa, from "How to Suppress and Defeat an Insurrection: Assassinate the Dream; or 'My Twenty Years with the Death Comets'" presented at UNSC Military Philosophy Symposium, Reach 2524
"I am not anti-woman. I am for a return to the ancient traditions that embraced fertility as divine and made mothers as our gods. Let us worship the women who have become pregnant with their proper destiny. Directive 12 will help those women who do not yet understand their proper place to find it. In a foretaste of this, I am pleased to announce that all unmarried females discharged from the military services have been given temporary pensions and enrolled in the National Matrimony Database."
– Emperor Viktor Turpolev, "Open Letter to the United Asian People Regarding Questions About the Civil Directives" 30 June, 2537
October 9, 2538, New Berlin City in orbit above Arica, Chile, Earth. Three days before scheduled go live of the spacecity's new Artificial Intelligence Controller.
"For all of the time I've spent in space, I still love this view. Don't you, Will?" The diminutive technician, Eli Lopez, turned to his coworker hoping to make her smile. He and Willow James leaned against a railing in the recent spherical extension of New Berlin's lower decks, taking in the view of South America. All visitors agreed that this globe of curved girders encased with "space glass" offered the best earthscape available anywhere on the spacecity.
Their eyes met, but Willow's eyes were sad. "No, every time I look down at Earth I can only think about how fractured everything is because of that Asian Rebellion. I know there are far off colonies that have broken away from the UN, but why don't they take out that tyrant Turpolev?" Her voice was tinged with desperation as she looked out towards the Asian continent – something you could never quite see from the city's stationary orbit. "How can they do this to us when the Covenant are threatening to destroy humanity?"
Later that evening, Specialist Eli Lopez could not remember what he had said to Miss James, probably something dumb about how you can't just nuke the guy. All he could think about was how astonishingly beautiful and smart and thoughtful she was.
"What do we know about this 'package'?" the deep voice of Marshal Onitumi Hasegawa boomed throughout the Uprising East Command War Room. Built secretly by Turpolev and Hasegawa years before the Bishkek rebellion, the interconnected offices and conference rooms known as "East Command" lay somewhere under the metropolis of Beijing.
Several officers sat around a large table full of data displays shining through its luminescent surface. General Varnashev, chief of Uprising Military Intelligence, looked across the oval table and nodded at his Special Operations deputy, Polkovnik Ivan Rittervich. "Sir, my network on Station Berlin," the Polkovnik began, "has been able to determine when 'the package' will arrive and that it is intended to be a formidable weapon used against the Uprising. My sources suggest there will be a window of opportunity to strike to prevent the deployment of this weapon, whatever it is."
Hasegawa was not physically present in the War Room, but the officers could not help but feel he was watching them. After all, the legendary commander seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere. "Is your team ready?" asked the invisible voice of the Marshal-Bogatyr. Unlike most UNSC commanders, Hasegawa did not use imaging appliances to display his head and shoulders in any and every available holotank.
For an experienced intelligence officer like Rittervich, any disembodied voice seemed cold and empty. Most of his station chiefs used encrypted holovids to report in, and even AIs were known for their constant use of holotanks to display their avatar. But not even Strategic Command had an AI to work with since the Uprising began last year in 2537. Though no amount of analysis had ever determined why; one of the few things that had gone wrong in the first days of fighting was the failure to capture even one of the artificial intelligences. Though things had now settled down to a "cold war," the United Nations Space Command was not about to hand an AI over to the Uprising. And even if my operatives could get their hands on one, every AI has been programmed to self-destruct if reactivated in a non-UNSC network.
Rittervich responded to Marshal Hasegawa in the affirmative. "My Tac team is standing by, ready to ride up to the spacecity as tourists." These highly trained and deadly commandos were the best tactical team he had ever assembled. Though fluent in Unified Chinese, the official language of Emperor Turpolev's newly independent Asia, they still used UN English without a hint of accent. Slipping past the spaceport's security would be as simple as presenting their identification passcard.
"Get them in harness at once," commanded the Marshal. "Timing is of immense importance. My man, agent Elvis, is moving into place, and your team's infiltration must proceed precisely as planned."
Rittervich stiffened. He had seen with his own eyes the cost of failure – in a flash of memory he saw the execution of his former superior as if it was happening all over again: Hasegawa with the ancient samurai sword, the effortless strike, the headless body falling to the floor. But I don't make those kinds of mistakes. My wet boys cannot be traced back any further than the Freighter's cartel. And mission intel is solid: no significant resistance, just a platoon of soft Marines at the spaceport – easily handled. The intelligence officer spoke with confidence, "We have followed the Yangchorng Protocol, sir. There will be no mistakes."
"I'm wrapping up for the day, boss," Willow James said.
As if awakened from a trance, Eli Lopez looked up from the console he had been working on for an hour. "Yeah, I guess it's time to leave." His work on the install had been completed for a week, but he was triple-checking everything. The infrastructure for AI "Hilda" was his baby – he wanted it perfect.
Willow exhaled in a long sigh. "What's next for you after this project is done? More installs?"
If he had still been thinking of anything else, it was gone. Eli looked into Willow's interested eyes and fumbled for something to say. "I ... uh ... I'm being sent down to work on some base near the North Pole." He leaned towards her and continued in a hushed voice. "Those jerks from ONI won't leave me alone." Specialist Eli Lopez regularly used another name for the Office of Naval Intelligence: slavedrivers.
The AI specialist watched Willow's eyes become sad and stared past him, as if pondering something that could never be. O man, he thought, she is really going to miss me. But he did not know what to say. How can I tell her what I think of her? What if I never see her again after next week?
Willow's thoughtful countenance slowly changed to become excited. Breaking the awkward silence, she asked, "Can you help me with something? I wanted to send some pictures to my mom on Barcelona Station. Could you bring your cam up to the Garden Deck? I think the prairie field in the center would be perfect."
Eli's face brightened and he could not keep from gushing, "Of course I'll help."
According to the history lessons Kapral Khin Thant learned as a boy, no planet-to-orbit elevator had ever had a fatal accident. That was certainly another UNSC lie. But as he looked beyond the elevator cabin into the vacuum of space and the innumerable stars beyond, Thant certainly hoped he would never prove the statistic wrong.
Behind the blank face of the "tourist," the young Kapral went over the mission again. Act bored going through port security, not even a strip search is going to make me suspicious. Check in at the German Village Resort, find the hidden gear, and be to the Insertion Point to join the team by 1600. He breathed deeply. No matter what else happened, his part in this mission was crucial.
The operative looked again at the passengers that were seated around him for the long ride of the "orbit train." There were at least two vacationing families along with several business people. He was glad that his mission objectives did not include harming civilians. Maybe I won't have nightmares this time.
Thant saw one of his team members, disguised as a student, and averted his eyes to look through the cabin windows again. The stars were beautiful and so clear – and for a moment he forgot he would soon be waiting tense hours for his targets to appear in his scope.
"Look, dad," exclaimed a boy in the row of seats behind him, "you can see it now." Several sets of eyes followed the boy's arm as it pointed straight up at the spacecity.
From this distance, New Berlin looked like a brilliant jewel sparkling in the starry night; but as the elevator continued its ascent, Thant saw that the spacecity was showing its age. Besides the antiquated dishes and antennae sticking out of the bottom of the spaceport hub at strange angles, it just looked ancient. But maybe that was because he had been on orbital cities decades newer. Maybe it was the shape that said it most loudly: the city looked like a gigantic pumpkin on a string, swinging around the hub every ten minutes. Newer ones looked more like chandeliers on a stick, and they did faster laps.
Still, the spaceport really was something to see. Earlier, Thant tried counting the large freight containers going down to Earth on the rail parallel to his passenger elevator, but gave up after thirty. There were almost as many of the containers going back up to the hub where he was headed. Now he saw five, no, six of the mammoth Yacare-class freighters above and around the hub. He knew there must be hundreds of docking connections and gangways between the station and the ships, but if he caught a glimpse of them at all, it was like seeing a drop of dew glinting on a hidden spider web. There were dozens of other large ships, more small ships than he could count, and certainly others he could not see at all on the "spaceward" side of the orbital platform above him.
The sniper from Asia removed his monocular camera from his carry-on, careful to make sure that some tourist brochures "accidentally" fell out of the bag. For the rest of the trip his trained eye searched for what he hoped he would not find: a UNSC Navy vessel. The only thing that can jeopardize this mission.
Eli Lopez felt proud just to be near Willow James as they walked across the expansive park. She had changed into a long red dress that went nearly to her ankles, and it seemed to shimmer as it moved. Many eyes in the spacepark turned to observe the woman who seemed to glow in the evening light.
The park was in full Autumn, fiery red and yellow leaves accenting the dark evergreens doting the flowerbeds and terraces of grass. As they approached the center of the park, Eli looked up into the "sky" some hundred meters above, but could see nothing except the warm artificial sunlight shining through diffuser panels.
"I want you to include that maple over there in the shot." Willow pointed to a small tree full of bright yellow leaves standing on a nearby hill. "Turn a little more to the left, a little more ... perfect. Just send the vid live to that address I gave you. Make sure you catch the glare off my ring. My mom just loves this thing, and I want it to sparkle in the picture."
He had never seen that before. "Is it a gem?" He asked, caring little about the answer, so long as it was not an engagement ring. "What kinds of gems are purple like that?" The stone in the ring seemed quite large, and looked as if it was laced with tiny veins of iridescent green.
"It's some kind of crystal. I think it's a gaia thing or something."
The tech specialist acted repulsed, "Your mom believes that stuff? I thought nobody bought into that earth-goddess junk since interstellar travel."
"Perhaps you're right," Willow said in a serious tone. "But gods and demons don't die, they just take new names and servants."
She stepped back into the field of tall green grass that swayed in the simulated breeze, held up her ring, and motioned Eli to begin. "Hi, mom. Miss you, and I'll see you as soon as I'm done here. Tell Uncle I owe him a kiss on the cheek."
The off-duty tech finished the transmission and was about to ask Willow who her uncle was when he saw something in the wide-angle vision of his camera. On the far side of the virtual field, two ordinary looking men almost collided as they walked past each other. Eli's eyes went wide in surprise and fear.
"What is it?" Miss James said as she walked towards him.
"I j-just saw a brush pass," he half-whispered, half-stuttered.
"What's that?" Willow asked inquisitively, mimicking his whisper.
The AI specialist seemed distant, "It's something spooks ... spies used to do to transfer secrets. We ... we have to report this."
Now Willow looked afraid, her whispers coming rapidly and too loudly. "Spies? Here? Who would be spying on ... those Bishkek rebels!"
"Hush!" Eli rebuked her, though he thought he was too loud himself. "Yeah, probably. Who else would it be? I even knew that one guy, Quirin." He remembered once sharing a drink with Bill Quirin – and sharing complaints about working for ONI and rumors of its questionable ways of putting down rebellions. But I am no traitor.
"What's he do, Eli? Is he dangerous?"
Dangerous? He was not sure, but he did not think the bitter old guy would be violent. "He is a tech working on the pa ... uh ... another project."
"It's alright," Willow James said quietly, softly touching the hand he held the camera with. "It sounds like another secret you shouldn't tell me."
"Yes. I mean, no." Eli looked up at her. "I trust you, but it's classified. I can't talk about it." He really wanted to tell her. He stared into her bright eyes. There was so much he wanted to tell her.
"Should we report this to that ONI commander?" Willow asked, breaking into Eli's thoughts.
"What, Colonel Edgar's here already?" he said to himself anxiously.
"I think he is. I overheard ..."
Eli cut her off. "That means it will be here soon. We need to go now!"
The airlock hissed open and two tall, muscular men in their early twenties stepped out. Dark, matching tattoos appeared prominently on their upper left arms, in contrast to their unusually pale skin. ONI officer Neil Jones thought it odd they were both wearing a sleeveless shirt. Didn't they used to call those "wife-beaters?" Though he had never seen such muscle-shirts outside of a gym before, neither man looked like they were married, or that anyone would probably survive a beating if they got into a violent mood.
Amazingly, they were right on time. He was expecting these two and the "package" they carried on the Prowler they had just covertly docked, but Jones did not know who they were. "Welcome, Agents ... ?" he waited for their names.
The one with the dark hair spoke first, "Burrows, Dave Burrows, and this is Mike Smith."
Jones watched the spike-haired blonde give Burrows a sideways glance, then continue as if the pair knew each other so well they could speak for the other – maybe even read their thoughts. "The 'package' should be secured immediately." Agent Smith seemed uncomfortably hesitant to Jones, as if he was unsure of Jones' rank.
"An MP detail is on its way. There's a lift truck here already, just waiting for clearance to get started."
Appearing satisfied, Smith asked, "When do we get started?"
Someone arrived in the small loading dock and the pair snapped to attention. Agent Burrows exclaimed, "Officer on deck," in a voice louder than the junior ONI officer had ever heard in his life. Now it was his chance to feel uncomfortable, for although he was actually a commissioned officer, he was expected to perform his duties in non-descript plainclothes. Colonel Edgar approached, dressed in his all-black space fatigues, but his rank insignia was only barely visible above his heart.
"As you were," the senior officer said curtly. Edgar dismissed Jones and summarily rebuked the pair as soon as he was out of earshot. "You are Black Ops, now, gentlemen. You are off the system and therefore not officially in Naval Special Warfare anymore. Until you ship out, you are to conduct yourselves as if you are back on leave for some hard-earned R and R." The Colonel sighed. He was standing in front of two of the best and most loyal soldiers in the galaxy, realizing the futility of trying to tell them not to stand out in a crowd. He was grateful Jones had at least scheduled their arrival in this seldom-used maintenance area of the spacecity. Most of the shipping for which New Berlin was famous for happened at the massive hub that was the center of the orbital complex. But careful pilots could still dock with the city module as it rotated around the hub. It was no surprise to Edgar that these two had adjusted instantly to the fractional "gravity" provided by the city's centrifugal rotation.
Work had already begun to unload the Prowler's small cargo bay, a rugged old low-gravity lift robot was carefully moving two crates that looked like oversized coffins. Colonel Edgar walked with the new arrivals to his temporary office. "How much have you been briefed on this mission?"
"Very little, sir," Burrows answered. "All we know is that it has something to do with the Bishkek Rebellion and it is Top Secret."
"Son, this is way above 'Top Secret.' Not even Halsey has clearance for this Op." There was a distinct reason why an officer of his rank had been selected to be the handler for this two-man team.
"Are they going to kill the two million people that live in this spacecity?" asked a terrified-looking Willow James. She was curled up like a red ball on a chair in the lobby of the Military Personnel Office. Her eyes were frantic, like a cornered animal looking for a way out: looking at the receptionist counter, at the wall clock, at the floor, and staring at Eli.
He thought she should feel safe here. It was familiar – this was where they picked up their salary cards together since they had been assigned here. But her entire body was shivering, and she seemed convinced that something terrible was about to happen.
The bachelor technician tried to reassure his frightened coworker, but his words came out awkward. "Don't be ridiculous, even a nuke wouldn't break through all of the seals to the entire city, only the lower decks. Many would die, but not many civies, and it wouldn't even budge the hub." Despite his words, he was starting to get worked up about it too, as if awakened from a bad dream that seemed all too real. He had made his report to the ONI spook assigned to his project, and waited in anxiety now that the very worried Neil Jones had disappeared. Eli hoped he was calling security.
"Besides," he continued "why do you think it's a bomb? All I saw was a spy. But..." Then it hit him why Jones had looked like he had seen a ghost. "But it could destroy the package."
Willow looked up with wild eyes. "Can we go back to the Temple?" The spherical globe of windows that was the new AI Center had been nicknamed for its sterile environment and enshrined overlook of Earth. "I'd feel safer there."
"Yeah, that's a good idea. It was designed to survive even if the rest of the city was damaged. That's why it's got all of those seals and emergency systems." Willow James stood and began moving towards the AI Center while he trailed behind, still convincing himself. "The AI could still run whatever's left of the city even if there was some cataclysm – like a bomb. Besides, there are those two Marines guarding Hilda." Another reason occurred to the technician. The Temple is on the far side of the Deck from "the package."
Colonel Edgar activated three devices, assuring the two muscular agents these would prevent anyone from listening in. He cleared his throat to begin as one of the devices hummed noisily. "Operation Leichengaenger is a low intensity Op, with your primary goal of subversion, sabotage, and insurgency against any and all rebel military elements in the region around..." Someone pounded on the door to the temporary briefing room.
Furious at being interrupted, the officer opened the sealed door to see a pale Neil Jones. "We've got a security breach," he blurted out before the enraged Colonel could explode. "There's a tactical team here. I think they're trying to destroy the package." As if on queue, the staccato of small arms fire erupted in the distance. Instantly, Agents Burrows and Smith were on their feet, needing no permission for their obvious task.
Kapral Khin Thant had been part of some strange missions in his short tour of duty in SpecOps, but this was by far the strangest. How often does a highly trained, yet inexperienced, sniper and demolitions grunt like himself actually receive orders directly from the Hero of the East?
On the far side of Deck 9, he found the two Marines guarding an oval portal in a large atrium – just like his mission brief instructed. The Kapral found a shadow to hide in some thirty meters from the atrium in one of the four hallways that connected to it. Now I wait, now I watch. But he was still anxious about what was to come next. All of his training – all of his life – had been leading up to this decisive moment.
Policewoman Sheila Greig was as surprised as anybody to get the call to Deck 9. Normally, only techs and military personnel were allowed on the lower decks. The orbital city had been built by the UNSC, and it was UN government employees that operated it, not the civil authority. Dispatch told them to proceed to a loading dock and secure it until a squad of Marines arrived down the spoke tube from the hub.
The two-man, two-woman team was making its way down a wide hall the Navy used for a logistical staging area. Crates and equipment lined the left side of the long hallway that was intersected by passages leading to other areas that Greig had no idea what. But the further they went, the more afraid she became. The feeling had started when her friend Alice assigned her a shotgun earlier. "It must be bad," she remembered her saying, "if they hand us shottys and call in the Marines."
As if from nowhere, Greig felt something warm and wet spray across her face and lips. By reflex she started to wipe her face with her free hand, watching Alice turn and fall in front of her. But Alice's face was gone – she was hideously disfigured; she was dead. Realizing what had sprayed on her, she gasped, causing droplets of moisture to enter her mouth. In horror, Greig blew air as hard as she could, trying to force it out. Unable to control herself, she felt her body double over and vomit, and then heave a second time. Stumbling, she fell behind a nearby crate. A cold shiver raced through her body, leaving her trembling. She heaved again, emptying her stomach on the crate in front of her. None of her Police training had prepared her to witness the death of her friends – not like this.
There was another policeman on the ground, but Greig could not bring herself to look at him. He did not move. Police Sergeant Biddle had made it to cover next to her, and he looked nearly as sick as she did. However, he seemed to be doing a better job keeping control of himself. "There are officers down, and there are at least two perps at the end of this hallway," Biddle's shaky voice said into his COM link.
The commanding officer of the spacecity's Marine garrison, a Lieutenant, was pinned down elsewhere but doing his best to direct the battle. "Affirmative, enemy has at least 3 two-man teams. These soldiers are highly trained, and you should let us handle them. Just try to keep them from getting elsewhere in the station."
Biddle peeked over the crate to try to get a visual of the attackers, and his lower jaw disappeared in a red cloud. As Greig heard a splatter of soft tissues, the Police Sergeant twitched and dropped. She screamed as the lifeless body rolled towards her, a bloody cavern where his throat and neck had been.
In an agony of helplessness and fear, Greig shuddered. There was a voice in Biddle's headset again. She could just barely hear the Lieutenant say, "We know there aren't that many of them, but it's as if these commandos know exactly where to go and what to strike." The next few minutes seemed like a lifetime as the woman shivered alone in silence. She could do nothing but relive in her mind, over and over, how her fellow Police officers had been slain.
Finally, she saw and then heard a squad of Marines running towards her. She did not keep watching them as they ran past and continued towards the loading dock. Maybe they will find who killed Alice. Maybe they will ….
"Frags!" screamed one of the Marines, and immediately Greig heard the thump-crack of two grenades exploding. It was not that far away. Two wounded Marines wailed in agony – all hope was dead. She listened to the excruciating squall, unable to do anything, until one of the voices was abruptly silenced. The screams of the second ended as the woman heard another sickening splatter.
Policewoman Greig cowered next to the dead Sergeant Biddle, her shotgun laying cold on the floor beside her. She looked up in terror to see two soldiers in gray jumpsuits walk past her hiding place without making a sound. Various imaging devices were attached to their helmets, and their weapons were unlike anything she had ever seen.
"This is why the UN should never let women be Police," one smug commando remarked to the other, clearly unafraid of the shaking woman.
The Asian soldiers said something to each other in Unified Chinese, then the second bent down to take Greig's shotgun and disarm her murdered friends.
"Stay here or die," he told her.
The first commando motioned his comrade aside. "I changed my mind." He looked at the petrified woman. "I was going to tell you to go find a husband and get a life; but now I say: just die."
He raised his weapon.
Sheila Greig shut her eyes and shrieked through clenched teeth.
A shot rang out.
The mouthy commando crumpled to the floor in a heap, his weapon clattered on the floor.
Sheila Greig dared to squint through her eyes, still shrieking.
The other commando crouched and brought up his carbine, scanning for enemies. A blonde man in a sleeveless shirt stepped out from a distant shadow down the long hall – the way Greig had come. He was holding only a pistol; well beyond what the surviving commando knew was accurate pistol range. "Leave the lady alone," the muscled blonde yelled as he stepped back into the shadows.
The Policewoman had been disarmed, and now she was ignored. The second commando started moving towards the pistol-carrying target. Using his vision-enhancing equipment, he could barely make out the enemy's position in a distant intersection. He fired a salvo at the corner, but the hidden target did not even flinch. He continued his cautious approach, even though he knew that his weapon had much greater range and power than any mere pistol. Although the heating vents in the dark side passages had been playing havoc with his infrared, only the solitary target appeared on any of his sensors.
Dave Burrows knew he would not miss if he threw the combat knife he held in his hand. But you might live long enough to fire off a burst. He knew that even veterans had trouble hitting anything accurately when startled, but he did not want this rebel to even have a chance to strike back. You've killed enough UNSC personnel.
The gray-suited commando passed in front of the warm, darkened passage that Burrows was hiding in. With the slightest of movements, Burrows shifted his weight, and placed the knife in his left hand. He trusts his sensors too much. A firm believer in letting the enemy continue to make mistakes, Burrows crouched quickly, purposely revealing his position to the commando – and lining him up for the kill.
As the commando pivoted towards the sudden movement, Burrows was already leaping up at him. Further down the hallway, Agent Mike Smith stepped out from his corner and raised his pistol. Only Smith's eyes were quick enough to see the unfolding dance of action and death.
As Burrows sailed at the rebel commando in the weak artificial gravity, his left arm was bent and held the knife hilt centimeters from his chin; the back of his right hand pressed against his chest like a viper ready to strike. Before the soldier in the jumpsuit could pull his trigger, Burrows slapped down the carbine barrel so hard that it broke the wrist that held it. The knife in Burrows' left penetrated his neck just above where the jumpsuit ended, and the momentum plowed them both into the wall. As soon as Burrows had his legs under him, he savagely yanked the knife back, nearly taking off the commando's head.
Burrows casually cleaned blood and bone off of his blade on the gray jumpsuit and waited for Smith to join him. "Nice of them to tell us where they all are and leave these pretty guns for us," Smith said as he picked up a dead commando's helmet.
"Wh-what are you guys, O-D-S-Ts?" Sheila Greig asked while trying to control her terrified body.
The dark-haired Burrows looked at his partner. It was an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper team that had made Smith an orphan as a boy. His face was like stone, there was no emotion there now. Burrows turned to the Policewoman, "Something like that."
The plan was going more or less the way Bill Quirin wanted it to. Actually, it could not be better. The tactical team had arrived from Asia and was keeping all of the fools he used to work with scared and busy – and maybe even dead. It had been months since he had volunteered to help the Bishkek Uprising, and he could barely believe how exciting it was to be part of such a big operation right under ONI's nose.
He and the two other operatives – whom he was proud to have personally recruited for the Uprising cause – were putting the finishing touches on the bomb that would instantly make him a hero. They had carried the large device back to a storage room only a short distance from the high security area where "the package" had been brought. It's too bad we couldn't sneak this thing here before. But it doesn't matter, this will definitely have enough power to destroy their precious package. All they had to do was activate the timer and escape while those commandos created a deadly diversion.
"Why is the timer preset?" asked one of his fellow conspirators. "We are barely going to have enough time to get out of here." But Bill Quirin was not worried; the plan was going off perfectly. He was thinking about the hero's welcome that awaited him in Bishkek. He was finally going to receive the recognition he deserved.
Quirin heard the storage room door open and spun around in surprise. A really tall thug entered wearing one of the Uprising commando's helmets, and carrying one of their guns. Behind him, an officer in black space fatigues followed.
He was stunned. How did they find us? Are the commandos dead? All of his dreams of glory and revenge came crashing down. His heart raced faster, and his eyes began darting around. He realized he only needed to hit two more keys and the activation code would be complete.
Agent Burrows read the expression on the technician's face as if he were a datasheet. It was like everything was moving in slow motion. The tech's eyes grew huge in shock, winced with the realization of capture, and then moved frantically. His hand moved towards the device. Burrows depressed his trigger.
Six bullets exited the silenced carbine in rapid succession to strike three different foreheads and three chests. An explosion of blood filled the room and three ruptured bodies hit the floor.
Colonel Edgar stepped past Burrows. He took in the bloody scene and grunted in revulsion, disappointment, or both. He paused and sighed. "I would have liked to have questioned them," he said.
They were targets, I eliminate all targets, Burrows reasoned with himself. But now that the Colonel said so, it made sense to capture enemies with intel and extract it; this would be a strategically expedient objective. He would remember this lesson. But what are my orders regarding prisoners?
"Well, at least I don't think they activated it," the Colonel said as he carefully wiped the blood from the control panel. He opened his voice link to the spacecity's old AI, "Get a bomb squad down here immediately." He turned to the helmeted agent, "This thing would've taken out several decks. Are you sure this is the only one?"
"What do you mean you're not going to let us in?" asked a distraught Willow James in a long red dress. But the Marine Corporal on duty at the portal entrance to the new AI Center was not going to budge.
"Here, look at my clearance," an agitated Specialist Eli Lopez held up his passcard that was rapidly cycling through top-level clearance designators.
The Corporal repeated himself, "I am sorry, sir, as long as there is an atta..." The Marine never finished, suddenly collapsing to the floor. A small hole in his forehead was the only indication that something was now very wrong. Willow screamed and grabbed Eli's arm. He pulled her down to the floor, landing right next to the fallen Corporal.
The other Marine dropped to his haunches and looked for anyone in the atrium or in the numerous hallways that connected to it. He could see no one – there were too many shadows where a sniper could hide. The woman lay flat on the floor, covering her head with her hands and whimpering pathetically. "Alright, get inside. We are too exposed out here." The Marine checked for the Corporal's pulse – nothing. He opened the door with his passcard, and moved to help the frightened technicians into the AI Center.
"Please," Willow begged Eli, "please let me go first."
Although he was feeling more cowardly than macho, something in him wanted to protect Miss James, so he agreed by cowering where he was.
She crawled through the door and she screamed.
The door closed behind her, and she kept screaming. Then the armored blast door clamped shut. Eli sat up and yelled, "Will!" He could still hear her screaming. "No," he cried. "Don't hurt her!"
The Marine tried his card again, but nothing was opening the door. Eli already knew that not even his clearance would open the blast door. Now Will was pounding on it, still screaming. Eli's stomach turned inside out with each hollow thud against the door. He was helpless to do anything.
"How did you let somebody get past you?" the scared and angry tech accused the Marine. He felt as if a huge constrictor had wrapped around his body and begun slowly, mercilessly crushing him.
The Marine turned to answer when his eyes glazed over and he tilted back awkwardly on his haunches against the bulkhead, a last breath slowly escaping from his lungs. In panic, Eli lay prone and moaned, "I'm unarmed, leave me alone!" He started to crawl away from the oval entrance, desperate to escape and find help. He could still hear Will screaming.
Kapral Khin Thant was starting to get really nervous. He checked his motion tracker again – still nothing. Only one objective remained before he could make his exit, but the mission was falling apart. Something was hunting his team. The mission leader had just ordered them to communications silence – except to report enemy contact. The problem was, no one seemed to be living long enough to report in. Teams 2 and 5 had already disappeared.
Focus. Just finish the sequence and bug out. The young Kapral tried to reassure himself, but his gut was telling something was going very wrong.
Immediately behind him he heard the startling sound of metal scraping over metal.
The sniper turned towards the sound to see a huge man in a sleeveless shirt who was carrying the largest combat knife he had ever seen. Thant felt a sharp pain as the man plunged over 30cm of the blade through his upper arm and armpit into his chest, cleanly missing his worthless body armor. A device fell from the spasm of his hands and his body tumbled to the deck as soon as the oversized knife was withdrawn.
"Mmmm. What do we have here?"
"Most of the Marine garrison has been killed," Neil Jones said mournfully as he worked his datasheet. He was finding it difficult to access the spacecity's military and intelligence networks while practically running towards the AI Center. He nodded to Burrows, "I'm patching you and Smith into what's left of New Berlin Battle Net."
"What about whoever killed those MPs?" Eli looked as harried as his voice sounded. His shorter stride was making him struggle to keep up. He asked between breaths, "Is there another bomb?"
"No, the area is secure. Smith neutralized the sniper here a few minutes ago," reported Agent Burrows. He was tracking down the last known commando, on the far side of the Deck. Nevertheless, Burrows took the watchful lead, marching excruciatingly slow to escort the ONI officer and VIP technician. Whatever was going on in the AI Center was unknown to the enemy commando's network – as if they did not even know about it. He also noticed how none of the exterior walls on Deck 9 had windows looking out to space – it seemed no one knew what was going on out there.
Once they arrived at the AI Center portal, Burrows checked the fallen Marines for life, but they had been killed instantly. At least they were avenged, he thought to himself, with a personal delivery of steel. He policed their weapons and then began a methodical visual search of the surrounding area. Down one of the diagonally-connected passageways he spotted the incendiary that Smith had disarmed minutes earlier. A lifeless hand stretched back into the nearby shadows, where Burrows thought he could see blood that had pooled around the hand's owner. Even from this distance he could see that the only way the bomb would detonate was if another explosion went off right next to it.
"Hurry, please hurry," urged Eli Lopez, desperate to get help to the trapped Willow James. Jones was taking far too long to make sure no one and no thing had left the Temple since the blast door had sealed shut.
Burrows stood like the statue of a Greek god of war – only his head and eyes turning slowly in watchfulness. Eli nervously paced back and forth in front of the oval portal, "They could be doing anything to her. I should have gone in first ... I should have stopped her."
Jones had always thought Specialist Lopez was a little eccentric with his AIs, but now he thought that he had completely lost it. For just a moment, he glanced at the dead Marine who was eerily leaning back against the exterior wall. His open eyes stared coldly at Jones, making him shiver and turn away. But considering all I've seen today, I'm surprised I haven't locked up myself.
"There. I opened the inner door," Jones said to the accompanying sound of the door sliding on the far side of the thick blast door. "Opening the blast door in 5 ... 4 ..."
This is a snag, thought Burrows as he repositioned himself near the oval door and crouched, ready to jump through the opening. They'll be expecting me. He had to rescue a hostage and he had no idea what he would find on the other side of the portal. I wish Simjanes was here. He would have opened both doors at once and found a way to flash-stun everyone inside for a bonus. Burrows shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on the door. Jump in low. Head or neck shots – since armor will stop these bullets. He was relieved to think that at least the frangible rounds would not breach the reinforced space glass.
"... 2 ... 1 ..." The blast door clicked, but it did not move. Burrows slammed into the door, his shoulder leaving a shallow dent.
"Impossible," Jones said, denying reality. "Nothing should be able to override that command." Eli Lopez turned to Jones, his eyes full of disbelief and disgust. Burrows picked himself up off the floor.
Suddenly, there was a deep, metallic click followed by the long scream of a woman's voice. Explosions. Then nothing. The floor briefly trembled and all was still.
"Will!" Eli cried. He knew it was her voice, interrupted by a violent explosion that instantly dissipated into vacuum. "No," he sobbed. "I can't believe it. This cannot be happening."
After a few moments, Jones quietly confirmed Eli's nightmare. "Three different detonations, one here and two elsewhere on Deck 9. There are multiple casualties. The bomb squad ... they didn't survive." He paused, "The Temple is gone. Some of the structure is already burning up in atmo. Whoever was in there is dead."
Rittervich slammed down his fist. "What do you mean they are all dead?"
"I'm sorry, sir. According to the Tactical commander, the primary bomb did not go off, and the walk-in was killed along with both of the engineers he turned. I know there were some explosions, but nothing that shook the station like you warned me." The hologram of the New Berlin station chief looked as upset as Rittervich felt. "The commander sent me his last transmission before he was killed by someone the Marine Battle Net described as 'ONI Guest 2.' But who does ONI have that could infiltrate my sabotage ring and slaughter the entire commando team?"
Rittervich closed the channel in a rage – infuriated with the UNSC, and at this failure. But soon his anger collapsed into despair. The words he would use to make his report to Hasegawa would judge him – this was life or death. Before the dread became too much for him, he opened a secure audio channel to Marshal Hasegawa, who was immediately available. Even stranger, Hasegawa was in a good mood.
"Your team was eliminated, wasn't it?" the Marshal said before the Deputy of Special Operations could begin.
"Yes, but how did you know?" Rittervich swallowed hard as he stared at the empty holotank by his desk. "The package has survived, sir."
"That is most unfortunate. Turn in your report, Polkovnik. I want to know why those operatives died and if we have learned anything about 'the package.' Dismissed."
The Uprising intelligence officer was amazed that the ruthless old warrior had let him off so easily. Rittervich half expected to be handed over to one of Hasegawa's infamous weapons researchers or otherwise executed. What just happened?
Somewhere under the surface of the South China Sea, a door opened inside a secret underwater city. "Huanying, mei mei," Marshal Hasegawa greeted the young woman who entered the room. "It is good to see you home safe, Elvis." Oxana Aryamehr smiled at the renowned commander as she handed him a glowing crystal cartridge formerly known as "Hilda."
"You told 'mother' you owed me a kiss," he said to her as he stared at the prize in his hand.
Oxana started to lean towards him but held herself back. A look of fear and shock then came over her face and she exclaimed, "Uncle ... you're, you're one of those Rebels!" And they both had a good laugh.
__________
Turpertrator is the author of "Nightless Dreams, Radiant Nightmares."
Visit the archives of the Grand Rapids Frag Pile http://bungie.net/fanclub/grfp/GroupHome.aspx for more exploits and articles by founders Lexicus, Chuckles, Hogg, Turpertrator, and others.
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