39 – Under Fire

  “I think I can isolate the fire suppression systems in that hallway,” Glitch said, her consonants a staccato drumbeat in her rush to get the words out.

  Tony nodded, glanced over his shoulder; two doorways on his left, one on the right. The first door on the left was a bathroom, and he knew the next one would be a locked storage room. He dragged the corpse with him as he sprinted to the bathroom, a vague idea taking shape in his mind—not a good one, but an idea. He left the body by the door and slipped inside.

  “They’re almost in the hallway. I just need a few more seconds…”

  Tony crouched behind the door, off to the side, and drew the pistol from his belt. Out of habit, he cracked the slide and peered at the bullet in the breech, then he glanced at his current Dust reading: 488/900. It was hard to believe he’d burned almost half with just a few seconds of use. No—he scratched that thought—it was all too easy to believe. His reflex job was too damn hungry; the reactor he’d gotten from Azalea couldn’t handle it. He just hoped he’d have enough left over. A mental image of the extra Dust vials he’d purchased sitting forlornly in his hotel room made him wince, but he knew there was no way they’d have let him through security with them.

  “They’re in the hall, but they’re moving slowly. When should I pop the fire suppressant?”

  “When they’re looking at the body.” Tony clutched his pistol in his right hand and gripped the bathroom doorknob with the other. He hoped the walls were thick enough to obscure his heat signature. More than likely, they were, unless the mercs had some kind of specialty scanner, and Glitch would have mentioned that. He looked at his mini-map and saw the two red dots approaching; the netjacker was updating his map with their positions in real time—pretty damn good work.

  “You won’t set off any alarms, right?” he asked, just double-checking.

  “No, just the chemical foam.”

  “They have the same kind of armor?”

  By way of answer, Glitch sent him an image. Two figures, both clad in bulky combat armor similar to the first two Tony had killed. The image provided more details than his low-light optics had given him before; he saw skulls lined up neatly across the larger figure’s chest armor—at least two dozen at a glance. The smaller one’s helmet was painted with red and orange flames to make it look like the mirrored faceplate was a ship burning up on entry or something.

  They both wore extra weapons, and the smaller one had compact, high-end tech load-outs on her shoulders—gadgets that looked automated. Dust-driven weapons systems, Tony guessed. The two looked a lot more serious than the ones Tony had already taken out, and the fact gave him some pause as he looked down at his old-fashioned pistol. He’d have to land some pretty damn perfect shots. “Nothing to it but to do it,” he muttered, clinching his place in cliché history.

  As the two figures on his mini-map reached the area right outside the door, Glitch said, “In three…two…one!” The pipes above the drop ceiling rattled, and Tony heard the hiss as foam fire retardant sprayed outside the door, followed by the mercs’ grunts and cussing. He yanked the door open, but didn’t exit; he didn’t want his visor coated with foam like the two flailing figures just a meter away from him.

  The big guy was blocking his view of the smaller one, so Tony drew a bead on his faceplate and cracked off two quick shots. The merc had been wiping at his visor when Tony fired, and the first bullet smashed through his glove armor. “Fuck!” he yelled, and then his SMG sprayed blindly in Tony’s direction. Tony assumed it was blind anyway; his second bullet had badly cracked the visor. As the hail of bullets moved away from the doorway and down the hall, he stepped back out and pounded three more rounds into the big guy’s face and helmet as he stumbled back.

  The smaller one was wily; she used her partner for cover and fired her SMG directly at Tony on full auto. His overcoat stopped the four or five bullets that slammed into his shoulder and side, but they still hurt. After that, Tony’s quick dodge back behind cover saved him from more impacts as the merc tore the doorjamb apart with another couple dozen rounds. When the bullets stopped, Tony moved forward, ready to fire a few more shots, but then the unmistakable thunk and clatter of a grenade sent him into full retreat.

  He tore around the corner, into the bathroom proper, and had just cleared the corner when a whoomph sounded—an explosion muffled by his helmet’s sound processor—and the bathroom filled with smoke and debris; bits of the wall separating the toilets from the entry flew into the bathroom, showering Tony with chalky rubble. He crouched there by the toilets and then trained his muzzle on the corner.

  “T, I’m not seeing much with the cams. The hallway’s full of smoke and foam and—”

  Tony closed off comms; he had to concentrate. With the grenade going off, he could forget about the three guys upstairs staying put. Setting that aside, he didn’t even know if he could take the two right around the corner. “Shut that shit down,” he whispered, pretending he was his uncle, trying to make him banish his fears before an amateur fight.

  He stared at the corner of the mangled wall, waiting, knowing what was coming. When the muzzle of the smaller merc’s—he could tell by the height—SMG appeared, he took aim, but held his trigger finger still. His shot had to be perfect. He watched as the muzzle pivoted; she was slicing the corner, but Tony was too tight to the wall; he’d have a chance. When more of the gun shifted past the wall and he saw her hand gripping the fore stock, Tony took his shot.

  The big guy had illustrated a weakness in their high-end armor—the gloves were good, but apparently not .45 ACP-stopping good. The pistol barked; his aim was true, and the heavy lead slug slammed into the woman’s knuckles. She yelped, stumbled back, the SMGs muzzle flared with fire as she reflexively squeezed her other fist, and Tony charged forward.

  As her bullets shattered the porcelain toilets, he shoulder-checked her against the wall, then he drove the muzzle of his pistol under her chin where her armor was only a thin layer of bullet-resistant fabric connecting her helmet’s seal with her body armor. Grimacing against the blowback, he squeezed the trigger until the slide locked back—empty. The woman slumped down, but then movement in the corner of Tony’s eye made him leap back. A thunderous boom reverberated, and the wall exploded with drywall debris above the downed merc’s head.

  Another boom, and the short wall separating the bathroom from the door, already mangled by the grenade, exploded outward. Someone was firing a shotgun or a high-caliber sidearm through the wall. Tony mentally opened his comms and hastily asked, “Are the goons from upstairs here?”

  “They’re coming down the stairs!”

  Tony looked at the woman’s corpse—he hoped—and saw the thick hilt of a plasma knife jutting from the side of her tactical belt. As another heavy round exploded through the wall, closer this time, he dove for it, sliding over the debris. He grabbed the knife and yanked, drawing forth a six-inch crackling plasma blade that sizzled and popped as the dust in the air touched it. Another boom shook the wall, and Tony lurched to his feet, charging around the corner.

  The big guy was standing there, a short-barreled, magazine-fed shotgun gripped in his hands. His helmet was gone, and his eyes, glowing with faint yellow LEDs, squinted in the hazy air. Tony charged, and the merc pulled his trigger. The impact on Tony’s stomach felt like getting kicked by a horse, or so he imagined. Still, he clenched his jaw and drove through the pain, hacking the plasma blade in a downward stab at the merc’s hard-shelled chest armor.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Plasma flared, smoking and hissing as the power management chip drew on the battery reserve, giving it the juice it needed to cut the tough material. The merc staggered under the pressure, trying to shift the shotgun so the barrel pointed at Tony, but just as he got it lined up, the plasma knife penetrated the armor and instantly stabbed four inches into his chest, sizzling through his heart.

  The merc spasmed and fell, and Tony yanked the blade forth, hoping the batts would have a bit more juice. A woman’s cough sounded behind him, and he spun, glowing knife raised. The female merc was there, helmet gone, her face sheeted with blood—he’d shot off half her lower jaw. Somehow she was up, blood running out of her eyes down her cheeks as she made a hand gesture. Her shoulders expanded, Dust-tech nanites building little turrets out of the gadgets mounted there. Tony dove through the doorway, back into the foam-slick hallway, his stomach screaming in protestation.

  High-pitched whirring echoed out of the bathroom and then, like twin buzz saws, the woman’s shoulder turrets tore the wall apart with hundreds of exploding flechette rounds. As the wall billowed out in fiery blossoms, many of the rounds broke through. Several hit Tony in the leg and side, and his coat wasn’t up to the challenge. Pain lanced through him as they burst, but, in a stroke of dumb luck, the slick, foam-covered floor allowed for rapid movement and the exploding rounds provided the thrust.

  As agony arced through his flesh, he slid down the hallway toward the backstage door. Meanwhile, the walls continued to explode as the woman went wild with her losttech weapons system.

  ###

  “See him?” Addie subvocalized, and Beef nodded. They’d entered through a window. Of course, they’d had to find a larger one than Humpty had gone through, but since the little drone had the wandering guard in sight, it was easy to find one that wasn’t attended. After that, they’d made their way through the hallways toward the front lobby where the merc was currently lounging, one elbow on the counter as he stared into space. His helmet visor was facing the doors, and Addie was sure his PAI would alert him to anyone coming or going, but she was pretty confident that he was watching a vid or playing a game.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Smokey said through comms. “You ought to send that little varmint over to the stairwell to keep track of the other two guards you told me about. Now that y’all have that feller in your sights, I mean.”

  “The hell is wrong with this guy?” Beef asked, his voice growling through comms. He wasn’t subvocalizing, but it didn’t matter; his new helmet was completely soundproof.

  “I’ll send him,” Addie replied, then, splitting her concentration, she guided Humpty back the way they’d come, out a window, and up a couple of levels. She’d already gotten him into the stairwell that way once, and figured it would be easier to keep track of the other four guards from the midpoint.

  “We good?” Beef asked.

  Addie shook her head, subvocalizing. “Give me a couple of minutes to get Humpty in place.” She looked at Beef, or more precisely at the rifle in his hands. It was long, sleek, and high-tech, with a six-centimeter crystal-glass sighting reticule just above the stock. She knew that when he pointed it at the guard in the lobby, it would lock onto him, and then he’d just need to start firing. “Are you going to use the botu-rounds?”

  He shook his head, and his voice came through comms. “Too much armor.”

  “I could use my—”

  “C’mon, Ads. We’re not doing that on this mission. The most efficient way, right?” He was quoting something Tony had said during their planning session.

  Addie nodded, but she didn’t give up. “My way is the most efficient. It’s one guy, and he’s not looking at us. Why waste ammo or risk him having nanites that can resist the toxin?”

  Beef’s impassive black face shield stared at her for several seconds, then he shrugged and slung the gun down by his side. As she watched, he drew his metallic shock knuckles out of a pocket and slipped them onto his cybernetic fist. “You set him up, and I’ll knock him down.”

  Addie smiled, but her eyes weren’t focused on him. She was busy manipulating Humpty’s multi-purpose limb to open the stairwell door. He had to burn extra Dust to move an object so large, but she had plenty to spare. When the door was open about half a meter, she paused and used his scanner array to ensure the landing was empty. After that, she slipped him through and had him silently float down the center of the stairwell until he picked up the warm outlines of the two guards at the bottom. They were in nearly the same position as the last time she’d spied on them.

  “I see them, Miss Adelaide,” Smokey said, apparently privy to the feed Humpty was sending to Glitch’s immersion rig. “You two get down to business now, and I’ll keep an eye on these two turkeys.”

  Beef’s shoulders twitched, and Addie had a feeling he’d just snorted, but he didn’t send it through comms.

  Addie pointed toward the guard lounging in the lobby. “Ready?”

  Beef nodded and crept down the hall. They’d practiced this maneuver a few times over the last couple of weeks. He’d get as close as he thought he could without alerting their prey, and then Addie would perform her hands-up trick.

  Since her meeting with Pyroshi and his revelation that what she was doing was actually manipulating gravity, Addie had tried to wrap her head around the concept and apply it in other ways, but she was still struggling with it. Regardless, Pyroshi insisted she was doing great—that such talents generally took years to master.

  As she crept forward behind Beef’s bulky figure, Addie tried to keep that positive feedback in mind. It didn’t help in the moment, though. Right then and there, it would surely be nice if she were a world-altering spark who could lift a squad of mercs, stop their bullets in mid-air, and smash them to the ground with a wave of her hand. Even Zane hadn’t been able to do that, but he had been able to create a field of reversed gravity. Addie had yet to figure that one out.

  Sometimes she let herself wander back to that memory and relive the unsettling encounter. She’d picture how Zane had held Beef in the air, applying opposing gravitational feeds to her friend’s leg. She remembered stretching her hand out and feeling the Dust field—a complex pattern—he’d created and accidentally disrupting it. He’d bragged about how difficult it was, that she had no idea what she’d even seen. It rankled to know he hadn’t been lying. His talent with gravity had definitely been on another level compared to his other abilities.

  Beef stopped and held up his fist: the signal for her to do her thing. They were only about five meters behind the guard, so it wasn’t hard for her to send out her Dust “lassos” and grab his wrists. With a flick of her mental wrist, he suddenly straightened, yelping softly, despite his full helmet. Beef had charged forward the second his hands lifted, and by the time the merc’s toes lifted off the dusty old floor tiles, he was there, delivering a brutal electrically charged punch to the small of his back.

  Addie winced as the man’s body jerked with the blow, swinging up from the pivot points where she held his wrists. Blue electricity danced along his form for a couple of seconds, and then he hung limply. Beef nodded to her, and she released her hold. The merc’s unconscious—she hoped—form fell, but Beef caught his collar and lowered him to the tiles. Even though Glitch had her driftjack in place, ready to collect any unwanted communications, Beef used a slender vibroblade to pierce their victim’s PAI chip, ruining it without having to pull it out.

  He handed Addie a shrink-cord, and she bound his ankles, while Beef secured his wrists. “Too easy,” the former banger said through comms. “Get his guns and throw ’em over there.”

  Addie nodded, grimacing as she struggled to wriggle the guard’s pistol out of his holster. She finally realized there was a nylon strap over the hammer, and when she loosened it, the gun slid right out. While Beef dragged the body behind the reception counter, Addie picked up his SMG and tossed the two guns into a planter near the front doors. As they thudded down in the dry soil, rustling the brown leaves of a long-dead fern, Smokey spoke through comms:

  “Ya’ll are doing great. The two in the stairwell ain’t moved. The boss lady just asked ’em all to check in, but I’m spoofing your boy’s response based on the last one. As for your partner over in the Tower, he’s under heavy fire, and Glitch is still workin’ her tail off to help him win free. It’s best that you don’t dally—his survival may depend on you getting the boss lady under control.”

  Addie felt her mouth go dry, and she jerked her head toward Beef. He was looking her way, and when their gazes met, he jerked his thumb toward the hallway leading to the stairwell. “Let’s do this.”

  She nodded, jogging ahead. Part of her wanted to really just do it. She could fade right past the guards, get upstairs, blast Eric with some Dust lightning and then get Jen at gunpoint. If everything went well, she’d make her call off her goons over at Cross Tower—all done in just a couple of minutes. That was a big “if,” though. Hot shame rushed up the back of her neck; she might not admit it aloud, but Addie knew she was going through the motions of using Beef and being methodical, mainly because of one thing: she was scared to fade.