The story "Running Black" appears here in reverse order with the most recent,
latest section at the top. I'm new to this blogging thing, so start at the bottom
if you want to read it in the correct order.
To Neal: thanks, I'll do my best.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
---------------------------------------------
“Negative Mr. Hsiang. The transport is still cloaked; they must still be inside the compound.”
“I want to know the instant they are airborne. Remind Colonel Kinyashi to track them the instant they leave DH airspace. Remind him to attend the rendezvous and confirm delivery.” Avery Hsiang paused, his eyes tightened. “He is to settle accounts with the sprawlers as well. Understand?”
Yes. Absolutely, Mr Hsiang.”
Avery cut the secure channel off without a word, settled back in the deep leather seat and watched the buildings slide by in the early morning dark, savoring the moment.
----------------------
The four of us passed through the door into an observation room. Four large glass viewing panels angled out and away from bank of equipment panels. On the right, a steel staircase disappeared down into the semi- dark. I hung back, still stuck holding the guard, so Tam & Poet9 moved forward and peered out the panels down into what appeared to be nothing more than a room.
“I saw you.” a voice suddenly said. It came from speakers on the instrument panel. We all froze and it was quiet for a moment. “You tried to be sneaky, but I saw you,” it suddenly said again. Poet9 jerked his pistol up, and Tam tensed.
“I saw one of you in the computer too. You’re pretty fast, faster than the others around here. I told them their walls weren’t strong, but they didn’t listen.” the voice continued.
Poet9 leaned forward and peered down thru the glass. “Jesus! There’s someone down there.”
“I’ll turn on the lights if you want. Here” And the room below us suddenly flickered to life. Poet9 brought up his magnum, but Tam put a hand on his shoulder. He looked down into the observation area and saw the room. A plain room like a barracks; off -white, a bed, drawers in one wall, and several items scattered on a rug. In the corner was a large u-shaped consol with several workstations and panels under oversize monitors. And someone was sitting at one of the stations.
“A kid,” I heard Tam’s whisper in my helmet. “There’s a kid down there.” I kept a lock on the guard, but Poet9 leaned to look into the room while Tam made his way down the stairs.
It was a boy. Dark skinned, close cut hair, with a round face and bright, green eyes that jumped out at you. No more than 10 or 12 years old, he dressed in a tan coveralls sitting at one of the computers. He paused as Tam came out onto the floor.
“Are you the only one here?” Tam was asking as he slowly walked toward the boy.
“Right now I am. In the daytime Dr. Evans and Dr. Henrich are here with their staff. Sometimes they stay late and have me do things with the computers. But that’s been less and less lately. They keep telling me I have to get my rest. I couldn‘t sleep tonight though. That’s how come I saw you.”
“What’s your name?” Tam was halfway to the consol.
“Gibson. What’s yours?”
“That’s not important right now. Gibson, what do you mean ‘you saw us’ ? When?” Tam was nearly at the desk now.
“On the security grid. I couldn’t sleep and got bored, so I watched you through the cameras. Well, I mean I could tell where you were. The air sort of shimmered so I just followed the shimmers and watched you come here.” He paused and looked at one of the screens, then back at Tam. “Why did you hurt those two men?”
Poet9 broke in over the radio link. “Hate to interrupt, but. We’ve got a job to do. And … only 8 minutes to do it in. Does he know where they keep it or not?”
Tam was at the computers now, hand on the edge of one of the desks, looking down at the boy, who just sat and looked back up into the stealth suit matt black faceplate. “Look at him.” I heard Tam say.
“Look at him Poet.”
“What? I see a kid. I want hardware. Just put him to sleep and let’s move.”
“No. Look at his head.” I stepped forward gripping the guard tighter and cranked up the amplification on my visor. Sure enough, a single, thin, black cybernetic jack ran up from the panel to disappear behind the boy’s left ear.
“Could you turn off the lights for me Gibson?” Tam asked.
“Sure” and the lights went out.
..... END OF PART ONE .....
“Negative Mr. Hsiang. The transport is still cloaked; they must still be inside the compound.”
“I want to know the instant they are airborne. Remind Colonel Kinyashi to track them the instant they leave DH airspace. Remind him to attend the rendezvous and confirm delivery.” Avery Hsiang paused, his eyes tightened. “He is to settle accounts with the sprawlers as well. Understand?”
Yes. Absolutely, Mr Hsiang.”
Avery cut the secure channel off without a word, settled back in the deep leather seat and watched the buildings slide by in the early morning dark, savoring the moment.
----------------------
The four of us passed through the door into an observation room. Four large glass viewing panels angled out and away from bank of equipment panels. On the right, a steel staircase disappeared down into the semi- dark. I hung back, still stuck holding the guard, so Tam & Poet9 moved forward and peered out the panels down into what appeared to be nothing more than a room.
“I saw you.” a voice suddenly said. It came from speakers on the instrument panel. We all froze and it was quiet for a moment. “You tried to be sneaky, but I saw you,” it suddenly said again. Poet9 jerked his pistol up, and Tam tensed.
“I saw one of you in the computer too. You’re pretty fast, faster than the others around here. I told them their walls weren’t strong, but they didn’t listen.” the voice continued.
Poet9 leaned forward and peered down thru the glass. “Jesus! There’s someone down there.”
“I’ll turn on the lights if you want. Here” And the room below us suddenly flickered to life. Poet9 brought up his magnum, but Tam put a hand on his shoulder. He looked down into the observation area and saw the room. A plain room like a barracks; off -white, a bed, drawers in one wall, and several items scattered on a rug. In the corner was a large u-shaped consol with several workstations and panels under oversize monitors. And someone was sitting at one of the stations.
“A kid,” I heard Tam’s whisper in my helmet. “There’s a kid down there.” I kept a lock on the guard, but Poet9 leaned to look into the room while Tam made his way down the stairs.
It was a boy. Dark skinned, close cut hair, with a round face and bright, green eyes that jumped out at you. No more than 10 or 12 years old, he dressed in a tan coveralls sitting at one of the computers. He paused as Tam came out onto the floor.
“Are you the only one here?” Tam was asking as he slowly walked toward the boy.
“Right now I am. In the daytime Dr. Evans and Dr. Henrich are here with their staff. Sometimes they stay late and have me do things with the computers. But that’s been less and less lately. They keep telling me I have to get my rest. I couldn‘t sleep tonight though. That’s how come I saw you.”
“What’s your name?” Tam was halfway to the consol.
“Gibson. What’s yours?”
“That’s not important right now. Gibson, what do you mean ‘you saw us’ ? When?” Tam was nearly at the desk now.
“On the security grid. I couldn’t sleep and got bored, so I watched you through the cameras. Well, I mean I could tell where you were. The air sort of shimmered so I just followed the shimmers and watched you come here.” He paused and looked at one of the screens, then back at Tam. “Why did you hurt those two men?”
Poet9 broke in over the radio link. “Hate to interrupt, but. We’ve got a job to do. And … only 8 minutes to do it in. Does he know where they keep it or not?”
Tam was at the computers now, hand on the edge of one of the desks, looking down at the boy, who just sat and looked back up into the stealth suit matt black faceplate. “Look at him.” I heard Tam say.
“Look at him Poet.”
“What? I see a kid. I want hardware. Just put him to sleep and let’s move.”
“No. Look at his head.” I stepped forward gripping the guard tighter and cranked up the amplification on my visor. Sure enough, a single, thin, black cybernetic jack ran up from the panel to disappear behind the boy’s left ear.
“Could you turn off the lights for me Gibson?” Tam asked.
“Sure” and the lights went out.
..... END OF PART ONE .....
--------------------------------------------
The clock was ticking, so Tam and I were moved in fast and low with the Mitsu suits humming full spectrum. We ghosted under camera domes and over several laser trips before we hit the main lobby with the vault doors for the labs. Bio-ware shows up as a hot spot in a human body, and I’d already switched to thermal-view for a quick ID. The two guards in the lobby read negative so Tam double tapped and left them slumped in their chairs cooling to even lower temps. Then we went prowling for our live wired friend.
We found him in the bathroom, of all places. Another vet, this one scarred ugly from some old toxin burst, but it’s kind of hard to look intimidating with your pants down around your ankles. Tam kicked the stall door in and had him zip cuffed and gagged in no time. A die hard, he kept thrashing, growling, trying to head butt or body slam us. After a minute of that I chopped him hard in both shoulders and he quieted right down.
I pulled close to the side of his head and spoke through my faceplate, “If you play nice, you’ll still be alive when this is over. If not…”
Back to the main room and he lasted until he saw the other two guards, then he threw himself toward the desk panel trying to trip the alarm. I kicked his legs out and sat on him while Tam called Poet9.
“We’re in and we got the wired guy. You sure we have to keep him alive?”
I looked down to see him biting his way through the gag and bounced his head off the floor. “Just until we’re on our way.” He quieted down again.
Four and a half minutes later, Poet9 dropped in and went to work on the grid. He burned through their security in 5 minutes and grunted as the vault doors hissed open. “Stupid execs - always 6 months behind.”
”What am I going to do with this hard core?”, I asked, shoving the guard forward. He was sweating, his eyes wide now that we’d made it into the labs. Several times I saw the notion of a break or going limp flit behind his eyes, but he knew I wasn‘t in the mood. We’d get what we wanted and leave him alive. Not that it was much of a consolation because our run here was definitely not good for his long term career plans.
Tam spoke on the radio link, “See if you can find another bathroom, knock him out and leave him there. If DH scans the building, maybe they’ll think he has the runs.” Checking his HUD, he said “we have less than 23 minutes before the next security cycle. We need to split up to search. No one’s sure what this thing is supposed to look like. Look for a mini-vault, a case, even a stasis canister.”
We combed the main room, stealth suit sensors scanning every desk, locker, closet and container.
“Tam” I called, “ this seem easy to you?”
He was silent for a second, then, “Yeah. For an earth shattering piece of tech, they seem awful casual about it. I mean, the perimeter is tight, there’s squads of modded guards, even the bio-alarm, but in here there‘s no motion sensors, turrets, nothing. Maybe they already moved it?”
“We can only go on the Roh data, but they think there’s almost 2 weeks before D-H goes public with this. This is the final stage to tie up any loose ends. Their source double crossed them? ”
“We’d be dead, or nearly there, if that was the case.”
Poet9 came to a door. “I have something! Motion, cyber activity, in this room.“ He fast drew the bulky Walther 11.
“Don’t think the tech is going to shoot you, Poet.” We all went in.
The clock was ticking, so Tam and I were moved in fast and low with the Mitsu suits humming full spectrum. We ghosted under camera domes and over several laser trips before we hit the main lobby with the vault doors for the labs. Bio-ware shows up as a hot spot in a human body, and I’d already switched to thermal-view for a quick ID. The two guards in the lobby read negative so Tam double tapped and left them slumped in their chairs cooling to even lower temps. Then we went prowling for our live wired friend.
We found him in the bathroom, of all places. Another vet, this one scarred ugly from some old toxin burst, but it’s kind of hard to look intimidating with your pants down around your ankles. Tam kicked the stall door in and had him zip cuffed and gagged in no time. A die hard, he kept thrashing, growling, trying to head butt or body slam us. After a minute of that I chopped him hard in both shoulders and he quieted right down.
I pulled close to the side of his head and spoke through my faceplate, “If you play nice, you’ll still be alive when this is over. If not…”
Back to the main room and he lasted until he saw the other two guards, then he threw himself toward the desk panel trying to trip the alarm. I kicked his legs out and sat on him while Tam called Poet9.
“We’re in and we got the wired guy. You sure we have to keep him alive?”
I looked down to see him biting his way through the gag and bounced his head off the floor. “Just until we’re on our way.” He quieted down again.
Four and a half minutes later, Poet9 dropped in and went to work on the grid. He burned through their security in 5 minutes and grunted as the vault doors hissed open. “Stupid execs - always 6 months behind.”
”What am I going to do with this hard core?”, I asked, shoving the guard forward. He was sweating, his eyes wide now that we’d made it into the labs. Several times I saw the notion of a break or going limp flit behind his eyes, but he knew I wasn‘t in the mood. We’d get what we wanted and leave him alive. Not that it was much of a consolation because our run here was definitely not good for his long term career plans.
Tam spoke on the radio link, “See if you can find another bathroom, knock him out and leave him there. If DH scans the building, maybe they’ll think he has the runs.” Checking his HUD, he said “we have less than 23 minutes before the next security cycle. We need to split up to search. No one’s sure what this thing is supposed to look like. Look for a mini-vault, a case, even a stasis canister.”
We combed the main room, stealth suit sensors scanning every desk, locker, closet and container.
“Tam” I called, “ this seem easy to you?”
He was silent for a second, then, “Yeah. For an earth shattering piece of tech, they seem awful casual about it. I mean, the perimeter is tight, there’s squads of modded guards, even the bio-alarm, but in here there‘s no motion sensors, turrets, nothing. Maybe they already moved it?”
“We can only go on the Roh data, but they think there’s almost 2 weeks before D-H goes public with this. This is the final stage to tie up any loose ends. Their source double crossed them? ”
“We’d be dead, or nearly there, if that was the case.”
Poet9 came to a door. “I have something! Motion, cyber activity, in this room.“ He fast drew the bulky Walther 11.
“Don’t think the tech is going to shoot you, Poet.” We all went in.
Monday, January 8, 2007
And more
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SEQUENCE PARALLEL: London, England. New European Union. 04:08 hours
Avery Hsiang caught himself staring at the carpet when he realized the man across from him had stopped speaking. He stood up casually, then leaned over the massive black conference table and smiled a very thin smile. “Here we are back at the start - again - Mr. MacKinnon. How many times must I repeat myself? The Shin Roh Corporation denies any complicity in the recent intrusions in your London facility. It is that simple.”
“Our sources indicate those mercenaries were associated with your company and had been in your employ previously on numerous occasions. It is obvious-”
“It is obvious,” Avery cut in, “your ‘sources’ confirm only what you wish to hear. Why suspect the Shin Roh? You invoke confidential protocols and demand this meeting in the middle of the night only to vent anger and preposterous accusations. Our companies have shared several profitable joint ventures in the past. What of the Americans? Your successes in their Argentinean markets must offend them. You know how territorial they are. Perhaps this clumsy burgling is their way of lashing out at you.” Avery Hsiang smoothed down the puckered silk of his coat sleeve. “From your description, the attempt seems rather continental to me.” He sat down again and let his gaze travel over the rich wood paneled walls of the conference room, conjuring a mildly irritated look on his face.
“The ‘attempt’,” Jackson MacKinnon spat, ’ penetrated much further than normal and their equipment was far too sophisticated for simple shoplifters. Nothing vital was taken, of course,” he waved a hand,
“but their presence that far inside our facility betrays a certain level of privileged intelligence.”
Avery ignored the last statement and raised his hands toward the other Arbitrator, “Well, if nothing critical was compromised, why am I here? To waste time and offend us?” he paused. “Or is there something further? Do you require our assistance in some matter? These thieves, these spies… they were all killed, were they not?”
His father told him long ago the trick to getting your hands dirty is never touch anything directly. Avery knew full well the Sprawl scum had been eliminated; his agents confirmed it. He’d also been assured it was an utterly sterile operation; not one shred of tissue or scrap of equipment could be traced back to the Shin Roh. MacKinnon had nothing and they both knew it. Outwardly, he waited for a response, looking patiently at his frayed counterpart who could only glare back. Inwardly, Avery’s mind leapt that his suspicions had been correct: the N3 was real! Otherwise why would Dawson-Hull react so swiftly, demanding an immediate face to face conference? They are scared, Avery thought, scared that we now have their prototype. He glanced down at his watch, in fact, he said to himself, we just might by now.
“No?“ he continued smoothly looking back up, “We both know mercenaries have no loyalty beyond their fees. They are hirelings, whores who perform for money. I promise you Mr. MacKinnon, first thing in the morning I will relay this information and your concerns to the appropriate department. I will say again however, the Shin Roh prides itself in the skills and dedication that render such dishonorable practices irrelevant. Even if extreme necessity demanded it, my company would never contract such amateurs.”
Jackson MacKinnon rose to his feet. “Avery, our investigators are going to sift through every speck of evidence. Forensics experts arrive from Brussels tomorrow, and the Board has granted me full authority in this case.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “We will find the perpetrators Avery, and reprisals will be severe.” He let that hang in the air over the polished obsidian table.
Avery Hsiang shrugged, “I trust your forensics teams are a bit more accurate than your usual ‘sources’, Jackson. We certainly regret the disturbing incident that prompted such an urgent meeting. I assure you, my company stands willing to assist you in apprehending the criminals. The problem of Illegals is a concern for every corporation. But, it is the middle of the night - now if you‘ll excuse me, Mr. MacKinnon.” He picked his case up from the floor and nodded to the bodyguard standing against the paneled wall behind him. Together they left the conference room in silence.
It wasn’t until they were in the lift down to the car that he permitted himself a much larger smile. It was amusing to see the gajin MacKinnon so unnerved. Reprisals? Reprisals meant nothing if he obtained the prototype. If this latest mercenary team was as good as his assistants claimed, in a few short hours the Hegemony would stride the system like a giant, thanks to his initiative. From childhood, his father taught him it was the destiny of the Asian-Pacific Hegemony to rule the affairs of mankind. It was inevitable; and with this, he would be the catalyst for that inevitability. The Board of Directors would recognize his abilities, and with the enormous profits this would yield, if he aligned the proper coalition, even the path to Chairman was open. Yes, he thought, it is destiny. But over the years he had learned that Destiny was only certain when it was seized.
Moments later, Shin Roh Senior Arbitrator Avery Hsiang leaned forward in his limo seat, and hit one of the buttons on the armrest, then spoke into the secure line. “Are they in the air yet?”
SEQUENCE PARALLEL: London, England. New European Union. 04:08 hours
Avery Hsiang caught himself staring at the carpet when he realized the man across from him had stopped speaking. He stood up casually, then leaned over the massive black conference table and smiled a very thin smile. “Here we are back at the start - again - Mr. MacKinnon. How many times must I repeat myself? The Shin Roh Corporation denies any complicity in the recent intrusions in your London facility. It is that simple.”
“Our sources indicate those mercenaries were associated with your company and had been in your employ previously on numerous occasions. It is obvious-”
“It is obvious,” Avery cut in, “your ‘sources’ confirm only what you wish to hear. Why suspect the Shin Roh? You invoke confidential protocols and demand this meeting in the middle of the night only to vent anger and preposterous accusations. Our companies have shared several profitable joint ventures in the past. What of the Americans? Your successes in their Argentinean markets must offend them. You know how territorial they are. Perhaps this clumsy burgling is their way of lashing out at you.” Avery Hsiang smoothed down the puckered silk of his coat sleeve. “From your description, the attempt seems rather continental to me.” He sat down again and let his gaze travel over the rich wood paneled walls of the conference room, conjuring a mildly irritated look on his face.
“The ‘attempt’,” Jackson MacKinnon spat, ’ penetrated much further than normal and their equipment was far too sophisticated for simple shoplifters. Nothing vital was taken, of course,” he waved a hand,
“but their presence that far inside our facility betrays a certain level of privileged intelligence.”
Avery ignored the last statement and raised his hands toward the other Arbitrator, “Well, if nothing critical was compromised, why am I here? To waste time and offend us?” he paused. “Or is there something further? Do you require our assistance in some matter? These thieves, these spies… they were all killed, were they not?”
His father told him long ago the trick to getting your hands dirty is never touch anything directly. Avery knew full well the Sprawl scum had been eliminated; his agents confirmed it. He’d also been assured it was an utterly sterile operation; not one shred of tissue or scrap of equipment could be traced back to the Shin Roh. MacKinnon had nothing and they both knew it. Outwardly, he waited for a response, looking patiently at his frayed counterpart who could only glare back. Inwardly, Avery’s mind leapt that his suspicions had been correct: the N3 was real! Otherwise why would Dawson-Hull react so swiftly, demanding an immediate face to face conference? They are scared, Avery thought, scared that we now have their prototype. He glanced down at his watch, in fact, he said to himself, we just might by now.
“No?“ he continued smoothly looking back up, “We both know mercenaries have no loyalty beyond their fees. They are hirelings, whores who perform for money. I promise you Mr. MacKinnon, first thing in the morning I will relay this information and your concerns to the appropriate department. I will say again however, the Shin Roh prides itself in the skills and dedication that render such dishonorable practices irrelevant. Even if extreme necessity demanded it, my company would never contract such amateurs.”
Jackson MacKinnon rose to his feet. “Avery, our investigators are going to sift through every speck of evidence. Forensics experts arrive from Brussels tomorrow, and the Board has granted me full authority in this case.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “We will find the perpetrators Avery, and reprisals will be severe.” He let that hang in the air over the polished obsidian table.
Avery Hsiang shrugged, “I trust your forensics teams are a bit more accurate than your usual ‘sources’, Jackson. We certainly regret the disturbing incident that prompted such an urgent meeting. I assure you, my company stands willing to assist you in apprehending the criminals. The problem of Illegals is a concern for every corporation. But, it is the middle of the night - now if you‘ll excuse me, Mr. MacKinnon.” He picked his case up from the floor and nodded to the bodyguard standing against the paneled wall behind him. Together they left the conference room in silence.
It wasn’t until they were in the lift down to the car that he permitted himself a much larger smile. It was amusing to see the gajin MacKinnon so unnerved. Reprisals? Reprisals meant nothing if he obtained the prototype. If this latest mercenary team was as good as his assistants claimed, in a few short hours the Hegemony would stride the system like a giant, thanks to his initiative. From childhood, his father taught him it was the destiny of the Asian-Pacific Hegemony to rule the affairs of mankind. It was inevitable; and with this, he would be the catalyst for that inevitability. The Board of Directors would recognize his abilities, and with the enormous profits this would yield, if he aligned the proper coalition, even the path to Chairman was open. Yes, he thought, it is destiny. But over the years he had learned that Destiny was only certain when it was seized.
Moments later, Shin Roh Senior Arbitrator Avery Hsiang leaned forward in his limo seat, and hit one of the buttons on the armrest, then spoke into the secure line. “Are they in the air yet?”
More Running Black.
We entered the control room opposite a wall of monitors with grainy black & white exterior sweeps that had random thermal views winking in every 30 seconds. It was enough to give you seizures. I looked for Poet9 and found him spliced in, cables from the big black neural unit on the side of his head running like IVs into the station terminal. He was talking off hand, distracted, keeping focus in both worlds.
“No increase traffic on their nets - no staff in the labs, just guards, two, three, total - yeah, three inside …….” He closed his eyes for a moment, “ facility patrol - 3 bots and six guards - right where they’re supposed to be - doing routine sweeps in overlapping eights. There’s one Cerberus ‘bot and a guard on the lab doors - looks like another pair on building perimeter.”
He jacked out and his eyes cleared. “ I’m not done yet. I still have to set this terminal to give it’s standard ‘all clear’ reply to the next system security query. They‘re every 30 minutes and next ping is in just over 9. We have 11 minutes until this station’s patrol pair should start walking their loop. This might bluff once, but not twice. We have to be gone before then.”
Tam thought a minute. “The contract downlink gave us floor plans and key codes for the secure areas. We have to access the lab’s defense network and disable the systems. Any chance you can hack from here?”
“Not in a half hour. The entire net is Enigma 3 centralized with top down priority. If I splice in a specific zone I can affect the local grid. I need a terminal, even a key pad,” Poet9 squared off in front of Tam, even lowered his voice a bit . “You want it down, I’ll have to go in with you.”
“Alright,” Tam sighed. “Scan the bodies and dig out their chips. I’ll have Flopsey & Mopsey walk the patrol loop with them - that might buy us a couple more seconds. They’ll need to prep some Aces in case any robots show up and we have to turn and burn off site. Jace and I will drop in, and you will hang back until I say it’s clear.”
Poet9 nodded, his eyes gleaming as he zipped in his data lines and tugged the knit cap back over his misshapen head. Then he patted the oversized Walther 11 holstered on his hip, “We’re good.”
“He’s even got a name for that new hand cannon,” I whispered as we left the room.
A faint smile played over Tam‘s face, “I don’t want to know.”
“Aces” are a nasty piece of work. EMP flash grenades were first developed late in the 20th century by the old Soviet block. The prototypes were gray can-shaped charges with an ace of spades stenciled on them. Refined over time, the name stuck. Miniaturized and juiced up to short out anything but the most hardened system, they’ll snowblind everything in a 40’ radius. Any people caught in the blast are shrunk and shriveled; microwaved to death.
A minute later we headed out the door with two bloody RFID chips from the guards‘ hands. Tam got on his micro-bead redeploying the Triplets and I checked feed from our drones. Still nothing. The action inside had bled off tension, but something still gnawed at the edges. I looked at Tam, but he’d gone into mode and was all crisp. I sensed the Triplets moving, so I shrugged, and sprinted out into the dark plaza towards the tangled geometry of the labs. We were still running black, and the six of us were about to go deeper.
Part Two: SEQUENCE START
____________________
Crouched outside the light cone, I could read the tab nestled between the two surveillance cameras. ‘E.C.I.S. Research, labs 5-7‘. Euro-Cybernetics Integrated Systems is one of a dozen bio-tech fronts owned by the Dawson-Hull Conglomerate. Spanning the entire European Union, the “D-H. ‘Glom’ is one of the Seven: the huge corporate multinationals who dominate Earth now. The Seven’s arbitrators have U.N. seats and maintain offices in every country, space station, and colony in the solar system. This was serious trespass. It got better though; Tam and I figured the Shin-Roh Asian-Pacific Hegemony hired us for this run. Another one of the Seven, headquartered in old Japan, the prospectus came through their usual cut outs. We’d be thieves on this job, plain and simple, because “covert asset acquisition” is just legalese for “breaking & entering”. There was something in this facility they wanted, and Tam Song Associates was sent to get it. That’s why our crew of Chipless illegals, most former military, all with criminal records, were traipsing through a mega-corp’s secure installation looking for a bit of top secret tech in the middle of the night. We weren’t just pulling a tiger’s tail; we were in the middle of two of them, kicking one in the balls. Hell of a way to make a living.
The mission brief alleged that D-H had developed an operating N3: a Nanotech Neural Network. Nanotech had mind blowing possibilities for every facet of life. The one small problem was the human body consistently rejected the artificial atomic machines, so except for the simplest medical applications, nano-research had made nothing but monsters and corpses. This was a biological/cybernetic interface system that operated on the molecular level. Poet9 had a military grade brain box grafted to his head, wet-wired to his cortex, that allowed him to surf the Grid; but a N3 would all be invisible inside a human host. If this was real, it was a quantum shift. One that changed everything. Forever.
Every couple of years the Newsnets would flash some geek team of lab coats claiming to have found the Holy Grail, but it always flatlined. But someone at Shin Roh had gotten wind of this project and converted into a true believer. This one had no Net specials or glossy PR packages; just hints between the lines of looted data still sticky with the blood of another team. Whatever it was spooked them hard, because they were gambling everything; hemorrhaging hundreds of millions in credits, providing detailed schematics, classified security codes, authorizing huge completion bonuses, even risking global exposure and UN censure. This time someone high up figured it was real and hired us for this little smash and grab.
The downlink went on to say that the D-H Conglomerate was in final test phase and they’d selected this smaller, inconspicuous facility to complete their research. They made a big show at their main labs in Brussels locking them down tight in a classic misinformation game. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary here - just the standard security for a class 9 complex. Inside the labs might be a different matter, but the report suddenly became sketchy there. And that’s where Tam and I headed, clambering up the heating units onto the roof to the access panel some informant tagged as unprotected.
We crouched unmoving in the darkness, two knots of nothing, when the patrol pair passed beneath us. Sensor lights on the hulking Cerberus drone winked steadily as it shuffled by and the guard never even glanced up. We were up and moving as they turned the corner, and in a few quick motions, the panel was off and we quick slid into the interior gloom.
Once in the Maintenance crawl, Tam got on the micro-bead. “Poet? We’re in and moving. We’ll secure the hall into R & D. Give us a minute, then we’ll need you right behind us for the override.”
“Loud & clear. I want to set some spider mines. Pop goes the weasel on these ’Glom bastards if they come a running.“ his voice crackled back.
“No, leave the mines - that’s what the Triplets are for, remember? Just wait there until I say. Tam, out.”
A grunt and double click cut off. Tam peered at me for a second then shook his head. I just smiled back. “At least he tries.”
“At least he’s good in the Grid.” He tapped the display on his forearm pad, “Let’s move.”
We fast crawled along the ceiling struts following cable bundles and vent ducts toward the restricted area making sure to leave IR marks for Poet. I kept switching between the drone feed over the facility, and the building blueprints on my left eye HUD. Not that it mattered really; we were running to the end no matter what now. No more worry, just focus. Poet 9’s data hack back in the guard station put two badges at the only junction leading into the Restricted area. The third was making rounds checking doors. We’d have to cross them off and get him in to bypass the security and seal all other access. We had 27 minutes left.
Light filtered up through the grate into the cramped darkness as we approached the point marked “D wing” on our displays. A quick drop, then 14 meters down a hall to the main and only entrance to the secure labs. If there was trouble, here is where it’d be waiting.
On cue, Poet9’s voice whispered in our ears. “Problem. Datastream from the security node shows a bio-ware link in that zone net. And it’s mobile. I’m guessing the lead guard on each shift is wet wired to the security system - probably linked to heartbeat or brainwaves and coded to his RFID. Pretty smart for the ’Glom. That guy goes offline for any reason and it’s total lockdown, with every drone & clone in 100 klicks maxing on full auto. You have to find him. And keep him alive.”
“Great. Just. Great.” and we lifted the grate and dropped down onto the hall carpet.
“No increase traffic on their nets - no staff in the labs, just guards, two, three, total - yeah, three inside …….” He closed his eyes for a moment, “ facility patrol - 3 bots and six guards - right where they’re supposed to be - doing routine sweeps in overlapping eights. There’s one Cerberus ‘bot and a guard on the lab doors - looks like another pair on building perimeter.”
He jacked out and his eyes cleared. “ I’m not done yet. I still have to set this terminal to give it’s standard ‘all clear’ reply to the next system security query. They‘re every 30 minutes and next ping is in just over 9. We have 11 minutes until this station’s patrol pair should start walking their loop. This might bluff once, but not twice. We have to be gone before then.”
Tam thought a minute. “The contract downlink gave us floor plans and key codes for the secure areas. We have to access the lab’s defense network and disable the systems. Any chance you can hack from here?”
“Not in a half hour. The entire net is Enigma 3 centralized with top down priority. If I splice in a specific zone I can affect the local grid. I need a terminal, even a key pad,” Poet9 squared off in front of Tam, even lowered his voice a bit . “You want it down, I’ll have to go in with you.”
“Alright,” Tam sighed. “Scan the bodies and dig out their chips. I’ll have Flopsey & Mopsey walk the patrol loop with them - that might buy us a couple more seconds. They’ll need to prep some Aces in case any robots show up and we have to turn and burn off site. Jace and I will drop in, and you will hang back until I say it’s clear.”
Poet9 nodded, his eyes gleaming as he zipped in his data lines and tugged the knit cap back over his misshapen head. Then he patted the oversized Walther 11 holstered on his hip, “We’re good.”
“He’s even got a name for that new hand cannon,” I whispered as we left the room.
A faint smile played over Tam‘s face, “I don’t want to know.”
“Aces” are a nasty piece of work. EMP flash grenades were first developed late in the 20th century by the old Soviet block. The prototypes were gray can-shaped charges with an ace of spades stenciled on them. Refined over time, the name stuck. Miniaturized and juiced up to short out anything but the most hardened system, they’ll snowblind everything in a 40’ radius. Any people caught in the blast are shrunk and shriveled; microwaved to death.
A minute later we headed out the door with two bloody RFID chips from the guards‘ hands. Tam got on his micro-bead redeploying the Triplets and I checked feed from our drones. Still nothing. The action inside had bled off tension, but something still gnawed at the edges. I looked at Tam, but he’d gone into mode and was all crisp. I sensed the Triplets moving, so I shrugged, and sprinted out into the dark plaza towards the tangled geometry of the labs. We were still running black, and the six of us were about to go deeper.
Part Two: SEQUENCE START
____________________
Crouched outside the light cone, I could read the tab nestled between the two surveillance cameras. ‘E.C.I.S. Research, labs 5-7‘. Euro-Cybernetics Integrated Systems is one of a dozen bio-tech fronts owned by the Dawson-Hull Conglomerate. Spanning the entire European Union, the “D-H. ‘Glom’ is one of the Seven: the huge corporate multinationals who dominate Earth now. The Seven’s arbitrators have U.N. seats and maintain offices in every country, space station, and colony in the solar system. This was serious trespass. It got better though; Tam and I figured the Shin-Roh Asian-Pacific Hegemony hired us for this run. Another one of the Seven, headquartered in old Japan, the prospectus came through their usual cut outs. We’d be thieves on this job, plain and simple, because “covert asset acquisition” is just legalese for “breaking & entering”. There was something in this facility they wanted, and Tam Song Associates was sent to get it. That’s why our crew of Chipless illegals, most former military, all with criminal records, were traipsing through a mega-corp’s secure installation looking for a bit of top secret tech in the middle of the night. We weren’t just pulling a tiger’s tail; we were in the middle of two of them, kicking one in the balls. Hell of a way to make a living.
The mission brief alleged that D-H had developed an operating N3: a Nanotech Neural Network. Nanotech had mind blowing possibilities for every facet of life. The one small problem was the human body consistently rejected the artificial atomic machines, so except for the simplest medical applications, nano-research had made nothing but monsters and corpses. This was a biological/cybernetic interface system that operated on the molecular level. Poet9 had a military grade brain box grafted to his head, wet-wired to his cortex, that allowed him to surf the Grid; but a N3 would all be invisible inside a human host. If this was real, it was a quantum shift. One that changed everything. Forever.
Every couple of years the Newsnets would flash some geek team of lab coats claiming to have found the Holy Grail, but it always flatlined. But someone at Shin Roh had gotten wind of this project and converted into a true believer. This one had no Net specials or glossy PR packages; just hints between the lines of looted data still sticky with the blood of another team. Whatever it was spooked them hard, because they were gambling everything; hemorrhaging hundreds of millions in credits, providing detailed schematics, classified security codes, authorizing huge completion bonuses, even risking global exposure and UN censure. This time someone high up figured it was real and hired us for this little smash and grab.
The downlink went on to say that the D-H Conglomerate was in final test phase and they’d selected this smaller, inconspicuous facility to complete their research. They made a big show at their main labs in Brussels locking them down tight in a classic misinformation game. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary here - just the standard security for a class 9 complex. Inside the labs might be a different matter, but the report suddenly became sketchy there. And that’s where Tam and I headed, clambering up the heating units onto the roof to the access panel some informant tagged as unprotected.
We crouched unmoving in the darkness, two knots of nothing, when the patrol pair passed beneath us. Sensor lights on the hulking Cerberus drone winked steadily as it shuffled by and the guard never even glanced up. We were up and moving as they turned the corner, and in a few quick motions, the panel was off and we quick slid into the interior gloom.
Once in the Maintenance crawl, Tam got on the micro-bead. “Poet? We’re in and moving. We’ll secure the hall into R & D. Give us a minute, then we’ll need you right behind us for the override.”
“Loud & clear. I want to set some spider mines. Pop goes the weasel on these ’Glom bastards if they come a running.“ his voice crackled back.
“No, leave the mines - that’s what the Triplets are for, remember? Just wait there until I say. Tam, out.”
A grunt and double click cut off. Tam peered at me for a second then shook his head. I just smiled back. “At least he tries.”
“At least he’s good in the Grid.” He tapped the display on his forearm pad, “Let’s move.”
We fast crawled along the ceiling struts following cable bundles and vent ducts toward the restricted area making sure to leave IR marks for Poet. I kept switching between the drone feed over the facility, and the building blueprints on my left eye HUD. Not that it mattered really; we were running to the end no matter what now. No more worry, just focus. Poet 9’s data hack back in the guard station put two badges at the only junction leading into the Restricted area. The third was making rounds checking doors. We’d have to cross them off and get him in to bypass the security and seal all other access. We had 27 minutes left.
Light filtered up through the grate into the cramped darkness as we approached the point marked “D wing” on our displays. A quick drop, then 14 meters down a hall to the main and only entrance to the secure labs. If there was trouble, here is where it’d be waiting.
On cue, Poet9’s voice whispered in our ears. “Problem. Datastream from the security node shows a bio-ware link in that zone net. And it’s mobile. I’m guessing the lead guard on each shift is wet wired to the security system - probably linked to heartbeat or brainwaves and coded to his RFID. Pretty smart for the ’Glom. That guy goes offline for any reason and it’s total lockdown, with every drone & clone in 100 klicks maxing on full auto. You have to find him. And keep him alive.”
“Great. Just. Great.” and we lifted the grate and dropped down onto the hall carpet.
Running Black: a bit of fan fiction.
Terrible cyberpunk fan, I am. Here's a bit of a story that's been lurking in my mind for a bit. I blame it all on Will Gibson. And then Neal Asher.
RUNNING BLACK
-----------------------
Prelude: INITIALIZE
Dawson -Hull Conglomerate, Regional Offices. London, England. New European Union. 02:18 hours
He wasn’t going to make it, but he kept running anyway. In the last seconds of the data hack, the dark silence exploded; now the air quivered with sirens and every single light in the building pulsed in phosphorus white. Talk about a mission shot to hell. They’d come so close. And now the ronin flew through the maze of offices, sprinting back the way he’d come. Security hacks were shouting, popping out in front of him like training targets in a kill house. He focused just enough to stitch ragged holes across uniformed chests and kept running. One last speed-stim tumbled everything together in a rabid blur. It was other dead that rose in his mind: Riko going down under a wave of drones, Karl choking on his own blood, Mahoud shredded by a turret’s auto cannon. Even Daffid, so cool, and precise, was spattered all over the lower level garage behind him, buying these last seconds. One slip, and lives were snubbed out like cigarettes. He was the only one left.
Another guard folded up, then the click, click, click of the empty chamber registered. Now that was gone too. ‘What’s the use?’ his mind asked, but the 500 million worth of datafiles on his forearm pad kept his body running. He didn’t know or care what they were. He just needed to get outside. The facility was shielded and the infra-red beam needed a clear sky for a burst transmission. A stealthed drone had been first on the load-out list - talk about a clue. Whoever hired them wasn’t convinced of a clean getaway. And they’d been right. He darted left, almost there. At least Mira and the kids would get benefits and a percentage.
The final stretch was empty. For a second he imagined he’d get clear. He almost laughed, but his lungs were heaving and muscles burning on the last ragged edges of the stim boost. He burst through the double doors onto the concourse smack into the sharp reek of garbage and diesel that burned in his nostrils, and a night sky was littered with stars. Someone shouted, but he was out. Still at full speed he raised his arm and thumbed the transmitter. His ears heard the code bleat out, his eyes saw the helmets silhouetted against muzzle flashes. Rounds tore through him but they were too late - the machine valkyrie was bearing the numbers away. He did laugh then. Tri-bursts scoured his body, then all forward motion ceased in jerks and shudders as he tumbled to the asphalt. Blood was running now. Laying there, staring up, all the overdue pain came crowding in at once. It was finished though. He saw the sky, the stars, and thought of Mira. Then everything winked out.
-------------------------------------------------
Part 1: SEQUENCE LOAD
Secure Research Facility, Southern France, New European Union, same night, 03:56 hours
It was overcast and we came in from a mile up. A moonless night, with new drop rigs and the 6 of us were inside their perimeter like vampires stepping out of the mist. It was that clean. We dumped the packs and crouched together waiting another full minute. All their security routines had just been lifted and raped blind, so we owned every null space and nanosecond. That’s what we were told, anyway. But Tam Song wasn’t the trusting sort, so the 6 of us were geared up in Mitsubishi stealth armor, running 3rd tier ECM, with no less than 3 of our own drones ghosting over the facility squirting real-time into our HUDS. All this was out of pocket, but teams had been left cold before because some corporate arbitrator cut a last minute deal and a hundred million in freelance fees became a bump in an expense account no one wanted to explain. Now the players on this little job were already running in serious territory, so trouble was hanging in the air like a bad smell and none of us at Song Associates were interested in the Death Benefits clause in our contract.
After nothing exploded or started wailing, Tam waved our gun boys ahead. The albino Triplets were the last of N’kosa Mambi’s fever dream of an African empire; illegal combat clones he’d gene-modded to their eyeballs, literally. Most of them had been hunted down and exterminated by Coalition forces after the battle of Angel Falls, but these three had made it out. They were designer soldiers; lethal savants grown in vats, raised by V.R. tactical programs, and honed by the Sub-Saharan bush wars. I watched them glide forward wrapped in night vision green, waltzing with their eerie grace, then settle into new positions further onto the little plaza. The whole time their HK’s tracked every approach. Flawless. They’d never been given names so we just called them Flopsey, Mopsey, and Cottontail: our killer bunnies.
Tam was on the micro-bead “Poet9, I need a splice on their local net. Probably a Node in that guard station. Jace will take you there.”
Poet9 was our Net cutter - a splicer from the Mexico city zones. Ten years ago, he’d cobbled a deck together from the scrap heaps and one sweltering night from his cinderblock hut, hotlined the Public Access and hacked his way into BioGen’s financial AI. After five minutes inside, he’d shifted a million credits and spent the next day rich. He was 15 at the time. BioGen went spastic tracing him, and when the Sec-teams broke down the door, they gave him an option: two in the hat or a seat at their Security grid. He took the job. Three years back he dug out his Chip and wound up in Tam Song’s office. Been with us ever since - likes the freedom and rush of freelance work.
I slipped out and intercepted Poet9 on the move and we shifted left towards the guard house. A combined barracks and security bunker, no amount of landscaping and avant-garde sculpture could hide it’s squat ugly shape. It had thick poly-steel plating, and multiple Comms relays on the roof. Pop out panels for the sentinel turrets tastefully displayed the corporate logo holos on a 5 minute loop. They cast shifting glows on every side of the station, but other than that there was no movement. Perimeter patrols weren’t due for another 17 minutes, so that meant all 4 guards were still inside, biding time against the night chill. We approached the double doors.
“Smooth as silk, Jace.” Poet muttered.
“So far.” I squeezed the grip of my SMG and the flex stock automatically cinched tighter. In the dim light it looked like some alien insect was trying to mate with my forearm, but the 6mm IMI Blizzard is a dead-on bullet hose - no other gun comes close. I kept peering into the dark, waiting for something to snap, but Poet was oblivious. I brought the Blizzard up and nodded, then he flipped open the data pad on his wrist and keyed one of our drones to override the cameras. 53 seconds later the desk guard was dead and we were inside.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Ultra tech surveillance arrays, area denial turrets, miniaturized drones, laser trips, smart mines, all of it nowadays is lethal and precise. And predictable. Predictable is good. Automated systems can be hacked, bypassed with the right code or tech key. It’s humans that are a problem. Human guards have intuition; that gut feeling that something is just not right. Get that creeping suspicion, and it’s better to slap the panic button and get chewed out for a false alarm than end up shackled in front of an executive committee explaining how you spaced a hostile infil. Oh, there’s still plenty of hardcore left-overs who can loot and shoot, but that’s not the reason they‘re still around. It’s instinct; there’s no robotic substitute for it.
So the best in covert work run black. Not just get their Chip removed, step out of civilized society and learn to ghost through security grids. A black market doctor and stealth gear can take care of that. It means go blank, void. Turn empty. A real operative can null down their psychic profile so there’s no trace, no sense of person there. It’s a gift; either you have it, or you don’t. I have it. Tam Song has it. That’s why we were still alive, doing nasty things for mega-corporations, governments, and the occasional PMI contract. No matter how they despised us, or what they said behind our backs, Song Associates Inc. was the best covert team in system. We get in. We get out. We deliver. Posers, hacks, and straight mercs come and go - but running black is different. It’s life at the shadow’s edge.
I left Poet9 at the desk while I moved down the halls for the last three guards. He’d have to jack in at their Control room in the center of the barracks uninterrupted so there was no skipping them. Schematics put the armory just down from a break room, and with a patrol due, that’s where they’d be. I dropped my blade into my left hand - just in case - and I moved with the Blizzard straight armed and sighted.
Sure enough, two were suiting up in the armory, half dressed, helmets, shotguns and radios all neat on a table. I closed the door with a click and they turned looking for one of their partners. The Blizzard coughed neat holes in their faces and they crumpled, disappointed, on the floor.
I switched off the light and slipped back out into the hall. One to go. Where was he - sleep or food?
I sub-vocaled Poet9, “Two more down. Desk monitors got eyes on the fourth?”
A few second later, “Nothing on screen. Find him fast. I need access before the next sequence. Want me to call Tam?”
“Just be ready. I’m on it.” I said, and slipped right, towards the break room and kitchen. Instinct works both ways.
I found him eating. Older guy with a rank badge and cold eyes; probably a vet. Definitely modded because he was up and moving at warp speed the second I spun in thru the door. The Blizzard stitched a neat row on the wall behind where he’d been. He crash flipped a table for cover and dodged left towards a Comms panel. I moved to cut him off with the Blizzard spitting, but he came up on my right with an ugly snub carry piece. Definitely a vet. Two shots roared in the small room and panels splintered next to my head. My turn to dodge. I tumbled and slid into some chairs and came up hosing the area until the breech locked open. As my thumb hit the ejection and the empty mag slid down out of the grip, he came up with those eyes and that backup piece lasered in on me. My left arm whipped around and suddenly my knife sprouted from his neck. He went down backwards and out of sight. Blades don’t need reloading..
Then Tam was in the doorway. “You finished?” He moved to the body, yanked my knife out, wiped it and tossed it back. “Poet’s in and he thinks we have to move on the labs now.”
RUNNING BLACK
-----------------------
Prelude: INITIALIZE
Dawson -Hull Conglomerate, Regional Offices. London, England. New European Union. 02:18 hours
He wasn’t going to make it, but he kept running anyway. In the last seconds of the data hack, the dark silence exploded; now the air quivered with sirens and every single light in the building pulsed in phosphorus white. Talk about a mission shot to hell. They’d come so close. And now the ronin flew through the maze of offices, sprinting back the way he’d come. Security hacks were shouting, popping out in front of him like training targets in a kill house. He focused just enough to stitch ragged holes across uniformed chests and kept running. One last speed-stim tumbled everything together in a rabid blur. It was other dead that rose in his mind: Riko going down under a wave of drones, Karl choking on his own blood, Mahoud shredded by a turret’s auto cannon. Even Daffid, so cool, and precise, was spattered all over the lower level garage behind him, buying these last seconds. One slip, and lives were snubbed out like cigarettes. He was the only one left.
Another guard folded up, then the click, click, click of the empty chamber registered. Now that was gone too. ‘What’s the use?’ his mind asked, but the 500 million worth of datafiles on his forearm pad kept his body running. He didn’t know or care what they were. He just needed to get outside. The facility was shielded and the infra-red beam needed a clear sky for a burst transmission. A stealthed drone had been first on the load-out list - talk about a clue. Whoever hired them wasn’t convinced of a clean getaway. And they’d been right. He darted left, almost there. At least Mira and the kids would get benefits and a percentage.
The final stretch was empty. For a second he imagined he’d get clear. He almost laughed, but his lungs were heaving and muscles burning on the last ragged edges of the stim boost. He burst through the double doors onto the concourse smack into the sharp reek of garbage and diesel that burned in his nostrils, and a night sky was littered with stars. Someone shouted, but he was out. Still at full speed he raised his arm and thumbed the transmitter. His ears heard the code bleat out, his eyes saw the helmets silhouetted against muzzle flashes. Rounds tore through him but they were too late - the machine valkyrie was bearing the numbers away. He did laugh then. Tri-bursts scoured his body, then all forward motion ceased in jerks and shudders as he tumbled to the asphalt. Blood was running now. Laying there, staring up, all the overdue pain came crowding in at once. It was finished though. He saw the sky, the stars, and thought of Mira. Then everything winked out.
-------------------------------------------------
Part 1: SEQUENCE LOAD
Secure Research Facility, Southern France, New European Union, same night, 03:56 hours
It was overcast and we came in from a mile up. A moonless night, with new drop rigs and the 6 of us were inside their perimeter like vampires stepping out of the mist. It was that clean. We dumped the packs and crouched together waiting another full minute. All their security routines had just been lifted and raped blind, so we owned every null space and nanosecond. That’s what we were told, anyway. But Tam Song wasn’t the trusting sort, so the 6 of us were geared up in Mitsubishi stealth armor, running 3rd tier ECM, with no less than 3 of our own drones ghosting over the facility squirting real-time into our HUDS. All this was out of pocket, but teams had been left cold before because some corporate arbitrator cut a last minute deal and a hundred million in freelance fees became a bump in an expense account no one wanted to explain. Now the players on this little job were already running in serious territory, so trouble was hanging in the air like a bad smell and none of us at Song Associates were interested in the Death Benefits clause in our contract.
After nothing exploded or started wailing, Tam waved our gun boys ahead. The albino Triplets were the last of N’kosa Mambi’s fever dream of an African empire; illegal combat clones he’d gene-modded to their eyeballs, literally. Most of them had been hunted down and exterminated by Coalition forces after the battle of Angel Falls, but these three had made it out. They were designer soldiers; lethal savants grown in vats, raised by V.R. tactical programs, and honed by the Sub-Saharan bush wars. I watched them glide forward wrapped in night vision green, waltzing with their eerie grace, then settle into new positions further onto the little plaza. The whole time their HK’s tracked every approach. Flawless. They’d never been given names so we just called them Flopsey, Mopsey, and Cottontail: our killer bunnies.
Tam was on the micro-bead “Poet9, I need a splice on their local net. Probably a Node in that guard station. Jace will take you there.”
Poet9 was our Net cutter - a splicer from the Mexico city zones. Ten years ago, he’d cobbled a deck together from the scrap heaps and one sweltering night from his cinderblock hut, hotlined the Public Access and hacked his way into BioGen’s financial AI. After five minutes inside, he’d shifted a million credits and spent the next day rich. He was 15 at the time. BioGen went spastic tracing him, and when the Sec-teams broke down the door, they gave him an option: two in the hat or a seat at their Security grid. He took the job. Three years back he dug out his Chip and wound up in Tam Song’s office. Been with us ever since - likes the freedom and rush of freelance work.
I slipped out and intercepted Poet9 on the move and we shifted left towards the guard house. A combined barracks and security bunker, no amount of landscaping and avant-garde sculpture could hide it’s squat ugly shape. It had thick poly-steel plating, and multiple Comms relays on the roof. Pop out panels for the sentinel turrets tastefully displayed the corporate logo holos on a 5 minute loop. They cast shifting glows on every side of the station, but other than that there was no movement. Perimeter patrols weren’t due for another 17 minutes, so that meant all 4 guards were still inside, biding time against the night chill. We approached the double doors.
“Smooth as silk, Jace.” Poet muttered.
“So far.” I squeezed the grip of my SMG and the flex stock automatically cinched tighter. In the dim light it looked like some alien insect was trying to mate with my forearm, but the 6mm IMI Blizzard is a dead-on bullet hose - no other gun comes close. I kept peering into the dark, waiting for something to snap, but Poet was oblivious. I brought the Blizzard up and nodded, then he flipped open the data pad on his wrist and keyed one of our drones to override the cameras. 53 seconds later the desk guard was dead and we were inside.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Ultra tech surveillance arrays, area denial turrets, miniaturized drones, laser trips, smart mines, all of it nowadays is lethal and precise. And predictable. Predictable is good. Automated systems can be hacked, bypassed with the right code or tech key. It’s humans that are a problem. Human guards have intuition; that gut feeling that something is just not right. Get that creeping suspicion, and it’s better to slap the panic button and get chewed out for a false alarm than end up shackled in front of an executive committee explaining how you spaced a hostile infil. Oh, there’s still plenty of hardcore left-overs who can loot and shoot, but that’s not the reason they‘re still around. It’s instinct; there’s no robotic substitute for it.
So the best in covert work run black. Not just get their Chip removed, step out of civilized society and learn to ghost through security grids. A black market doctor and stealth gear can take care of that. It means go blank, void. Turn empty. A real operative can null down their psychic profile so there’s no trace, no sense of person there. It’s a gift; either you have it, or you don’t. I have it. Tam Song has it. That’s why we were still alive, doing nasty things for mega-corporations, governments, and the occasional PMI contract. No matter how they despised us, or what they said behind our backs, Song Associates Inc. was the best covert team in system. We get in. We get out. We deliver. Posers, hacks, and straight mercs come and go - but running black is different. It’s life at the shadow’s edge.
I left Poet9 at the desk while I moved down the halls for the last three guards. He’d have to jack in at their Control room in the center of the barracks uninterrupted so there was no skipping them. Schematics put the armory just down from a break room, and with a patrol due, that’s where they’d be. I dropped my blade into my left hand - just in case - and I moved with the Blizzard straight armed and sighted.
Sure enough, two were suiting up in the armory, half dressed, helmets, shotguns and radios all neat on a table. I closed the door with a click and they turned looking for one of their partners. The Blizzard coughed neat holes in their faces and they crumpled, disappointed, on the floor.
I switched off the light and slipped back out into the hall. One to go. Where was he - sleep or food?
I sub-vocaled Poet9, “Two more down. Desk monitors got eyes on the fourth?”
A few second later, “Nothing on screen. Find him fast. I need access before the next sequence. Want me to call Tam?”
“Just be ready. I’m on it.” I said, and slipped right, towards the break room and kitchen. Instinct works both ways.
I found him eating. Older guy with a rank badge and cold eyes; probably a vet. Definitely modded because he was up and moving at warp speed the second I spun in thru the door. The Blizzard stitched a neat row on the wall behind where he’d been. He crash flipped a table for cover and dodged left towards a Comms panel. I moved to cut him off with the Blizzard spitting, but he came up on my right with an ugly snub carry piece. Definitely a vet. Two shots roared in the small room and panels splintered next to my head. My turn to dodge. I tumbled and slid into some chairs and came up hosing the area until the breech locked open. As my thumb hit the ejection and the empty mag slid down out of the grip, he came up with those eyes and that backup piece lasered in on me. My left arm whipped around and suddenly my knife sprouted from his neck. He went down backwards and out of sight. Blades don’t need reloading..
Then Tam was in the doorway. “You finished?” He moved to the body, yanked my knife out, wiped it and tossed it back. “Poet’s in and he thinks we have to move on the labs now.”
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Here's the start of the thing.
First steps into blogging territory... this is an overflow for hobby
projects and related issues. Appreciate the opportunity and
the space. Here's a couple shots of a recent terrain project
for 28mm sci fi cyberpunk games:
projects and related issues. Appreciate the opportunity and
the space. Here's a couple shots of a recent terrain project
for 28mm sci fi cyberpunk games:
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