“Up ahead?” said Keenan, sweat rolling down his smoke blackened face, dripping from his nose and chin.
“Confirmed. Between that triangle of redwoods. A single entrance.” Pippa gestured. “No guards on the PAD. Looks like we have a clear entry, gentlemen.”
“Yeah. I’m sure as hell our exit won’t be as smooth.” Keenan slowed to a walk, eyes searching surroundings, lids blinking away sweat. He hated the jungle; hated it with a vengeance. Too many damned places for the enemy. “You still showing clear local scans, Franco?”
“Yeah boss. But we’ve got movement two klicks west. Fifty soldiers. They could be ours.”
“You’re too optimistic. The Quad-Gal boys won’t be here for at least another hour, and only if we get this shit done. Come on, time is our biggest enemy. We’re moving in.”
The Terminus5 Series Shield Reactor—and sixteen others like it—were housed in low buildings forged from single alloy blocks. Each reactor had a protection chamber that was a classified item of military tek held by Terminus5 government, and protected from external scanners by radiation shielding mats. Combat K’s presence on Terminus5—as part of the spearhead of the Quad-Gal Peace Unification army—should have gone smoothly; without discovery. During covert Impact, the Terminus5 government should not have had time to scramble units to protect what was considered planetary low-key targets, such as this global reactor site. A whole planet was a lot of ground to cover. They shouldhave been blissfully unaware of the Quad-Gal’s planned incursion...
And yet Combat K had met resistance. Keenan told himself it was just coincidence, bad luck, but a nagging doubt tugged his paranoia. The compromise had been just too damned neat
.
Like deviant SPAWS feasting on a Shuttle’s ShieldShell.
Once disabled, the seventeen decommissioned reactors would allow a more overt military domino effect as Combat K squads—and then the REG army—flooded the open gateway and hit fast and hard. Like night follows day, targets would systematically topple, one after the other... with a minimal loss of organic life.
At least, that was the plan.
First, Combat K—and sixteen teams like it across the belt of the jungle world—had to deactivate the domino reactors. Targets had to fall within a tightly specified time frame.
Keenan rolled over, inhaling fresh white cotton mixed with the musk of the sleeping woman, and the aroma of mingled sweat. She lay with her back to him, a rhythm to her sleep, the flesh of her back scarred from an accident when she had been a child. He reached out to touch her—to touch the damaged flesh with innocent curiosity—but pulled back at the last moment as if lazily stung.
Sensing his movement, a sleepy Pippa turned and stared into his eyes. At moments like this she lost her hardness; when the beast withdrew from its cage and allowed a gentle femininity to break free. “You OK, Kee?”
Keenan nodded, but it was a lie, and she could read the guilt on his face like ink; in his eyes like tears; in his every breathing screaming pore. At home he had a wife, Freya, and two young bright stunningly beautiful girls. His guilt was a tangible thing; like a pall of nuclear ash covering his skin.
“This should never have happened,” said Pippa, stretching out her frame with a feline yawn, but Keenan could tell she didn’t mean it; by her tone, by her eyes, by the way her hand moved towards him and stroked his skin. There was too much tenderness there, too much need. He had become Pippa’s anchor, her lodestone. She was a hard woman, a killer, a devastatingly brutal assassin. But within her lurked a core of insecurity, a child in need of nurture, a young girl locked in a room craving nothing more than love and caring, and—ironically—protection. He had become her protector, her brother, her father, and, against all probability, almost forced by circumstances, he had become her lover.
“You’re right, it should never have happened,” he said, moving towards her and kissing her. Their lips brushed. Tongues teased. Her hand came up to rest against the side of his face with a tenderness that touched him.
“I could leave,” she whispered, nose pressed against his, sweet breath on his lips.
He pulled her taut powerful body towards him, eyes closing, heart accelerating. “No. I need you. I think I will always need you.”
And as the minutes rolled by and by, and he tumbled into her, merged with her, joined with her in body and spirit and mind... so a little part of him screamed... and deep down in the crawling stygian tomb of the soul where dark energy created nightmares born and nurtured by horror and hate... so a little part of him crumbled... and a little part of him died.
The alloy door of the Terminus5 Series Shield Reactor was cold under Franco’s gloved hand. He planted the explosive with precision against High Grade FF locks, then waved his comrades back, running and leaping into their adopted shelter. “Fire in the hole,” he said with a broad grin, putting his fingers in his ears as they cowered behind the fallen hardwood. The
boom
rocked the jungle. A huge chunk of scorched two-foot thick door went whirring over their heads, edges glowing. It clattered off into the jungle like a pinball.
“You don’t want that in the back of the head,” said Pippa, peering warily over the trunk where black smoke was idly dissipating. “Looks like we have an entry point, guys.”
Weapons covering arcs, the trio leapt the hardwood and moved across the rough ground, noses wrinkled at the stench of the explosion. Shards of twisted shrapnel lay scattered. The huge door had been torn from its frame leaving a ragged maw.
Guns poked inside, and the members of Combat K blinked at the up-rush of ice-chilled air.
“I don’t get it. Where’s the damn reactor?” Franco’s face twisted in a frown as they gazed into the void.
“Down there,” said Keenan, gesturing with his weapon. “Initiate your PAD winches. Let’s move slow. This wasn’t part of the plan. So much for inside fucking information!”
“Great,” said Pippa, voice cool, wiping sweat from her creased brow. “This gig just gets better.”
Keenan’s face was solid stone. “Calm yourself. We have a job to do.”
“Yeah, boss. I’m just appreciating the comedy.”
Swiftly, Keenan attached his PAD micro-TitaniumIII cable to the battered stonework. He jacked in with a
buzz
, stepped backwards and was instantly gone. The PAD purred as it threw him into the darkness.
Pippa followed, lips a tight compression, and finally Franco swept his gun across the jungle with a scowl, gave a quick look to the sky—as if offering a final prayer—and dropped his armoured body into the void.
Two minutes later, the jungle parted as a camouflaged soldier advanced. He was followed by another—and another—until the jungle teemed with infantry. They formed a staggered semi-circle around the blasted reactor bunker. Guns were cocked, and heavy machine guns expertly assembled on tripods amongst the rough jungle smash.
“You sure they’ve descended, sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.” Salute.
“Don’t worry overmuch. The reactor is protected by The Tangled. I can assure you our offensive invaders won’t be coming out. And if they do?” He stared at the collective drilled barrels of the silent machine guns. “Well, we’ll be waiting for them.”
How deep? thought Keenan as the PAD TitaniumIII cable sped through his gloved hands, and light from his head-mounted torch sliced the ink. He had seen this sort of thing before; deep bunkers protecting military installations. This reactor alone could not be considered a massive protection issue; however, it was feasible that below lay a trap, or guard of some sort. At the end of the day, these machines were used for powering a Global Shield, no matter how low their officialpriority.
A few feet above, Pippa and Franco descended, lights bobbing and dancing as they fell through the vast chamber. Keenan glanced down, slowing his speed as the bulk of the reactor shell came rushing up to meet him.
Something bit Keenan, bit his mind. He slowed to a stop, bobbing for a moment, and pulled free his MPK, checking the 152 round micro-clip. He switched on the beam, and the gun’s light swept the interior of the reactor cubicle.
“You see anything, Kee?” asked Pippa.
“Negative. Just... oil, I think. The whole chamber is flooded with oil.”
Keenan eased down, so his boots dangled just above the gloss surface. A few ripples swept away and Keenan peered at the reflected slick ebony.
“Affirmative,” said Pippa, scanning. “Standard mineral oil; probably used as a coolant of some sort and leaked from a punctured system. The PAD says it’s OK to proceed, it’s non-toxic.”
And yet, still Keenan paused; the serenity around him, the oppressive atmosphere, the glinting glass of the oil; it made him shiver
.
He got a sudden intuition that something bad was about to happen.
“You sure the PAD says it’s clear?”
“All readings zero, boss,” confirmed Franco, eyes locked to his own PAD.
Warily, Keenan descended into the oil, which surged up to his knees, crept into his clothing, and invaded his boots. The pool sloshed thick around him, sending ripples cascading to slap the walls.
Keenan’s weapon tracked, and his beam danced over rusted metal. He frowned for a moment, noting that around the chamber—set just above the undulating oil line—were holes, like feeder pipes, each about ten inches in diameter. There were eight of them, set symmetrically around the bunker’s circumference. Keenan turned his attention to the reactor shell, the reactor’s controlling J-UNIT, and unclipped his PAD from its cable.
“I’ve got enemy activity above,” said Pippa. Her voice was a growl. “Looks like they’ve found us.”
“They were shielded from our PADs,” nodded Franco, running a hand through his wild hair. He cocked his weapon, the noise loud and intrusive in this hiemal place. He glanced up, sweat beading his brow despite the chill. “Not quite sure how they did that. We’re talking advancedkit, mate. And now... Now we’re trapped?” It was the question none had wanted to voice: the maggot in the apple, the cancer in the core. It stank like a three-week cadaver; reeked of betrayaland corruption
.
“
Let’s make this mission count,” said Keenan, reaching the reactor’s J-UNIT. There was a
shring
as a serrated blade leapt from below the evil eye of his gun. Keenan inserted the blade behind the casing and prised the lid free. The buckled alloy panel spun into the oil with a tiny
splash.
Again, ripples eased away from Keenan, lapping rhythmically against the walls; the slaps reminded him of flesh on flesh.
He attached his PAD to the J-UNIT, and the PAD’s screen ignited blue. Tiny beams rolled from the PAD, joined like fluid umbilicals ending inside Keenan’s eyes. Licking nervous lips, he started a search for the shutdown sequences using pupil movement and controlled dilation.
“There’s something else,” said Pippa, gun-light sweeping the chamber.
“I’ve got it too,” snapped Franco. “Inside the walls, movement.”
Still working, still focused, and through the gritted teeth of concentration, Keenan said, “What’s it this time? Rats?”
“Doing a genetic scan now... um... The PAD’s reporting ID unknown.”
Keenan paused, glancing up at Pippa and breaking laser contact. “What the hell do you mean, ‘unknown’? The PAD’s got structures on every damned life-form in the galaxy!”
“I’ve seen this before,” said Franco’s low voice. There was a tone that made both Keenan and Pippa glance at him where he hung, boots dangling, eyes deadly serious, a soldier puppet on a wire.
And then...
The squirming noise reached their ears, accelerating in activity and volume, a slithering of metal on metal, a soothing sound not too distant from the lull of a mercury sea against a metal shore.
“Keenan, get out of the oil!” screamed Franco. “Get out of the fucking oil!”
Franco was hoisting himself up on his cable, motors droning, and Pippa instinctively followed his lead. Keenan turned back to the reactor shell, spent a few seconds finishing the
>TERMINATE<
instruction to shut down the core, then pulled free his PAD: as in the darkness something spewed from eight metal holes set in the chamber’s walls, a mass of what appeared to be tangled metal cables rolling over and over one another as they ejected from orifices and flooded the oil, bubbling and seething and churning then surging up and out, tumbling and broiling over themselves as they heaved and pulsed and surged at Keenan. He yelped, leaping up onto the reactor shell and clambering up the black ridges of corrugated metal, slipping and sliding, leaving oiled boot prints.
Pippa unleashed a hail of bullets into the tangled mess, but Franco caught her eye, giving a single shake of the head; firing halted, hollow noise reverberating.
“What is it?” bellowed Keenan, as yet more tangled metal mesh spewed and rolled into the chamber. The metal started to thrash, rolling around and over itself, and slopping oil up the walls. It had filled the basin; thin metal threads gleamed in the dancing light of Combat K’s torches.
“It’s a metal AI; they called it The Tangled,” said Franco over the din of the mass of surging, heaving, thrashing threads. He caught Keenan’s eye across the chamber again, and nodded. “Yeah mate, it is lethal. It eats into your flesh, burrows into your bones, then separates its threads lengthways to tear you apart from the inside out. Keenan, you do not want to touch this toxic shit. It’s a messy and painful way to die.”