Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (24 page)

“What are you talking about, Janet? You can’t go out there!”

“Alan, I don’t work for you, and you sure as hell don’t own me,” the thirty-eight-year-old redhead said as she pulled on a tan vest and buckled it up.

“Who the hell is this Eric character and why are you rushing out when
he
calls? An old boyfriend?”

Janet snorted, shaking her head as she pulled on her boots.

Alan was a Wall Street broker, and a lot of fun in peacetime, but when Eric’s text had come over the link she’d almost thanked God aloud because the whining was getting on her last nerve. As soon as the first confirmation had hit the net that there was real fighting going on he’d all but curled up under his bed and sobbed.

She stood up and smiled at him. “It’s been fun, Alan. Maybe if we both live through this we’ll meet up again. Ciao.”

“Janet! Janet!” he yelled after her as she let herself out of the penthouse apartment and headed for the stairs. “You can’t go out there!”

It was only sixty stories down.

Good warm-up
.

A man sitting on the corner of a Manhattan skyrise, watching the fires burning and the tanks dying, glanced down when his link slate vibrated. He raised a single eyebrow, surprised that the device was still operating in a city under siege. The other brow went up as he read the single line of message. Then he put it away and stood up on the edge of the building before dropping back and turning to head back to the roof access.

Interesting times
.

A woman with finely chiseled Asian features blinked as the message rolled across the heads-up display on her contact lens.

“A voice from the past, speaking in silence. How very like Raziel,” she said softly, smiling as she gathered up a light pack and walked out the door of her suburban home.

In the distance the New York City skyline was marred by smoke and flame, and she could hear the rumble of tanks as they tried to clear the expressway. She walked over to a Ducati sitting in the driveway and straddled the Italian bike calmly.

Never send a tank into a city, you fools. Not if you want either the city or the tank back in one piece
.

Thankfully, it seemed that there was a professional in play, after all.

She started the bike and kicked it into gear, pulling out onto the deserted road and turning toward the city. She just hoped that the Guardsmen stayed out of the way.

Across the city, across the world, a dark and normally quiet subculture was waking to the sound of war from all quarters. It roused slowly in places, like lightning in others, but it roused nonetheless.

In New York the members of that culture shrugged on their gear, checked their weapons, and headed in the direction of Ferry Park.

It was to be . . . a Gathering.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ferry Park, Bronx

THEY TRICKLED INTO the deceptively peaceful setting of the park, a few at a time. The SWAT team arrived first. Having a helicopter at call was a nice advantage when it came to making a meeting, but it wasn’t long before others showed up as well.

Eric looked them over briefly, checking their files against his open access to the military and government networks. Most of them were former military. Those that weren’t were career cops. They’d do.

Ian Granger seemed to be the man most of them looked to, so he addressed him as well.

“Commander Granger, I’d give you a nice little welcome speech but we’re just a little pressed for time,” Eric told him. “So get your men lined up, and I’ll start prepping the suits.”

Granger eyed the open vaults that had already been unloaded from the amphibious assault craft, recognizing some of what he was seeing but clearly not all.

“Exoskeletal armor?” he spoke, finally.

“Hardened Special Operations armor,” Eric confirmed, “good from about a thousand meters below the sea to hard
vacuum. Strength enhancing, augmented reactions, the works.”

Ian’s eyes slid away from the man and the gear, out to where the smoking hulk of the
Odyssey
was still resting in Long Island Sound.

“Apparently you boys in the space service get the best toys.”

Eric shrugged, flashing him and the others a crooked smile. “Someone has to do it.”

“Did someone have to lead those
things
here too?” someone demanded from the crowd.

Ian twisted around, eyes glaring. “Shut it.”

“No, he’s got a point.” Eric held up a hand. “Not something we have a lot of time right now to talk about, but a few seconds won’t change anything. We encountered the Drasin as they were in the process of committing
genocide
. If anyone here would honestly turn aside from
that,
then you don’t deserve to wear the uniforms I see, or the ones many of you once wore.”

There were a few flushed faces, eyes that wouldn’t meet his, and so Eric immediately pushed on.

“Beyond all that, I’m convinced that they were coming this way
anyway
. So face them now, with some warning, or later with none,” he said. “I’ll not ask another generation to shoulder
my
burden.”

“It’s a moot point anyway,” Granger growled, turning to look over the men and women. “They’re here. It’s done. Deal with it. Anyone who can’t, get out of my sight. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with you.”

Between the Confederate space captain’s steady gaze and the SWAT team commander glaring at them, no one spoke another word of objection.