Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (25 page)

“Good,” Eric said, tone and voice shifting as he barked out with authority. “Line up to suit up!”

Eric had forty suits with him when he managed to get off the wreckage of the
Odyssey,
not counting the one he wore or the loader, of course. Thirty cops showed up quickly, with signs of more to come, but Eric held back on the last ten suits and kept an eye on the growing group for familiar faces.

The cops were great, and he was eternally thankful that they had stepped up, but he desperately needed some experience and a degree of trust and familiarity for what was to come.

The rumble of a powerful motorcycle engine gave him the first hint of both, and he smiled widely and with relief as he saw the slim woman kick down the stand on the Ducati, casually flipping her hair back as she pulled off her helmet.

“Razial . . .” She smiled, her English slightly accented with a hint of Oxford perfection. “You always did dance on the side of the angels with the devil’s own glee.”

“Siobhan,” he nodded as the Asian woman approached. “It’s been a while.”

“Hong Kong, I believe,” she answered, eyes skimming the gathering and the weapons. “These are not who I expected to see.”

“Others should be coming, but we needed numbers.”

“Quality, Raziel,” she chided him. “You of all people should know better than to rely on quantity.”

“They’re good men and women, love,” Eric shrugged unapologetically.

“Yes, but will they be
durable?
”

“Time will tell. I have a suit for you,” Eric gestured.

She walked over, looking the armor up and down. “Not really my style.”

“This isn’t an infiltration job,” Eric reminded her. “Suit up or stay behind.”

She sighed, a much put-upon sound, and then smiled teasingly at Eric. “Should I strip down here, or do you have somewhere a little more . . . private?”

“Use the inside of this lander,” he told her, expression dry. “I’d hate to start a riot or cause any heart attacks among our allies before we get a chance to fight.”

“Always the flatterer, Raziel.” She laughed, grabbing an undersuit and climbing into the rig.

When she was out of sight, Lyssa stepped up beside Eric, hissing softly, “Who the hell is that?”

“That’s the woman who broke into the most secure facility in the entire Block and helped me break out with the second-generation counter-mass generation plans. We’d have lost the war if not for her.”

Lyssa’s eyes widened. “Really?”

The woman didn’t look like a hardened spy, not unless you believed movies. She was pure femme fatale, right out of the golden age of spy novels and Hollywood.

“Really,” Eric answered. “And more than one enemy combatant has died thinking exactly what just passed through your mind. She’s not to be underestimated.”

“I can hear you.” Siobhan’s voice wafted out of the lander.

“She also has ears like a bat.”

Lyssa snorted. “So I see. Are all your old friends like that?”

“Hell no, sister,” a voice said from behind her, startling Lyssa into a semi-powered jump as she misjudged her armor. “Some of us are good looking.”

“Ron, you need to get your dosages checked. You’re having delusions of adequacy again.”

The big burly man with graying hair snorted, grinning wide as he stepped up and clapped a hand across Eric’s armored back. “Boy, you always could find the one ants’ nest in the park to set your picnic on.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eric sighed, shaking his head before gesturing to Lyssa. “Ronald Blake, this is Officer Lyssa Myriano of the NYPD. Lyss, retired full bird Colonel Ronald Blake, formerly of the U.S. Air Force.”

“Back when there was a United States,” Ron grumbled. He’d never been too happy about the whole Confederation deal.

Not everyone in any of the three primary nations had loved the idea, of course. In fact a good deal less than half had actually been enthusiastic about it, but hard pressed by the war, the United States needed the manufacturing capacity of Mexico and the raw resources of Canada if it were to continue to hold the line, let alone make a credible counteroffensive. Trade agreements had worked for a while, and then mutual defense pacts. Finally, the three governments were one in all but name and each took the next step.

A constitutional convention in the U.S. led to a vote to reform the republic, while similar referendums in Canada and Mexico passed under heavy controversy. The key effect it had on the military of the time was opening recruiting across previously inaccessible borders, bolstering numbers at a time when every able body was needed just to hold the line against the Block at Japan and Israel.

Weston had never been what one could call overly patriotic. His loyalty went to his family in the service, and those were the men and women who’d bled with him, not just the
ones who wore his flag. Others, however, including Blake, still swore that the United States would rise again. It was a familiar cry to the historian in Eric, but not one he took up himself.

“Not now, Ron.” He shook his head. “The city, today. Worry about your lost country when we’re not all about to die.”

The Air Force colonel snorted again, but gave in easily enough. Patriot or not, Ron Blake was a realist to the core.

“What’s the lowdown on these bastards, Captain?” he asked.

“Alien swarm. They eat anything and shit reinforcements. If we leave them be long enough, they’ll eat and shit the entire planet right out from under us,” Eric told his old friend, dropping his more refined persona for a familiar attitude from the war. “Armor up and help the greenhorns get adjusted. We’ve got some Guardies to rescue.”

“Roger that,” Ron nodded, heading for a suit. “These look like upgrades. Anything new?”

“Mostly just small stuff over the ones you tested,” Eric answered. “You got the high-altitude ones, right?”

“Damn right. Most fun I ever had as a PJ was jumping out of the space shuttle.” Ron grinned. “It was one
helluva
long way down.”

“I’ll bet.” Eric grinned, turning away to look over the group.

They now had a few dozen people, mostly NYPD officers but also a few tagalongs brought in by the police or who wandered in on their own. New York was a big city, and out of its millions of people there were more than a few too stupid, stubborn, or adventurous to stay in hiding. Curiosity had brought a few of them here, and that was fine. He didn’t have armor for them, but they did have a fair supply of assault weapons and magazines. More than enough for the crowd they had.

“Are you expecting anyone else?”

Eric glanced up to see Granger approach, now clad in a fresh suit of armor and shouldering the heavy assault rifle to match. The SWAT commander looked bad, pale, and weathered, but Eric could hardly blame him. He didn’t know how many cops had died since the Drasin landed, but he could guess that it wasn’t a small number. The men and women around were too serious at the moment, too focused, for it to be anything less.

“Two more, at least,” he answered.

“You’ve got eight more suits empty,” Ian reminded him.

“Wishful thinking,” Eric admitted. “I’ll wait for Janet and Alexander to get here, then decide on the ones that are left.”

The SWAT commander nodded slowly. “Fair enough. You have a plan?”

“Depends,” Eric said, not looking up. “Is genocide a plan?”

DEEP BELOW 1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE PRESIDENT FELT as if he’d been trying to get a handle on the current crisis for days, weeks even, and so it was with a naked look of disbelief that he checked the clock and realized that it had been just a little over six hours since the first alien invader had impacted the surface of the Earth. It seemed impossible. There was no way that he could be this tired and this wrung out in just six hours, but there it was.

“Mr. President, Mr. Bahnner is here to see you.”

The President sighed. Really, the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was the senator, but the man was the chair of the Senate’s science and technology board. Unfortunately, that meant that his appointment had been entirely political and the man knew less about science and technology than your average four-year-old.

“Jack”—he forced a smile—“good to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Bahnner said, returning the smile very briefly. “I wanted to speak with you about the order you issued . . .”