Severance (43 page)

He spent a long while debating what message to write,
strongly considering ‘README’ and ‘LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU,’ before finally
settling on ‘DATA GENE.’ That would be enough to prompt someone to do a bit of
research — a simple search for ‘data gene”‘ would be enough — which would lead
to a scanned genome and, finally, the data gene itself. And with a rare, but
not too rare, lighting condition to serve as the trigger, that would take years
to happen.

Leaving the naval medical bay, he couldn’t help but marvel
at how easy it had been. This elation almost immediately triggered a wave of
self–doubt, and panic, convinced he had forgotten something. As he walked back
to his office through the still slumbering Argos, he replayed everything that
had happened, trying to figure out what he had overlooked.

But there was nothing.

It was done.

The security van fishtailed around the corner, its rear–end
sliding lazily into the wall on the far side of the street. The van regained
traction, slammed into the opposite wall, bounced off of that, and continued in
this way for another half block before it finally straightened out and bore
down on the Africa–1 barricade.

The officers at the barricade, having had some experience
with reckless van attacks, reacted smoothly. The commanding officer ordered his
men to back away from the center of the street, out of the van’s path. This was
only a precaution — the van would certainly bounce off this time, the barricade
in its path having been immensely reinforced since its last time through.

Five seconds later, the van did not bounce off the barricade,
instead opting to violently explode. Barricade and van parts rained down on the
street. Moving away from the impact area ended up saving the security team’s
lives, though it was safe to say that their day was completely ruined.

“Go!” Linze shouted, leading her team out of its hiding spot
two blocks shy of the barricade. Down the sides of Africa, running towards the
smoking crater, clatter and shouts behind them as the bulk of the Loyalist army
set into motion. They reached the remnants of the barricade without
encountering any return fire and picked their way through the wreckage. The
barricade was completely gone, replaced by an enormous hole with the smoking
hulk of a van in it. Stepping carefully around the van, Linze snap–fired at
anything that moved, picking off the blinking and helpless security officers writhing
on the streets. “Hey, co–workers. Remember me?”

Leaving the smoking hulk of the barricade, her team
continued down Africa. At 8
^th
, a security officer blundered around
the corner at a run, only to be picked off in a scattered flurry of shots.
Linze stepped into a hairdresser’s studio on the corner of the intersection and
methodically blew out each window, before ducking down behind the counter
inside. From here, she could see down streets to the south and west and began
shooting at the disorganized security officers unlucky enough to approach from
those directions. Outside, the rest of her unit took up similar positions around
the intersection, while the second wave of Loyalists leapfrogged them. This
group didn’t do as well, many of them seeming to slip and fall on something on
the ground. Most of the rest were knocked down by fire as they crossed the
intersection, the security forces having regrouped a bit by that point. The
attack stalled, as the still conscious members of the second wave sought cover
in not terribly useful locations, the middle of the street being one popular
choice.

“Keep moving!” Linze yelled out of the window. Their
beachhead had to get a lot bigger, down to 6
^th
, at least. And that
had to happen soon, before the bulk of the security reinforcements showed up. Frustrated,
she squeezed off a pair of useless shots at silhouettes well out of range. More
gunfire, this time from the north, as the braver and dumber third and fourth
waves began to arrive, taking a ridiculous amount of abuse, but overwhelming
the remaining security forces with numbers alone. At that point, the trickle
became a flood, a wave of hooting and hollering Loyalist soldiers surging past
Linze’s position and spreading out into the neighboring streets. Linze left her
perch, moving out to the street, where she began serving as a traffic cop,
directing the arriving help to where it would do the most good.

Ten minutes later, when the security forces eventually
attempted a counterattack, they were easily beaten back by the overwhelming, if
slightly uncoordinated, mass of Loyalist guns that had recently arrived. The
lines on the map had been redrawn.

§

Stein hurried to keep pace behind the assault team as they
picked their way through the crowded streets, filled with bored Loyalist troops
who couldn’t figure out where the fight was. The assault team was a little more
organized than that, the best that Kinsella supposedly had, though Stein hadn’t
asked what qualifications earned them that praise.
Capable of dressing
themselves? Not currently doing needle–drugs?

“Ahh man, my van!” Bruce said as they crossed the wreckage
of the former barricade.

“We’ll get you another one,” she said.

“But I liked
that
one.”

They were playing the most critical part in the night’s
exercise and had been held in reserve, waiting for Kinsella’s maniacs to
establish a beachhead. It had taken surprisingly little effort to convince
Kinsella to attempt her plan; the look on his face when she had told him
suggested he had been expecting her to come up with something like this
anyways. The other surprise had been her introduction to the commanding officer
of Kinsella’s maniacs, her old friend Sergeant Hogg.

“Don’t say I told you so,” he had said.

“Fine,” she had replied. “So long as we’re both thinking it.”

As they pushed deeper into the aft, Stein stopped at one of
the elevators, trying its controls, an unfriendly squelching sound its only
response. Helot had already locked it out to prevent any maniacs from accessing
the upper–decks.
That would have been too easy
. She hurried to catch up
with the rest of the team. They weren’t really banking on using the elevators
anyways, having another route in mind.

They were forced to slow down as they pushed further south, the
crowd of morons growing denser. Hogg’s mob outnumbered the security forces five
to one now, but he had labored to explain why that was less impressive than it
sounded at every opportunity he had had over the past month. Because his soldiers
“were idiots” who “sucked” seemed to be the general problem.

“Why are we stopped here?” Croutl shouted, somewhere ahead
of her. He was the leader of the assault team and part of Hogg’s original
security unit. During their introductions, Bruce had pantomimed shooting him in
the crotch. Relations had been strained ever since.

Stein finally caught up to Croutl and the rest of the team,
who had piled into the back of crowd that was unwilling to move any further into
the intersection. “Why’d everyone stop?” Croutl yelled again.

“They keep shooting at us!” someone complained.

“Well, shoot back!”

“It’s really hard!”

Croutl backed away from the mob and gathered the team together
a short distance away. “This place? You’re sure it’s just over there?” he asked
Bruce, pointing over the crowd’s head, across the intersection to a corner
apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bruce said.

“Well, it looks like the dipshits stopped short of where
they were supposed to. And if the dozen dumb bastards napping in the middle of
the street are any indication, there’s a lot of angry security that way who are
shooting anyone who steps out of cover.”

“That sounds bad!” Bruce said, his mouth hanging open. Stein
gritted her teeth. This wasn’t the right time to mock their help.

Croutl glared at Bruce. “I don’t suppose you have any bright
ideas for getting across there without getting shot?”

“Human shields?”

Croutl seemed to consider that. “You say it takes three
seconds to blow through the lock once you’re there?”

Bruce nodded. “That’s right. Not that I’m admitting I’ve
done it before.”

Croutl ignored him and stepped away from the group, taking a
couple of his soldiers with him. They pushed their way through the crowd of
Loyalist troops to the building’s corner, to peek at the security forces down
the street.

“Think he bought it?” Bruce asked.

“Definitely,” Stein replied. Her terminal vibrated, a
message from Ellen, wishing them luck. When they had heard about what Bruce and
Stein were doing, Griese and Ellen had immediately offered to come along. Stein
hadn’t even mentioned it to Hogg — neither had any skills that could justify a
place on the team — and told them their moral support was more than enough.
Bruce also appreciated their moral support, but indicated the financial type
would be appreciated, as well.

Croutl returned from his scouting and started whispering
orders to his team, which soon dispersed into the crowd. “Okay,” he said,
turning to Stein and Bruce. “We’re going to try that human shield thing…”

“Yes!” Bruce was excited.

“What?” Stein was not.

“It’s fine,” Croutl said. “But, you know. We’re not going to
tell them. They think we have a secret weapon that will protect them.”

Bruce nodded emphatically. “Is the secret weapon
treachery
?”

Croutl was getting good at ignoring Bruce, and continued
explaining his plan. “Us three charge out there with some…help. You blow the
lock.” He pointed at Bruce. “We run inside. Everyone else joins us.”

“And the human shields?” Stein asked.

“What the fuck do you think?” Croutl snapped. “Shit, they’ll
be fine.” With a jerk of his head, he summoned them over to the corner of the
building, and slowly edged towards the intersection. Standing on his tip–toes,
he looked over the crowd to his soldiers dispersed within, looking for some
sign they were ready.

“Now!” Croutl yelled. With a roar, a surge of maniacs dashed
into the street, shooting wildly. Croutl waited a beat before dragging Stein
and Bruce out of cover, trailing slightly behind the mob. They made it across
the intersection easily, Stein and Croutl sliding to a halt beside the door,
Bruce thumping right into it, a plasma torch already in his right hand. He
pressed the tool against the threshold of the door, sending a tongue of flame
into the doorframe.

Down the street, flashing muzzles lined the doorways and
windows of the street, marking the locations of security officers. It was a unique
sight, Stein thought, seeing so many guns shooting in her direction. Really, it
was impossible that she wasn’t getting shot. But the security officers seemed
to mainly be shooting at whoever was shooting back at them, a group that for
the moment consisted entirely of duped Loyalist troops, scattered across the
street in front of Stein. One of the dupes closest to Croutl groaned, catching
a shot in the chest. His legs folded under him, Croutl rushing up to catch him
under the arms and drag him back to the door, now literally using him as a
shield.

A soft clank from the doorframe as the locking mechanism
gave way. Bruce placed a meaty paw on the door and shoved it out of the way before
stepping through. Stein following close behind, shouting for Croutl as she did.
A second later, the security officer appeared, backing in through the door,
stumbling on the threshold. He collapsed, his poor stupid shield falling on top
of him, the pair falling backwards, crashing into Stein’s legs.

A massive increase in the volume of fire caught their
attention. Four slumped bodies in the middle of the road were new, belonging to
members of the assault team. The rest of the team remained behind cover on the
other side, out of sight of the security reinforcements that had obviously just
arrived. Croutl got up and stepped to the threshold of the door. He took a peek
down the street and immediately ducked back inside, another volley of fire
stitching the street around him. He waved the rest of the team back, then
tugged at the edge of the door, sliding it back into place. He turned back to
face them. “Just the three of us now.”

“Can we do this with just us three?” she asked.

Croutl checked his tool webbing, where five small explosive
charges were securely fastened. “Five bangers. You tell me?”

She did some math in her head. “To cripple the pressure
regulator, any spares they have, and a big chunk of the fuel lines…yeah, five
charges will probably do. Worth a try, I guess.”

“Then, let’s go.” Croutl turned to Bruce. “Lead the way,
Magellan.” Bruce grinned and beckoned them deeper into the apartment that he had
been so insistent they get to.

The place was big, and although not obviously dusty, it had
the feeling of being underused. A space that someone had stopped caring about.
Odd, mismatched furniture in the main room, a stack of broken sporting
equipment by the wall, a single sex swing hanging lamely in the corner. It was
also, as expected, completely empty, the owner having obviously not been spared
the same eviction that every other aft dweller had received.

In the back, Bruce led Stein and Croutl up a set of compact
stairs, winding their way up the second level, and then the third. It was these
stairs that made the apartment so unique, a destination worth a few bruises on
some human shields. Knocking holes in walls had always been a popular and
greyly–legal way to expand one’s living space on board the Argos. This was
normally seen in the form of double–wide suites on the lower decks, but in a
few cases there were people who had done the same with vertically contiguous
rooms, making taller suites.

“Who owns this place?” Croutl asked, voicing the same question
that Stein was thinking.