ÈR YUÈ 23RD, 2142. 04:36 HOURS.
Staff Sergeant Brian Morrison of Squad Sobek, LanzaTech Industries, noiselessly flexed his fingers as the dual motors of their gunship chuffed and spun. Sheets of rain crashed and scattered against the craft’s sleek black outer walls. It was storming again, and each peal of muffled, far-flung thunder rattled the belly of the gunship. The interior would have already become a swirling torrent of broken equipment, thousands of credits lost to the squall, if they hadn’t been strapped into their seats. Against the mesh harness and beneath his armor, the nape of his neck futilely itched.
They’d woken in their bunks only a few hours before, built-in vibrators shaking their beds to the relentless rhythm of blaring alarms and flashing sirens. “Threat level Indigo,” the automated interface had intoned over the chaos, oblivious to Asuang’s stream of swears and Mara’s groans. Brian had jolted upright and rolled over to see Jersey curled in a ball on his mattress, staring into space. It was obvious the kid hadn’t been able to sleep.
There’d been nights like that for Brian too, early on, nights when he’d felt wracked by guilt or consumed with existential horror or hopelessly lost or just plain homesick. Mostly he’d missed his family. Whenever the pangs got too strong, he’d close his eyes and count to ten and think about the sizable LanzaTech stipend putting a roof over the heads of his sisters and father. It was a harsh, thankless job, working for Corporate-Police, but he’d gotten the hang of it. Jersey would too.
“So, what do you think our overlords on the board lost this time?” Asuang was drawling again, the echo bouncing off the inside of his titanium-alloy helmet. “Microscopic cameras for your bloodstream? A nicotine substitute that keeps your teeth clean? Hey, maybe the schematics for another cloned zebra. That would make for a fun company brochure.”
Brian sighed. “Threat level Indigo, Asuang. I wouldn’t say even if I knew.” He heard Mara snort beside him; he could practically feel her eyes rolling behind her visor. He had to struggle not to smile. “And keep your chatter off the comms.”
Fraternization wasn’t exactly encouraged amongst squad members. Technically it wasn’t really policed, either, but…the less Brian did to jeopardize his contract, the better, as far he was concerned. He liked Mara, but he liked his family’s well-being more. The questing looks she sometimes shot him would just have to go unanswered.
The door to the gunship yawned open, wind and water whipping past as the ramp lowered and extended. They were passing over the Caravan now, blocks and blocks of automated cars and self-driving trucks backed up into one another, a fixture of local traffic spawned by a few dozen errors in programming. It was a mess, a year-long accident that showed no signs of abating: just another symbol for the sorry state of downtown affairs. Brian would have preferred to spend the day here, deactivating and scrapping empty vehicles in relative safety, but they had a job to do and orders were orders.
The locks on their harnesses disengaged, and the four moved as one to the exit of the craft. Carbon-steel cables ferried them down to street level, allowing the gunship to again take to the skies. It would return on its rotation in half an hour; plenty of time for the squad to comb their assigned area for a solitary fugitive. A trio of youths nearby—twenty-somethings maybe, rich kids slumming it, judging by their camera setup and full heads of hair—swiveled to face them, lenses snapping amidst curious murmurs. One took a step closer and opened his mouth before Mara fired into the air, scattering the layabouts to the streets.
Brian nodded approvingly and racked his rifle. No distractions. “Move out.”
They loped down the block in a unit, two and two together on either side, weapons at the ready and checking corners as they went. Deserted market stalls flanked the avenues, and a mechanized fuel compactor sat in a driveway, inert, by a pile of previously-processed trash cubes. A bolt of lightning pierced through the gloom, striking one of the far-off buildings, but this time no thunder came. All was silent save for the splatter of armored footsteps on damp pavement.
“Movement,” Jersey interrupted. Brian raised a hand and both pairs halted. “Ten o’clock. One-point-six-meters, possible female suspect. Down the alley.”
“Acknowledged,” Brian responded. “Nice work. Pursue.”
They moved in tandem, Asuang and Brian crossing the street to follow the other pair into the alley. Brian felt his suit’s cooling systems crank up against the heat of the falling rain. They emerged into a plaza of sorts, the backs of a handful of buildings intersecting in a rough circle. A rusting crane with an attached metal disc hung lifelessly from a neighboring lot. Cracked windows leered down on them from every angle, and a hub of crisscrossing alleyways spiraled outward in a network of identical exits. They’d stumbled into a kill-zone.
Asuang swore again. “This was a mistake.”
“Quiet, Asuang,” Brian snapped. “Two to an alley. Meet back here in ten.” Asuang grumbled, but Mara hissed a reply and he fell into lockstep behind her. Brian and Jersey stepped forward as one, alternating between scanning the windows and alleys for assailants. Something halted him, however. There was a faint vibration in the air, an insistent hum permeating the plaza. It was as if a bolt of lightning were forming nearby, or a massive supercomputer were stirring to life, or…
“Jersey, move!” Brian roared.
The kid’s arm bent with the gauntleted sleeve, and then the rest of his armor crumpled inward and shot into the sky. Jersey’s screams were stifled by the impact as his body smashed into the metallic disc above. The crane shuddered, and the magnet it was carrying groaned, and then the weight of the armor brought the whole rickety structure crashing to the ground.
Something oily and glowing lanced from one of the windows, shattering across Mara and covering her central plating. There was a brief rushing noise and a burst of orange light as her armor caught aflame.
Brian turned and sprinted for cover, more bottles bursting and breaking around him. His heart thundered with the exertion; even with his implants, several hundred pounds of titanium-alloy armor was not ideal for running. Asuang was snarling and shooting, high-pressure blasts from his weapon cutting through brick and plaster like wet paper, and bullets were ricocheting and deflecting off him in all directions. Then a vial of liquid splattered against his helmet, sizzling, and as the metal bubbled and blistered he began to scream.
Brian fumbled with the buttons on his gauntlet. “This is Sobek requesting backup, we are under attack by unknown assailants. Officers down. Requesting backup, repeat, requesting—"
The exits were blocked. Clumps of figures were circling the plaza, guns and knives and sparking hacksaws in their hands. Mara was still burning, still struggling to put out the blaze her armor had become, and Asuang could only gurgle helplessly as his jaw dissolved into acid. Brian felt his rifle droop down, soaked through by the storm and the weight of his own sweat.
“Come on, then.”
The mob closed, and he opened fire.