First off I have to extend my thanks for the opportunity to post this here. It is an incredibly gracious offer and I’m grateful to John.

Secondly, I welcome fedback. Constructive feedback. I’m well aware this isn’t a groundbreaking original -I’m just writing a story in my head that won’t go away. The first section appeared in an early draft nearly two years ago, so it might be familiar to a couple of you. These characters keep knocking at my door, then running off into this adventure. (*sheesh* that sounds weird) so I just want to write this to the best of my ability. So far, it’s just over 20,000 words. If it gets published someday, that’d be even better.  I currently meet with another writer twice a month to review work, so I’m thinking of a bi-weekly schedule. Regardless, I’ll do my best to stay ahead of the serialized postings and keep the story coming - if folks are interested.

I’m sure more questions and comments will come up - I’ll answer them as they arise. Thanks again. And enjoy.  RUNNING BLACK.

**** NOTE**** Beware of the occasional ‘adult’ word. I am a Christian, but most of these characters are not. I’m not trying to be profane- just authentic.

RUNNING BLACK
-----------------------

PRELUDE

LIKE CIGARETTES

Dawson -Hull Conglomerate, Regional Offices. London, England. New European Union. 02:18 hours

He wasn’t going to make it. His brain kept nagging, but the animal deep inside snarled back and kept him running anyway. It’d been the last seconds of the data hack when the thick dark exploded and shot everything to hell. Now the air quivered with sirens and every light in the complex glared stark phosphorus. So the ronin flew through the maze of offices back the way they’d come. One last speed-stim tumbled everything together into a rabid blur; DH security hacks shouting, popping out in front of him like training targets in a kill house. He focused just enough to stitch ragged holes across their uniformed chests and flowed right over them. Other dead rose in his mind: Riko buried under the first wave of spider ‘bots, Mahoud choking on his own blood, shredded by the security turret. Even Daffid, so cool and precise, was spattered all over the lower level garage, buying him these last seconds. Lives snubbed out like cigarettes. He was the only one left. 

Another guard folded up, then the click, click, click of the empty chamber registered. That was gone too. What’s the use? his brain queried again, but there was $500 million in flashfiles on his forearm pad. He didn’t know or care what they were. He just wanted to get outside. This facility generated a massive buffer zone and the infra-red beam needed clear sky for a burst transmission. So the animal kept running.  His brain reminded him a stealth relay drone had been at the top of their load-out list - talk about a clue. Whoever hired them wasn’t counting on a clean bolt. And they’d been so right. He darted left, almost there. At least Mira and the kids would get benefits and a percentage.

The final stretch was empty and for a second he imagined he’d get clear. He almost laughed, but his lungs were heaving, muscles burning on the last ragged edges of the stim boost. He burst through the double doors onto the service road smack into the sharp reek of garbage and bio diesel, under a night sky littered with stars. Someone shouted, but he was out. Still at full speed he raised his arm and thumbed the transmitter. His ears heard the pad bleat out, his eyes saw the helmets braced, silhouetted against muzzle flashes. Rounds tore through him but they were too late - the machine valkyrie was bearing the code away. He did laugh then. He’d made it. Tri-bursts scoured his body, then all forward motion ceased in jerks and shudders as he tumbled to the asphalt. Blood was running now. Laying there, staring up, all the overdue pain came crowding in. It was finished though. He saw the sky, the stars, and thought of Mira. Then everything winked out.

CHAPTER 1

SEQUENCE START: VAMPIRES IN THE MIST
Secure Research Facility, Southern France, New European Union, same night, 03:56 hours

It was overcast and we came in from a mile up. A moonless night, with new drop rigs and the 6 of us were inside their perimeter like vampires stepping out of the mist. It was that clean. We dumped the packs and crouched together waiting another full minute. All their security routines had just been lifted and raped blind, so we owned every null space and nanosecond. That’s what they told us, anyway. But the boss, Tam Song, wasn’t the trusting sort. He had the 6 of us geared up in Mitsubishi stealth armor, running 3rd tier ECM, with no less than 3 of our own drones ghosting over the facility squirting real-time into our HUDS. All that was out of pocket, but teams had been left cold before: a midnight epiphany of aristo-tech solidarity in a penthouse boardroom, and suddenly a few million in freelance fees becomes a bump in the expense account no one wants to confess to. This facility was chartered mega-corp territory. Maybe it was just me, but trouble was hanging in the air, and none of us at Song Associates were much interested in the Death Benefits clause in our contracts. 

After nothing exploded or started wailing, Tam waved our gun boys ahead. The albino Triplets were the last of N’kosa Mambi’s fever dream of an African empire; illegal combat clones he’d gene-modded to their eyeballs, literally. Most of them had been hunted down and exterminated by Coalition forces after the battle of Angel Falls, but these three had made it out. They were designer soldiers; lethal savants grown in vats, raised by V.R. tactical programs, and honed by the Sub-Saharan bush wars.  In night vision green, I watched them glide forward, waltzing with their eerie grace then settle into new positions further onto the little plaza. The whole time their HK’s tracked every approach. Flawless ballet. They’d never been given names so we just called them Flopsey, Mopsey, and Cottontail: our killer bunnies. 

Tam was on the com-link. “Poet9, I need a splice on their local net. Probably a Node in that guard station. Jace will take you there.”

Poet9 was our Net cutter - a splicer from the Mexico City zones. Ten years ago, he’d cobbled a deck together from the scrap heaps and one sweltering night from his cinderblock hut, hotlined the Public Access and hacked his way into BioGen’s financial AI. Less than ten minutes inside, he’d shifted a million credits and spent the next day rich. He was 15 at the time. BioGen went spastic tracing him, and when the Sec-teams broke down the door, they gave him an option: two in the ballcap, or a seat at their Security grid. He took the job. Then one day, three years back, he just dug out his Chip and strolled into Tam Song’s office. Haven’t been able to get rid of him yet. 

I slipped out and intercepted Poet9 on the move and we shifted left towards the guard house. A combined barracks and security bunker, no amount of landscaping and avant-garde sculpture could hide that squat ugly shape. It had thick poly-steel plating, and multiple Comms relays on the roof. Pop out panels for the sentinel turrets tastefully displayed the corporate logo on a 5 minute loop, casting shifting glows on every side of the station. Other than that there was no movement.  Perimeter patrols weren’t due for another 17 minutes, so that meant all 4 guards were still inside, biding time against the night chill. We approached the double doors.
“Smooth as silk, Jace.” Poet muttered.
“So far.” I squeezed the grip of my SMG and the flex stock cinched tighter. In the dim light it looked like some alien insect was mating with my forearm, but it makes the 6mm IMI Blizzard a dead-on bullet hose - no other gun comes close. I kept peering out into the dark, waiting for something to snap, but Poet was oblivious. I brought the Blizzard up and nodded, then he flipped open the data pad on his wrist and keyed one of our drones to override the door cameras. 53 seconds later we were inside and the desk guard was dead.

Area denial, micro-drones, laser trips, smart mines, all ultra-tech, all lethal, all precise. And predictable. Predictable is good. Automated systems can be hacked with hot code, bounced with
newer, faster tech. That race is a fevered constant. People are the problem. A good human guard has intuition; just a gut feeling that something’s not right. Get a creeping suspicion, and it’s better to slap the panic button and get chewed out for a false alarm than end up shackled in front of an executive committee explaining how you spaced a hostile infil. Oh, there’s still plenty of hardcore left-overs who can loot and shoot, but that’s not the reason they‘re still around. It’s instinct; there’s no robotic substitute for it.

So good operators run black. Not just cut out their Chip, drop off the grid, then train to ghost through security nets; a black market doctor and decent stealth gear takes care of that. It means go blank. Void. You null down your psychic profile so there’s no sense of person there. You’re empty space. It can’t be drilled into you; either you have it or you don’t. I have it. Tam Song has it. And that’s the real reason we were still alive doing the nasty for multi-nationals, governments, and the occasional PMI contract. It didn’t matter they despised us, as long as they paid on delivery. Call us Zone scabs, Sprawl trash, war whores, whatever; Song Associates Inc. is one of the top covert teams in system. We get in. We get out. We delivered. Posers, hacks, and straight mercs come and go - but running black is different. It’s life at the shadow’s edge. 

I left Poet9 at the desk while I moved down the halls for the last three guards. He’d have to jack in uninterrupted in the Control room at the center of the barracks, so there was no skipping them. Schematics put the armory just down from a break room, and with a patrol due, that’s where they’d be. I dropped a blade into my left hand - just in case - and I moved with the Blizzard straight armed and sighted. 

Sure enough, two were suiting up in the armory, half dressed, helmets, shotguns and radios all neat on a table. I closed the door with a click and they turned looking for one of their partners. The Blizzard coughed neat holes in their faces and they crumpled, disappointed, on the floor.

I switched off the light and slipped back out into the hall. One to go. Where was he - sleep or food?
I sub-vocaled Poet9, “Two more down. Desk monitors got eyes on the fourth?”
A few second later, “Nothing on screen. Find him fast. I need access before the next sequence. Want me to call Tam?”
“Just be ready. I’m on it.” I said, and slipped right, towards the break room and kitchen. Instinct works both ways.

I found him eating. Older guy with a rank badge and cold eyes; probably a vet. Definitely modded because he was up and moving at warp speed the second I spun in thru the door. I stitched a neat row on the wall behind where he’d been. He crash flipped a table for cover and dodged left towards a Comms panel. I moved to cut him off, the Blizzard spitting, but he came up on my right with an ugly snub carry piece. Definitely a vet. Two shots roared in the small room and panels splintered next to my head. My turn to dodge. I tumbled and slid into some chairs and came up hosing the area until the breech locked open. As my thumb hit the ejection and the empty mag slid down out of the grip, he came up with those eyes and that backup piece lasered in on me. My left arm whipped around and my knife sprouted from his neck. He went down backwards and out of sight. Just in case.

Then Tam was in the doorway, a sliver of a smile on his flat Korean face. “You finished?”

He moved to the body, yanked my knife out, wiped it and tossed it back. “Poet’s in and he thinks we have to move on the labs now.”

We entered the control room opposite a wall of monitors with grainy black & white exterior sweeps that had random thermal views winking in every 30 seconds. It was enough to give you seizures.  I looked for Poet9 and found him spliced in, cables from the big black neural unit on the side of his head running like IVs into the station terminal.  He was talking off hand, distracted, keeping focus in both worlds.
“No increase traffic on their nets - no staff in the labs, just guards, two, three, total - yeah, three inside …….” He closed his eyes for a moment, “ facility patrol - 3 bots and six guards - right where they’re supposed to be - doing routine sweeps in overlapping eights. There’s one Cerberus ‘bot and a guard on the lab doors - looks like another pair on building perimeter.”

He jacked out and his eyes cleared. “ I’m not done yet. I still have to set this terminal to give it’s standard ‘all clear’ reply to the next system security query. They‘re every 30 minutes and next ping is in just over 9. We have 11 minutes until this station’s patrol pair should start walking their loop. This might bluff once, but not twice. We have to be gone before then.”

Tam thought a minute. “The contract downlink gave us floor plans and key codes for the secure areas. We have to access the lab’s defense network and disable the systems. Any chance you can hack from here?”

“Not in a half hour. The entire net is Enigma 3 centralized with top down priority. If I splice in a
specific zone I can affect the local grid. I need a terminal, even a key pad,” Poet9 squared off in front of Tam, even lowered his voice a bit . “You want it down, I’ll have to go in with you.”

“Alright,” Tam sighed. “Scan the bodies and dig out their chips. I’ll tell Flopsey & Mopsey walk the patrol loop with them - that might buy us a couple more seconds. They’ll prep some Empees in case any robots show up and we have to turn & burn off site. Jace and I will drop in. You hang back until I say it’s clear. Got it?”

Poet9 nodded, his eyes gleaming as he zipped in his data lines and tugged the knit cap back over his misshapen head. Then he patted the oversized Walther 11 holstered on his hip, “We’re good.”

“He’s even got a name for that new hand cannon,” I whispered as we left the room.
Another faint smile, “I don’t even want to know.”

A minute later we headed out the door with two bloody RFID chips from the guards‘ hands. Tam got on his micro-bead redeploying the Triplets and I checked feed from our drones. Still nothing. The action inside bled off some tension, but something still gnawed at the edges. I looked at
Tam, but he’d gone into mode and was all crisp. I sensed the Triplets moving, so I shrugged, and sprinted out into the dark plaza towards the tangled geometry of the labs. We were running this all the way, and the six of us were about to go deeper.

CHAPTER 2

PARALLEL: DROP FROM THE DEEP BLACK

The Lear shuttle dropped from the deep black of space into a pallid night sky, gray and winking over the city. Its thunder wake rumbled and sent echoes recoiling off the sharp peaks of towers and skyscrapers. A quick witchfire of ionized gas flared off it’s sleek form as it slid, shark like, and darted south.  Another twitch, and it plunged down into those canyons of glass & steel, threading past the looming offices, industrial units, and row after row of cheap hab-blocks, shivering windows behind it. Knots of late night traffic scattered before it, massive cargo transports shifted, yielding the right of way as the shuttle arrowed closer to restricted airspace.

Within a few minutes it passed into the exclusive districts, turning back its engines so only the merest edge of turbulence shuddered behind it. Now, approved ID codes cleared the way, and one by one by one, missile locks blinked off. On cue, the craft settled onto the landing pad deep inside the Dawson-Hull corporate estates and Senior Arbiter Avery Hsiang strode down the landing ramp and stood before his security escort. 
--------------------

PULLING THE TIGER’S TAIL

Crouched outside the light cone, I could make out the name plate on the next building: ‘E.C.I. Research. Labs 5-7‘.  Euro-Cybernetics Integrated is the lead bio-tech division of the Dawson-Hull Conglomerate, and the “D-H. ‘glom” is one of the Seven: the huge multinationals who run Earth now. The Seven hold U.N. seats, adhere to separate legal systems, even have corporate citizenship for their employees. They maintain offices in every nation, space station, and colony in the solar system, and UN law, along with their private security forces, insure territorial sovereignty for all corporate facilities. This was serious trespass on an alien world.

It got better though; Tam and I figured the A-PAC were the ones behind tonight’s little smash & grab; the contract came through their usual cut outs anyway. Another of the Seven, the Asian Pacific Hegemony was headquartered in old Japan, and we were little ninja thieves for this job. You see, “covert asset acquisition” is just legal-speak for breaking & entering; there was something in this facility they wanted, and Tam Song Associates was sent to fetch it. So our dubious crew of chipless illegals, most ex-military, all with criminal records, were wandering through a mega-corp’s secure installation in the middle of the night looking to nick a bit of top secret tech . We weren’t just pulling a tiger’s tail; we were in the middle of two of them, kicking one in the balls. Hell of a way to make a living.

The mission brief alleged that D-H had developed an operating N3: a Nanotech Neural Network. Nanotech had mind blowing possibilities for every facet of life. The one small problem was the human body rejected the artificial atomic machines, so except for the simplest medical applications, nano-research had made nothing but bloated monsters and shriveled corpses. An N3 was a biological/cybernetic interface system that operated on the cellular level. Poet9 had a military grade brain box wet-wired to his cortex. Grafted to his head, he could interface the Net 20 times faster that your average console jockey. An N3 would a 1000 times faster, all invisible inside a human host. If this was real, it was a quantum shift. One that changed everything. Forever.

Every couple of years the Newsnets would flash some geek team of lab coats claiming to have found the Holy Grail, but it always flatlined. This time there were no Net specials or glossy PR packages; just traces between the lines of looted data still sticky with blood. But this time someone at A-PAC had gotten wind of it and converted to a true believer. Whatever was going down spooked the A-PAC hard, because they were gambling everything; hemorrhaging hundreds of millions in credits, providing proprietary schematics, classified security codes, authorizing huge completion bonuses, even risking global exposure and UN censure. This time, some Daimyo figured it was real, and hired us. And to think, we were making history.

The contract downlink assumed the D-H Conglomerate was in their final test phase, and they’d selected this smaller facility to complete it. They made a big show at their main labs in Brussels, locking them down tight in a classic misinformation game. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary here - just the standard security for a class 9 complex. Inside the labs might be a different matter, but the report suddenly got sketchy there. And that’s just where Tam and I headed, clambering up the heating units onto the roof to the access panel some informant tagged as unprotected.

We crouched unmoving, two knots of nothing as the security patrol passed beneath us. Sensor lights on the hulking Cerberus sentry ‘bot winked steadily as it shuffled by, and the guard never even glanced up. We were up and moving as they turned the corner, and in a few quick motions, the panel was off and we slid into the interior gloom. 

Once in the Maintenance crawl, Tam got on the micro-bead. “Poet? We’re in and moving. We’ll secure the hall into R & D.  Give us a minute, then we’ll need you right behind us for the override.”

“Loud & clear. I want to set some spider mines.  Pop goes the weasel on these ’Glom bastards if they come a running.“ his voice crackled back.

“No, leave the mines - that’s what the Triplets are for, remember?  Just wait there until I say. Tam, out.”

A grunt and double click cut off. Tam peered at me for a second then shook his head. I just smiled back. “At least he tries.”
“At least he’s good in the Grid.” He tapped the display on his forearm pad, “Let’s move.”

We fast crawled along the ceiling struts following cable bundles and vent ducts toward the restricted area making sure to leave IR marks for Poet. I kept switching between the drone feed over the facility, and the building blueprints on my left eye HUD. Not that it mattered really. Eyes on the prize. No worry, just focus. Poet 9’s data hack back in the guard station put two badges at the only junction leading into the Restricted area. The third was making rounds checking doors. We’d have to cross them off and get him in to bypass the security and seal all other access. We had 27 minutes left. 

Light filtered up through the grate into the cramped darkness as we approached the point marked “D wing” on our displays. A quick drop, then 14 meters down a hall to the main and only entrance to the secure labs. If there was trouble, here is where it’d be waiting.

On cue, Poet9’s voice whispered in our ears. “Problem. Datastream from the security node shows a bio-ware link in that zone net. And it’s mobile. I’m guessing the lead guard on each shift is wet wired to the security system - probably linked to heartbeat or brainwaves and coded to his RFID. Pretty smart for the ’Glom. That guy goes offline for any reason and it’s total lockdown, with every drone & clone in 50 klicks maxing on full auto. You have to find him. And keep him alive.”

“Great. Just. Great.”, Tam said. We lifted the grate and dropped down onto the hall carpet.

PARALLEL: SHOPLIFTERS London, England. New European Union. 04:08 hours

Avery Hsiang caught himself staring at the carpet when he realized the man across from him had stopped speaking. He stood up casually, then leaned over the massive black conference table and smiled a very thin smile. “Here we are back at the start - again - Mr. MacKinnon. How many times must I repeat myself? Asian Pacific Hegemony denies any complicity in the recent intrusions in your London facility. It is that simple.”

“Our sources indicate those mercenaries were associated with your company and had been in your employ previously on numerous occasions. It is obvious-”

“It is obvious,” Avery cut in, “your ‘sources’ confirm only what you wish to hear. Why suspect us? You invoke confidential protocols and demand a meeting in the middle of the night only to vent anger and these preposterous accusations. Our companies have shared several profitable joint ventures in the past. What of the Americans? Your successes in their Argentinean markets must offend them. You know how territorial they are. Perhaps this clumsy burgling is their way of lashing out at you.” Avery Hsiang smoothed down the puckered silk of his coat sleeve. “From your description, the attempt seems rather continental to me.” He sat down again and let his gaze travel over the rich wood paneled walls of the conference room, conjuring a mildly irritated look on his face.

“The ‘attempt’,” Jackson MacKinnon spat, ’ penetrated much further than normal and their equipment was far too sophisticated for simple shoplifters. Nothing vital was taken, of course,” he waved a hand, “but their presence that far inside our facility betrays a certain level of privileged intelligence.”

Avery ignored the last statement and raised his hands toward the rival Arbiter, “Well, if nothing critical was compromised, why am I here? To waste time and offend us?” he paused. “Or is there something further? Do you require our assistance in some matter? These thieves, these spies… they were all killed, were they not?”

Avery knew full well the Sprawl scum had been eliminated; his agents confirmed it. He’d also been assured it was an utterly sterile operation; not one shred of tissue or scrap of equipment could be traced back to his company. MacKinnon had nothing and they both knew it. Outwardly, he waited for a response, looking patiently at his frayed counterpart who could only glare back. Inwardly, Avery’s mind leapt that his suspicions had been correct: the N3 was real! Otherwise why would Dawson-Hull react so swiftly, demanding an immediate face to face conference? They are scared, Avery thought, scared that we now have their prototype. He glanced down at his watch. In fact, he said to himself, we just might by now. 

“No?” he continued smoothly, looking back up. “We both know mercenaries have no loyalty beyond their fees. They are hirelings. Whores who perform for money. I promise you Mr. MacKinnon, first thing in the morning I will relay this information and your concerns to the appropriate department. I will say again however, Asian Pacific prides itself in the skills and dedication that render such dishonorable practices irrelevant. Even if extreme necessity demanded it, my company would never contract such amateurs.”

Jackson MacKinnon rose to his feet. “Avery, our investigators are going to sift through every speck of evidence. Forensics experts arrive from Brussels tomorrow, and the Board has granted me full authority in this case.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “We will find the perpetrators Avery, and reprisals will be severe.” He let that hang in the air over the polished obsidian table.

Avery Hsiang shrugged, “I trust your forensics teams are a bit more accurate than your usual ‘sources’, Jackson. We certainly regret the disturbing incident that prompted such an urgent meeting. I assure you, my company stands willing to assist you in apprehending the criminals. The problem of illegals is a concern for every corporation. But, it is the middle of the night - now if you‘ll excuse me, Mr. MacKinnon.” He picked his case up from the floor and nodded to the bodyguard standing against the paneled wall behind him. Together they left the conference room in silence.

Only when A-PAC Senior Arbiter Avery Hsiang was seated, and felt the steady thrum of the Lear’s twin engines in the deep leather did he permit another smile. He leaned forward and hit one of the buttons on the armrest.
“Are they in the air yet?”

---------------

Lead Arbiter Jackson MacKinnon stood at the window staring as the A-PAC shuttle jumped straight up, then darted off. He considered the twin flares of the Lear’s receding engines for a long time, until night finally swallowed them up. For several moments, nothing moved. Then, “I want a lock down. Offices, factories, everything. Notify the Board, of course. But all corporate facilities go to high alert. All of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. Immediately” the man turned to leave.

“Sergeant?“ A full stop. “And send two units to ECI in Toulouse. S.D. Bureau 3.”

“Sir?”

Jackson MacKinnon paused, then turned slowly to face the man, now at rigid attention and repeated in a slow, low voice, “I said, I want two Special Deployment units. At the ECI Labs. In Toulouse. Now. Major Eames will lead personally. Tell her they’re to seal the facility. Maximum Sanction. I will brief her en route with the particulars.”

“Yes sir. Immediately, sir”

Jackson MacKinnon turned back to his reflection in the huge armor glass window and stood perfectly still.

yikes! that’s enough for now.

CHAPTER 3

LIVE WIRED

The clock was ticking, so Tam and I moved in fast and low with the Mitsu suits humming full spectrum. We ghosted under camera domes and over several laser trips before we hit the main lobby. Flat steel vault doors in the far wall led to the labs. Bio-ware shows up as a hot spot in a human body, and we’d already switched to thermal-view for a quick ID. The two guards in the lobby read negative so we double tapped, and left them slumped in their chairs cooling to lower temperatures. Then we went prowling for our live wired friend.

We found him in the bathroom, of all places. Another vet, this one scarred ugly from some old toxin burst, but it’s kind of hard to look intimidating with your pants around your ankles. Tam kicked the stall door in, then dragged him out zip cuffed and gagged. He was a die hard though. He kept thrashing, growling, trying to head butt or body slam his way past. After a couple tries, I chopped him hard in both shoulders, then pulled on his head and spoke through my faceplate, “You play nice, you’ll be alive when this is over…” Not that it was much consolation; our run here was definitely not good for his long term career plans, but he quieted down

At least until he spotted the other two guards back in the main lobby, then he threw himself toward the desk panel trying to trip an alarm. I kicked his legs out and sat on him while Tam called Poet9.

“We’re in and we got the wired guy. You sure we have to keep him alive?”

I looked down to see him biting through the gag and bounced his head off the floor.  “Just ‘til we’re on our way.” He quieted down again.

Four and a half minutes later, Poet9 dropped in and went to work on their grid. Another 3 minutes and he’d burned through their defense net like a plasma torch, and grunted as the vault doors hissed open. “Stupid execs - always 6 months behind.”

We stepped over the threshold and frog marched the guard down the corridor into the labs. Poet9 ran ahead looking for a security console, that big black Walther bobbing in his outstretched two hand grip. Corporal Ugly was really sweating, his eyes wide now that we’d breeched the labs. Several times I saw the dim notion of bolting or going limp flit behind his eyes, but he knew I wasn‘t in the mood and kept his feet moving. 

Another minute found Poet9 at a control terminal, the main lab all sharp white walls, sequencing neon pin lights, glass and chrome. The fuzzy ozone smell of electronics filtered past my faceplate. You could taste the air buzzing, a backwash of bouncing signals.

“This is something, right?

Poet9 unzipped his cables. “Wow, nothing gets by you, hunh? Here - be useful and look for a coldsafe, a minivault, even a stasis canister. It can’t be that big. I‘ll sift their daily protocols.” He slung a Kevlar weave pack off his back, zipping it open as it hit the floor, and kicked it towards Tam. “But don’t touch if you find it. Let me at it first.“

He didn’t wait for our answer; just plugged in his leads, fingers staccato on the deck. His eyes glazed over leaving us behind, so we combed the main room, suit sensors probing every desk, locker, closet and container we could find. I dragged the guard with me, hoping for some kind of reaction as we made a circuit around the room, but he just seethed, all surly and tight. We came back around and I plopped him a stray chair. “Stay.”

“Tam” I called through the microlink, “ this seem easy to you?”

He was silent for a second, then, “Yeah. For earth shattering tech, they seem awful laid-back. I mean, the perimeter is tight, there’s modded guards, even the bio-alarm, but in here there‘s no turrets, trips, even motion sensors.  Maybe they already moved it?”

“We’ve only got the tactical brief, but it said there’s less than 2 weeks before D-H goes public. This is the shave & tweak stage. Work out the kinks for the big Board debut. Their source double crossed them? ”

“We’d be dead, or nearly there, if that was the case.”

Poet9 looked up suddenly. “I have something! Motion, cyber activity, in that room.“ The bulky muzzle of his Walther 11 pointed at a set of blue double doors on the west wall. “In there.”

“Don’t think the tech is going to shoot you, Poet.” I jerked the guard to his feet. We all went in.

The four of us passed through the door into an observation room. Four large glass viewing panels angled out and away from bank of equipment screens. On the right, a steel staircase disappeared down into the semi- dark of a lower floor. I hung back, holding the guard, so Tam & Poet9 moved forward and peered out the panels down into what looked like a room.

“I saw you.” a voice suddenly said. It came from speakers on the instrument panel. All of us froze.
“You tried to be sneaky, but I saw you,” it suddenly said again. Poet9 jerked his pistol up, and Tam tensed.

“I saw one of you in the Net too. You’re pretty fast. Faster than the others around here. I tried to show them how to make it better, but they wouldn’t listen.” the voice continued.

Poet9 leaned forward and peered down thru the glass. “Jesus! There’s someone down there.”

“I’ll turn on the lights if you want. Here” And the room below us suddenly flickered to life. Poet9 brought up his magnum, but Tam put a hand on his shoulder. He looked down into the observation area and saw the room. A plain room like a barracks; off -white, a bed, drawers in one wall, and several items scattered on a rug. In the corner was a large u-shaped consol with several workstations and panels under oversize monitors. And someone was sitting at one of the stations.

“A kid,” I heard Tam’s whisper in my helmet. “There’s a kid down there.” I kept a lock on the guard, but Poet9 leaned to look into the room while Tam made his way down the stairs.

It was a boy. Dark skinned, close cut hair, with a round face and clear, green eyes that jumped out at you. No more than 10 or 12 years old, he dressed in a tan coveralls sitting at one of the computers. He paused as Tam came out onto the floor.

“Are you the only one here?” Tam was asking as he slowly walked toward the boy.

“Right now I am. In the daytime Dr. Evans and Dr. Heinrich are here with their staff. Sometimes they stay late and have me do things with the computers. But that’s been less and less lately. They keep telling me I have to get my rest. Couldn’t sleep tonight though. That’s how come I saw you.”

“What’s your name?” Tam was halfway to the consol.

“Gibson. What’s yours?”

“That’s not important right now. Gibson, what do you mean ‘you saw us’? When?” Tam was
nearly at the desk now.

“On the security grid. I told you, I was awake and got bored. So I watched you through the cameras. Well, I mean I could tell where you were. The air sort of shimmered so I just followed the shimmers and watched you come here.” He paused and looked at one of the screens, then back at Tam. “Why did you kill those two men?”

Poet9 broke in over the radio link.  “Hate to interrupt, but. We’ve got a job to do. And … only 8 minutes to do it in. Does he know where they keep it or not?”

Tam was at the computers now, hand on the edge of one of the desks, looking down at the boy, who just sat and looked back up into the stealth suit matt black faceplate. “Look at him.” I heard Tam say. “Look at him Poet.”

“What? I see a kid. I want hardware. Just put him to sleep and let’s move.”

“No. Look at his head.” I stepped forward gripping the guard tighter and cranked up the amplification on my visor. On the back of his neck, just at the base, I spied a classification barcode tattoo: the kid was a clone. Right next to it, a single thin black cybernetic jack ran up from the panel to disappear behind the boy’s left ear.

“Could you turn off the lights for me Gibson?” Tam asked.

“Sure” and the lights went out. The room snapped right back to gloom and shadow, but it took a little longer for the realization to hit. Right then, Cottontail’s voice broke in the command channel.  - “We have contact.”

And all the unpleasantness came crashing in at once.

OUTSIDE: CONTACT

C.U. 5901 and C.U. 5902 walked along the fence at a brisk, steady march. C.U. 5905 lagged back in the darkness, constantly shifting left to right, covering their flanks. It was the simplest patrol pattern, one of the first they’d ever learned, but the master/leader ordered them to impersonate the enemy guards. 5901 and 5902 hoped this was at least close to their procedure - sloppy though it was. Back in Africa, anything this careless would have earned a disciplinary beating. A second time, and they’d have been shot where they stood. Still, the master/leader ordered it, and they, eager to please, loped on, hoping they looked like rent-a-cops.

They were halfway back to the labs when the alarm went off. Their links grabbed it straight from the Base channel: a braying alert in their headsets. Nothing visible changed, no sound, no lights. but in the air something shivered and burst. 01 & 02 froze in step. C.U. 5905 stopped, looked up sniffing the air, then immediately chirped Tam.

“We have contact.”

“Wha-?”

The assault carrier burst out of the sky, engines screaming in rage, and a massive wall of air and sound and steel rolled over the Three. The landing gear and ramps unfolding like some giant wasp, it started disgorging figures from its belly in mid-air. In night vision, the cyclone haze of heat and matter rose up under the downdraft of the turbines, rendering even enhanced vision almost impossible. The Three knelt and braced, firing into the swirling mass anyway.  Unable to actually pick targets, they simply fired in a standard air/ground assault dispersal pattern. Men started dying. The carrier touched ground, bounced twice, then started to lift again. In a blur, 5902 whipped the Balor-3 launcher off his back and fired up the open drop ramp. A sharp crack and brief flare within, and the transport flinched. Then snapped sideways out of the air onto the concrete plaza, and exploded. 

As one, they switched out empty mags and shifted right.  Fire move, fire move, fire move, again. Like breathing, like a heartbeat, battle pulse deep coded in every cell of their bodies. A wolf howl primal core rising. The remaining armored troopers ducked and scuttled like black beetles against the white inferno backdrop. Every shot dropped another figure.  Fire move, fire move, fire move. Stop. There were no more.

“Contact end. Engagement finished. Orders?” C.U. 5905 spoke to Tam.

“Just head to the rally point and cover for exfil. We’re coming out.”

“Acknowledged,” and they turned and ran together back across the plaza, flames towering in the sky behind them, like three wolves loosed, liquid black vicious in the night.

------------------

------------------

I hit Ugly at the base of the neck, and he dropped like a sack of rags. Poet9 speedjacked in. “shitshitshit - we’re busted. Base net just bloomed to full alert. Gimme a sec. I’ll dump some Luna-C in their drone system.” His fingers flew across the keys. 

“No time. No time.” Tam was yelling. He snatched up the kid like a doll and took the stairs in three bounds. I had spun and sighted the double doors behind us, expecting a Cerberus ’bot to shatter through right then. But none did. I looked back to Poet9 to see blood trickle from his nose as he slammed through their Net. He staggered, eyes rolling back, but his fingers blurred over the deck, hot loading custom virals into their Security grid.

“I‘m opening the Lab doors… mimic a breach at their north gate too.” He staggered again under the torrent of data, blood dripping onto the clean white tile. Tam motioned to me and I caught him under my arm.

“Wish you’d let me drop those Spider mines, eh?  - I’m. Almost done. There.”
His finger slammed the final key as I yanked his leads. They zipped back up into his headgear and I turned, half dragging him toward the door. Then through the wall we heard muffled roar of a massive blast. I flipped down my tac-map and three dots for the Triplets were still blinking green and moving fast. A tangle of red ones were disappearing faster.

“Surprise, surprise.”

Tam chuckled over the link, “Shoot & scoot, baby, shoot & scoot.”

We ran outside.

CHAPTER 4

STARTLED RAVENS Dawson-Hull Bureau 3 Security. Special Deployment Detachment.

“Major Eames! Wraith 1 is down. I repeat, Wraith 1 is down.”

“Down? How did that happen?”

The copilot scanned his screens, “ I’ve got no trace for ‘droids or vehicles. Could be Stinger3s. Probably Balors.”

Major Jessa Eames leaned forward between the two pilot seats and peered out the side viewport.  Red instrument glow lengthened the sharp angles and shadow on her face. The smashed heap of the assault transport blazed down on the central plaza like a beacon.

“How in hell did these bastards get Balors? We don’t even have ‘em.“ She savaged the tac-vest tighter around her waist.  “God damn it! Vector around and come in from the other side. I want both Furies with us - but they have to hold fire. Weapons are not cleared hot. Confirm? And tell base security to wake the hell up! Any targets?”

“Negative.” the pilot responded. “We detected 3 recon drones and dispatched hunters. Scans around Wraith 1 are fragged from wreck, but we’re sweeping south quadrant on all freqs Wait! I… both… both teams from Wraith 1 are gone.”

“What!”

“Both Wraith 1 teams are gone, ma’am.”

“Suffering Christ! I’m gonna grease these scabs.” She turned back to the dim green of the crew compartment, two full combat teams stretching away in the seat webbing on both sides of the armored bay, straining like dogs on the leash.

“Alright remember the asset down there is tier Ultra. High as they go. We don’t know if he’s been snatched, but he’s top priority. The reason we live & breathe. You spot him with hostiles, use non-lethal only. I repeat, non lethal only.  Don’t know who or what he is, but we put a single bruise on this guy and we’re hosed. MacKinnon himself waved me and spelled it out. Asset’s off limits. But… everyone else is maximum sanction - Board’s got our back on that. Be ready - we drop in 2.” Turning back to the pilot, “Where is Base security? 

“Found ‘em at the north gate for some reason.” The Wraith assault transport banked hard and dropped lower.  The copilot called out, “I’ve got a thermal. Small, heading toward the east wall.“

“Forget the north gate. Go, Go, Go! Get on it.”

“I’ve got signals bouncing too. Multiple shimmers. Probable hostiles - same vicinity. Stealth gear counter measures. Looks like someone’s trying to ghost ou- I got tone - lock! Hostile launch!  2 trails. Hang on!”

The world lurched sideways, alarms pulsing shrill and red over howling twin engines as the blocky armored transport struggled to sidestep two threads of fire that streaked up at them. The Fury gunships jinked up and away, popping clouds of flares and chaff. One of the rockets hesitated, then looped into a sizzling cluster of flash and foil. The second doggedly tracked the transport in its arc, and raced in to faithfully burrow up the intake of the starboard turbine. A bang and a snap - pieces shredding away.

“We’re hit! We’re hit!. Wraith 2 is hit. We’re going down.”

The transport slewed, started spinning in gut wrenching nausea, blurring faster and faster until it slammed flat onto the ground. Overhead, the two gunships flitted back and forth like startled ravens. Inside, after a long minute, Major Eames groaned. She peered through a fog of pain and smoke, the acrid tang of fried electronics, ruptured hydraulics filling the transport bay. Her troops started shifting, several moaning as they untangled themselves. At the back of the compartment, the drop ramp was twisted, cracked open to the clear night. Gunfire called out. She staggered up onto her feet.

EVASIVE MANOEUVERS (SLIGHT REWIND)

We slipped through a side door into a wide alley cluttered with crates and machinery. Tam was still carrying the kid under his arm. Poet9 had recovered and moved with us, still waving his big Walther all around. The crackle and roar of flames rolled through the night air. We looked up, and the mangled heap of a burning assault transport was neatly framed in the far end of the passage. We stared.

“Ooooh, Kodak moment.“ Poet9 chuckled. “Little bunnies have been busy.“

Suddenly, HK fire barked out over the flames, chased by the rapid crumps of bursting Spider mines.

“Still are.“

I flipped to the drone feed: one was static hiss, another the spastic blur of evasive maneuvers. The third, lacking new orders, circled the downed transport, panning for motion and signs of life. I quick slaved it to my frequency and looked at Tam.

“Time to bail. The Gaki swiftship is cloaked 3 k. to the east.  And the Triplets are covering our rally point. It’s auto-piloted for the coast, but we just need to get out of DH airspace.  A-PAC will come for us. For him.” he motioned with the boy.  Poet9 and I nodded and we all started to move. We got three steps before the Cerberus killbot heaved around the corner behind us, the sensor lights in it’s head glaring bright green and full on.

------------------------

PARALLEL: LIKE VOLTAGE

Negative Mr. Hsiang. The flier’s transponder is not active. They must still be inside the compound.”

“I want to know the instant they are airborne. Remind Colonel Otsu to track them once they leave DH airspace. He will attend the rendezvous and confirm delivery himself.” Avery Hsiang paused, his eyes tightened. “Once he is in receipt, he is to settle all accounts. Understood?”

Yes. Absolutely, Mr Hsiang.”

He cut the secure channel off without a word, catching the edge of the moment’s scent on the tip of his tongue like voltage, like sex, like control. He savored it, watching the landscape slide by in the early morning dark.

-------------------------------------------

“You are in violation. Remain where you are. Security personnel will arrive shortly.”

This blared out of the chest speaker in a rapid succession of Anglo, Spanish, and Mandarin. I guess anyone speaking Arabic or Hindi was pretty well screwed. Not that you couldn’t figure out what 6 gaping barrels of side-mounted rotary gauss cannon were saying. Or the tangleweb sprayer on the Mauler servo arm. At 3 meters tall, Cerberus security droids are as subtle as a brick through your living room window. I fingered an Empee on my belt, but between our suits and Poet9, that was a dumb idea. We were too close; an electromagnetic blast would snowblind our Mitsus and fry Poet9’s brainbox permanently. Not a good option. 

“Now would be a really good time for the Triplets.”, I muttered. Tam moved one step backward.

“What are you doing!?” Poet hissed.

The recording cycled again. Tam took another step. The Cerberus weapon mounts followed him.

“Use of non-lethal restraint is authorized. Remain where you are. Security personnel will arrive shortly.”

Tam froze, then chirped the micro-link. “Jace, Poet, get ready to run. Jace, limpet an Empee on this heap as we go. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Are you fragged?” Poet grew furious nervous, dancing side to side. “Out of your goddamn mind?“ The machine swiveled, mantra sounding again, and the servo-arm extended ever so slightly. Tam started backing up further. My hand drifted down to my belt. I unclipped the charge.

“Get ready…” Tam was shifting sideways, keeping Gibson firmly back and under his arm, but in sight.

“Oh shit…”

“Now!”

I yanked on Poet9 and snapped the grenade in one motion. It arced and stuck fast next to that speaker grill while I tried to launch full speed out of blast radius before it popped. I was pulling Poet9 along though, who was too stunned to even think. Tactical micro-second processing discarded us as the low-grade targets. The Cerberus blinked, shifted it’s weight, and tracked Tam. He dove in among a stack of crates cradling the boy, just as wet thumps belched from the tangleweb launcher. Poet9 and I managed a few more steps before the Empee burst. A sharp blue flash scrambled my display and Poet9 cried out. He staggered and fell. I went down with him, skidding on the duracrete.

I lay there several long seconds, dazed, half expecting a piston leg to stomp my spine into the pavement. Finally, I shook my head and flipped my face plate up. Poet9 was next to me, tangled and unmoving. That cold feeling dropped into my stomach. Clamp down, clamp it down. I rolled away and looked back to see Tam appear, still holding Gibson, masses of stringy adhesive clotted all over the wall and crates, vomited green-glow drapery. The Cerberus was locked up in the middle of the alley; a black skeleton slumped and crooked, with little sparks witching across its chassis. Cautiously, a helmet turned the far corner, looking for the ‘droid perhaps. Tam’s Tavor 24 spit twice. Gibson yelped, and the helmet clattered to the ground

“Grab him - we need to move.”

I didn’t look. I didn’t think; I slung Poet9 over my shoulders and took off after Tam. They always feel light, like a sack of sticks - dry bones - even in armor. I shook my head again and chinned the displays. You don’t know yet. Visuals flickered back online, skittish and blurred. My meters rose sluggishly, then edged just into orange. My trouble had dropped in after all, quick and brutal as a sirocco. As we jogged across the broken ground, I could hear breathing in my headset. Tam was angry; coiled tight. Training locked it down for now, brought it to a single white hot point. Stay focused, stay alive.

“Rally point 3“.

“Rally point 3. Acknowledged.”

The Triplets met us midway to the eastern perimeter wall. Tam handed Gibson off to Mopsey. The kid was visibly shaking now, but he didn’t utter a sound. He simply watched it all, those bright eyes absorbing everything.  I saw him look at me and Poet9 before Mopsey wrapped his arms around his small figure then huddled over him. Tam was setting det-charges on a vertical seam. Some desultory fire strayed our way once or twice, but it slunk back, chased by Flopsey and Cottontail’s replies.

“60 seconds.”

Tam ran back and knelt by me, glanced at us, then stared off into the dark. I heard breathing again. I simply shifted and gripped Poet9 tighter, still beating off thoughts that followed me like stray jackals. I was almost thankful when the sudden shriek of multiple turbines swelled to deafening. Another assault transport, a large Wraith, C class, flanked by gunships, plunged down at us.

Tam stood straight up and pointed. “Drop them.” and split seconds later, Balors hissed up twin threads of fire. The formation jumped apart. One round spiraled into a cluster of tinsel and heat; the other augered in and burst one of the Wraith’s engines.  The massive blocky profile hung in the air, then gyrated off-center faster and faster downward, until it hammered flat on the ground. Our charges blew and the ground shook like a wet dog.. We were up and moving even before the rubble settled. Behind us, gunships swarmed above the fallen carrier confused and spiteful. We ran until we couldn’t hear their furious buzzing any more.

Good? Bad? Ugly? Too much?