SG: Aurora #45 - Above and Beyond (Part Three of Nine)

Frobozz frobozz at eyrie.org
Sat May 27 17:31:32 PDT 2006


CONTINUED FROM PART TWO

    "Elevator ho," sang out one of Doug's Irregulars, watching as a
readout above the elevator shaft he was watching indicated a car was
moving downwards, very fast.
    "I knew an el'vator ho once," commented Doug wistfully, staring at
the ceiling. "Sh'had a heart o'gold, an' was real cute when she
complained 'bout the cramped workin' conditions..."
    "There's an elevator moving downwards, sir," the Irregular corrected
himself as he held back a sigh. "Whether or not there are women of easy
virtue on-board is in doubt."
    "We've got another one here!" exclaimed another of the Irregulars,
grinning as the shaft he was watching lit up.
    "Wha'," asked Doug. "'nother woman of easy virtue? Woo, our enemies
sure know howta party, don' they?"
    "We've got a third one going down!" said the third Irregular,
ignoring his leader while the first clapped his hand over Doug's mouth
to prevent the obligatory misunderstanding that he knew was to follow.
    "They're deploying their troops down to 444," the first Irregular
explained with what felt like infinite patience. "Sir," he added as an
afterhought. It was so hard to remember to call Doug sir. "Understand?"
    Doug nodded quickly. The Irregular removed his hand and wiped it
against the nearest wall, making a note to have it seared in fire later.
    "We figgured... what, two loads'd do it?" Doug asked, picking up a
small grey object from its position at his feet.
    "Yes sir," replied one of the Irregulars. "Two loads are what old man
Peterson thinks we can risk."
    "Got'cha," replied Doug, slapping one of his scrounged demo packs
against the shaft. "Whatta shame we're gon' blow up these nice, shiny
el'vators. I kinda liked 'em. 'specially th'music."
    "That's mussak," said the third irregular, slapping his pack against
another shaft. "It's related to music in the same way that processed
cheese is related to a cow: not even a little bit."
    "Except in texture," replied the first, applying the last pack.
"Licking processed cheese tastes just like licking a live cow. And both
are about as pleasant as listening to mussak."
    "I don't want to know how you found that out," said the second as he
rushed for cover. "And I sure hope you didn't have a cow doing it."
    "Very funny," replied the first, likewise darting behind cover. "I
grew up on a farm. Kids do things. Weird things. Cow-licking things."
    "No wonder country boys are so damned messed up," answered the third.
"Give me the apshalt jungle any day."
    "Shuttit!" yelled Doug, taking cover. "No chatter! Got't? Blow, then
run."
    "Yes sir!"
    "Sides," said Doug, narrowing his eyes. "I kinda like th' mussack
version o' 'Oh Mandy'."
    "Sir, the muzzack version sounds nothing -like- 'Oh Mandy'."
    "'zzactly. And... tha's two loads o'elevator, goni' straight down."
    "Order, sir?"
    "Blow it up good, soldier!"
    "With pleasure, sir!"

***

    Trooper Andrews cocked her head at a distant booming sound. She and
her troops had been dropped here by Peterson to wait for just that
signal. Andrews grinned, having gotten very tired of all this waiting
around.
    "That's the sound of Doug, showing the world his boomstick!" she
yelled out. "That juicy intel DeVrai captured says that the baddies're
doing C&C one level up, so you'd better -believe- they've got this one
manned. We're in luck, men and women... it's open-season on assholes! So
let's catch our quota for Aurora and for the Old Man!"
    Andrews' squadron set up a cheer and moved into ready position. She
led them forward, into the corridors beyond the stairwell where they'd
parked themselves to wait while Doug and his men mined the elevators.
They'd scrupulously avoided commo traffic to minimize all risk of
detection, and fortunately that precaution seemed to have paid off. Even
more fortunately, the need to run silent was about to go away, letting
her treat her troops to a little well-deserved action. They'd seen
plenty of combat on this trip, but this time it was different. This
time, finally, they were actually on the offensive and that made all the
difference in the world.
    "Contact ahead, ma'am," reported one of Andrews' scouts. "Small
patrol... they're h'ors d'ouvres for us."
    "They'll do," replied Andrews, grinning savagely. "We'll shoot 'em
up, and if they're smart they'll put their hands in the air." But first,
she ammended silently, they need to get off a message to C&C. The plan
wouldn't be worth squat if the brains of this outfit didn't start to
panic that they were just one floor away from a squadron of angry,
vengeful Auroreans who were damned glad of a chance to take back their
home. "Gentlemen and ladies... advance and make those godforsaken
bastards sorry they made us their special friends!"

***

    "Sir!" yelled someone, rather rudely shattering Clarisse's
concentration. She turned to scowl at the offending technician but got
ahold of herself just in time. Oops, if someone was screaming like
-that- then the odds were good something was dreadfully wrong. Even more
wrong than being jolted out of a good hyperfocus, which meant that
things had to be absolutely aft gangly. She perked up to listen to what
had gone awry this time, hoping it wasn't anything that couldn't be
fixed through the judicious application of thought.
    "Report," snapped their leader, spinning around to face the speaker.
    "Contact has been made with the enemy..."
    "I'm assuming you're not shouting because our troops made contact on
four-four-four, yes?"
    "No sir. I mean yes sir! We have combat going on... ah... "
    "Please. Out with it. The sooner we know..."
    "One level down, sir."
    Clarisse blanched and waited for the explosion. Everyone in Command
held their breath. To their collective surprise, their leader simply
shrugged and chuckled.
    "Well played then, Peterson," she murmured, lightly rubbing her chin.
"I tried to guess what he was doing, and I guessed wrong. All right.
Give the order... recall those troops that we sent down. We're going to
need them up here to mop up the intruders. Let's assume that they know
where we are -- I'm of the opinion that they couldn't possibly have an
exact fix on where we set up command, but it's better not to take
chances; and bring them up here to protect us. I'm afraid our troops on
four-four-four are going to have to hang on for just a bit longer
without relief."
    "Yes sir," replied the technician, murmuring orders into his
microphone. Clarisse relaxed and went back to her work, smiling to
herself. Yes, the situation was bad; but it was still far from being
disasterous. They had control of the elevators and as long as they had
that, they could position troops with impunity. It might take a few
minutes to express them from place to place, but with the Auroreans
restricted to taking the stairs there was very little worry about them
outmanoeuvreing the leader's troops.
    Clarisse's happy glow started to fade a few minutes later as she
realised that the yeller had started to look a bit antsy. She tensed and
waited for more bad news. It was not long in coming.
    "Uhm..." he began, then forged ahead. "Three of the six elevator
shafts near to the embarkment zone are non-operational! They've reached
the level below ours and just... stopped."
    "You are -kidding- me," sighed their glorious leader, pressing the
heels of her hands against her temples. "At a guess, the three we have
operational are all on one side?"
    "Yes sir..."
    "Wonderful. So when our three carloads emerge on that level, our
enemies know both where all their enemies will be and that they can't
easily be pinchered. They've also bought time for their friends down on
four-four-four to overrun us." She sighed. "Send the troops that can't
rise up higher back down to reinforce our troops. Gather every unit we
have on this level and any nearby here, immediately. I don't like
putting up a neon sign showing exactly where we are, but we're going to
need to immediately squash anyone infiltrating this level." Their leader
paused in thought, then drew a small piece of parchment from a pocket.
"Myself, I need to call in a marker. I do -not- intend to leave our men
uncovered."
    Clarisse watched, dumbfounded as her leader worked at the piece of
paper. She shivered as it was fully unfolded; something about that
parchment made the technician's blood run cold, and made her wonder
whether she'd ever feel joy again A fast glance around the room showed
that she wasn't the only one to feel this way. Whatever it was that the
leader held, Clarissa hoped that its price was not too heavy to pay...

***

    "Clark!"
    "Yo," replied Clark, as DeVrai's voice came over the commo net. He
ducked down behind cover again so that he could focus on the
conversation while war raged around him. "What've you got for me?"
    "The reinforcements are confused. They're in and out. Elevators came
down and went back up."
    "Nice when a plan actually works, isn't it? Ready to make the
coordinated push and mess up everyone left behind?"
    "I'm with you. On three?"
    "Two's faster."
    "Roger."
    Clark grinned faintly to himself and toggled the all-call frequency
that they'd chosen for this battle. This part of the plan was risky but
potentially rewarding: if reinforcements arrived, which they had, then
they would possibly be called back up once the command levels were
attacked. That had worked out just fine. Since there'd been barely
enough time for the first two loads of troopers to get off the elevators
before the recall came, most of the troops would still be gathered in
that area. Since none of the relief who -had- disembarked had had much
chance to advance to a support position, Clark and DeVrai hadn't taken
much fire from the reinforcements who had arrived.
    "One. Two."
    Clark's forces rose and began to rain the last of their firepower on
the opposing force, switching from a cautious fire doctrine to one that
was closer to pure offense. DeVrai's forces moved to adopt a similar
firing posture save for three scout units who paused to send a signal
over a pre-arranged frequency.
    The enemy controled the Beanstalk, but in many ways it was still new
territory to them. Aurora knew the lay of the land and were quite
prepared to use that knowledge in every way that it could. Clark,
Peterson and DeVrai had worked out which elevators would most likely be
used to get troops into the thick of the battle as quickly as possible
from the upper levels, gambling that the enemy would be logical in its
movements. The gamble had paid off in spades and had made the sacrifice
of a full seventy percent of DeVrai's squadron's missiles suddenly worth
the cost.
    The signal was received. A jerry-rigged detonation device flared into
life and dispassionately informed those missiles -- hidden in vents and
crawl-ways near to those elevators -- that it was time to die.
    With a mighty explosion, the warheads all committed pre-planned
suicide, bringing down what walls and ceiling still standing onto the
elevators and their surrounding environs.
    Most of the reinforcements were trapped or thrown about like
rag-dolls by the multiple explosions. Those few who had escaped
shrapnel, debris and explosion were knocked for a loop and left stunned
by the tender mercies of percussive force. The unexpected violence of
the explosion and structural collapse surprised the Borealleans with
whom Clark and DeVrai were presently engaged, leaving them momentarily
vulnerable to the all-out attack.
    Clark had run out of rounds long before this phase of the plan, but
somehow his and DeVrai's squadrons mustered enough firepower to bring
down the troops that they were facing. Clark breathed a sigh of relief
when the enemy commander signaled his surrender and ordered his units to
throw down their arms. The enemy's back had been broken by the sudden
destruction of their reinforcements, and both sides were willing to end
their loss of life rather than fight to the bitter end.
    "Thank Elvis," Clark muttered over the commo-net. "All right ladies
and gents, let's start collecting weapons and disarming our guests.
Strip as much ammo as you can; we're way too low for comfor--"
    His speech was interrupted by the sound of metal being smashed from
above. For a moment Clark wondered if one missile had detonated late.
Then a shape dropped down from above and landed with a heavy thud in the
midst of Clark's troops. The fallen unknkown wore a red/black outfit on
its body and cruel, twisted hatred naked on his face. The newcomer
seemed completely unharmed by his fall from above, and that was no small
feat as he had fallen at least four levels to land amongst them.
    "What the Hell(tm)?" Clark began as he tried to process the sight.
Reflexively he lifted his useless rifle. Gladiator looked his way, and
for a moment Clark felt true terror turn his bowels to water as a hatred
of mankind that glowed hotter than the sun was focused in its entirety
upon him.
    "We have trouble," Clark whispered into his commo, alerting DeVrai.
"We--"
    Gladiator moved at a blinding speed towards the trooper nearest
Clark, a fist slamming into man's armour. Hand met metal and metal gave
way with barely a protest. The demon's fist pushed onwards through the
trooper's armour, stomach and then out the other end again.
    Everyone - friend and enemy alike - stared in shocked silence at the
sudden brutal display. Then, with a contemptuous flick Gladiator
withdrew his fist from the dead man's chest and glanced towards the next
nearest trooper.
    Clark screamed out a withdrawl order. DeVrai did the same. Gladiator
moved at speed towards his target.
    The killing on level four-four-four began again. Only this time, it
was Aurora that would be doing the dying.

***

    They worked in silence because there were no more words to be said.
Xenophon had brought BARD back from the dead to help him, and here he
was, helping. Of course the computer intelligence was also angry and
resentful at how he had been used, killed and left for dead until just
now, but Xenophon hadn't expected to be received back with open arms.
He'd known that there would be some friction, but as long as the two of
them worked to save the only home he had, Xenophon would be happy with
the outcome. So why did it hurt so damned much whenever BARD went after
him with a barbed tongue and jagged words? It was fortunate then that
there was work to enforce the truce of silence. Xenophon didn't like
feeling as vulnerable as he did.
    Not that it would matter for too much longer. Ironic really; Xenophon
had recalled BARD to life only for the two of them to die together.
There was something altogether gothic about the this turn of events,
especially as death's sting seemed to be missing at the moment. Xenophon
banished that train of thought; he was getting mopish and sullen and
that did -not- befit an intelligent being facing his last few minutes of
life. He intended to face his end with dignity and honour, not
metaphorical white makeup, black clothing and bad poetry.
    Combat was a reflex by this point; living so long under the gun,
Xenophon had adopted a philosophy of striking immediately and then
dropping back to evaluate what it was that had been struck. So when a
new presence made itself known in the small node in which he and BARD
were working, Xenophon's first instinct was to lash out and try to make
it dead before it could do whatever it had intended here to make -him-
dead. After all, the only things in this realm were himself, BARD, far
too many hunter-killer programs and...
    BARD was too startled by the speed of his creator's attack to do more
than observe. The intruder reacted marginally more quickly, but with the
element of surprise on his side, Xenophon's attack would have struck
home had he not aborted its execution at the last jiffy as he realised
who it was who had entered the node.
    Doyle hesitated for several cycles as back in the physical world as
his body took several deep breaths in response to a very sudden, and
-very- strong fight-or-flight response. After a few moments for his
virtual presence to recover its composure (and before his physical had
had the chance to finish its first inhalation), Doyle smiled a twisted
smile.
    "I only just escaped from that sort of thing," said Doyle, with
forced humour. "I'm not all that anxious to come here for seconds."
    "Art?" began BARD, as he recovered from the shock of recognition that
had followed the shock of the attack. "Izzat you?"
    "It's me, Will," answered Doyle, simulating an embrace that was real
to them both. "Damn but it's good to see you back again..."
    "Tanks," repled BARD, looking and sounding a little embarassed by the
sentiment. "No t'anks to da present comp'ny, but still it's good ta see
youze again too. Wait... wait, wait... weren't youze supposed'ta be
locked up an' stuff?" BARD turned his attention to Xenophon, accusingly.
"Were you lyin' 'bout -that-?"
    "No Will, he wasn't," said Doyle, all traces of warmth vanishing from
his voice. "It's a long story. I've been behind enemy lines and I took a
beating there. I'm potentially compromised and if the other side manages
to get their hands on me they have a way to make me dance to their
tune."
    "I..." BARD began to speak, then fell silent in guilty contemplation.
He shook his head, pressing on. "We wuz gonna kill youze, Art.
Plain'n'simple, we wuz gonna wipe the whole 'puter here. S'still da
plan, but we could find youze a place ta hide. I tink..."
    "Won't be necessary," replied Doyle, then waved away the next
question. "Don't ask, and no, I don't intend to commit suicide. The
thing of it is, I don't intend to let either of you do so either."
    "Da systems, Art..."
    Xenophon broke in for the first time, keeping his virtual tone level.
"BARD is right, Arthur. They've released a massive wave of HKs into the
system. We've tried to fight a guerilla war against them but they have
propogation on their side. They're going to attain control of shielding
-and- they've now got dimensional systems. If we don't wipe everything
right now, they'll have everything. Once they do..."
    "They won't," replied Doyle. "I promise. We're not letting these...
people swarm onto our world. But I don't intend for any of us to die
keeping the barbarians at the gate."
    "What are you proposing then, Art? We don't have a way through the
HKs. They'll tear us to pieces if we so much as poke our noses outside
this node for a peek. And our veil isn't going to last too much longer.
Once they figure out that we've drawn a shadow across this area of
memory they -are- going to investigate. That's the moment when we die."
    "I know," replied Doyle. "I realise... but there may be a way."
    "I'm all ears," replied BARD, focusing on Doyle and blocking out
Xenophon. "What've ya gots?"
    "I said that I was compromised. I wasn't lying. As far as our
honourable opposition is concerned, I've been broken and turned." Doyle
took a moment before continuing. "It was only... a friend's wish that
put me in a position to sort out my own mind. But the damage is still
there. I -could- be a friendly unit to the HKs out there..."
    "You can cammo?"
    "No. But I could hand off to you my memories of our plan and erase
them from myself. Then I could turn my colours, take you both
prisoner..."
    "And then?"
    "And then, once we get to where we're trying to go... you're going to
have to either punch a signal through to my compatriot out in the
tangible world or, if you can't manage that, you're going to need to
take me down. Because I'm -not- going to be myself for the duration."
    "Art..."
    "It's the only way, Will. Besides, two on one?" Doyle forced another
smile. "I don't have a chance. I'm sure the both of you can find a way
to bring me down without killing me... and I'm positive you can make
sure I come back to sanity once you're done. That's even assuming my
'real-world' plan falls through, which it might not."
    "Fine," said Xenophon. "It certainly sounds like more of a chance
that we had before. When do we start?"
    "Soon," replied Doyle, considering. "I know enough of the computer
system to help your shadow node stay hidden a while longer. I'm going to
try to coordinate with what Peterson's doing in the other world. I'll be
back shortly... well, their shortly. I'm afraid it might seem like a
long time in here."
    "Arthur, the systems..."
    "I know. I know. But there are some surprises that they'll have to
get past before they can take down the shield. When you have a security
system in place, you -do- tend to beef it up in your off moments..."
    "So it might hold a little longer?"
    "Yes. Just a little. But hopefully enough. If we can time our attack
at the same time Aurora's timing theirs, our invaders won't have a lot
of attention to spare for us. We -might- be able to take back control of
the systems and once we do that, we've as good as won. The problem's
been that they've had run of our home for too long. So let's stack the
deck against -them- for a change. Agreed?"
    "'greed," replied BARD with a firm nod. Xenophon signaled his
assesnt.
    "Good," said Doyle. "Now let's see about your defenses..."
    But sometimes defense is something erected too little, too late.
Though the bolthole had held this long, it could hold no longer. BARD
was the first to notice and he flashed out a warning to the rest.
    "We're bein' breached!" he transmitted, weaving defensive code as
quickly as he could. Xenophon and Doyle joined in on the effort, but the
Boreallean dreadnaught virus had been kept at bay more through security
by obscurity than any sort of raw strength of shield. They did what they
could to hold it back, but the virus was simply too powerful to resist.
It tore into the bolthole with neither mercy nor hesitation, smashing
through defense and computer personality as it began to destroy
everything it found within...

***

CONTINUED IN PART FOUR

---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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