Aphrodites tears, p.26
Aphrodite's Tears, page 26
“Same to you, pal,” Hardesty let his affected corporate demeanor slip, and the jaded Venusian laborer came through as he killed the connection. “Fuck you,” he added as an unheard afterthought.
He leaned back in his chair, a maelstrom of emotions warring in his head. Betraying Craddock had been easy when all he was doing was taking bribes from OmniCorp. When he began to actively work with the enemy to weaken the union and mislead the Red Hats, he had felt a few pangs of guilt. Nothing too acute, just a sort of nagging shame that was easily stifled by expensive whores, exotic booze, and a lavish lifestyle.
But tonight he had called for the murder of his oldest friend, and that actually hurt. The pain was competing with elation, though. Soon he would be free of Venus and its orange sky and blistering heat. He would be free of the oppression, the politics, the demagoguery and the fighting, too. He had given up of freeing the domes, and now he just wanted to free himself. Abandoning the cause had been easy. Betraying his friend had been hard. He would get over it. In just a few short days, none of it would matter anyway.
Sully would replace Craddock, further weakening the Red Hats. Sully was a good man, but a flaccid leader. Without a strong union, the Red Hats under Sully would fragment into tiny cells of fanatics, good only for the occasional bombing or assassination. A strong union might have propped him up, but Hardesty had ensured the union would fall apart when he resigned. With the help of OmniCorp, he had systematically weakened the union leadership to the point that the whole group was run by a collection of rabid morons. Volatile personalities and terminally incompetent people had been moved into key roles over the years. The carefully crafted combination of patsies ensured the whole group would collapse under even minute pressure as soon as Hardesty was not there to manage them. A couple of OmniCorp agents filled those ranks as well, prepared to stir up chaos at just the right moment.
It was a good plan, years in the making. Yet because he had needed the insurance of potential blackmail, it was also all spelled out in black and white in those stolen data files. There were names, dates, and personnel dossiers in there. The data contained timetables, secret communiques, diagrams, meeting notes, and long lists of payouts. It was a devastating wealth of incriminating details, all sitting in electronic black and white just waiting for someone to expose the whole thing. Everything was so dammed precarious at this juncture, and Hardesty had just lost control of a serious monkey wrench.
Oblivious to unseen eyes watching his every move, the spare man leaned further back in his plush office chair to close his eyes and exhale a huge sigh.
From his vantage point deep within the shadowed corners of the office, Killam Grimes tried to make sense of everything he had just heard. Infiltrating the penthouse had been child’s play for a senior Red Hat operative. He had all the necessary codes and passwords memorized. Hardesty had dismissed all his staff for the appointment with his hooker, so there was no one to sneak past by the time Grimes had returned to the scene. The assassin had quite simply taken the elevator straight to the penthouse, walked through the lobby, and slipped in quietly while Hardesty argued with Craddock.
It seemed to Grimes, now that he had arrived at this juncture, that this had always been coming. Before this instant, he could not have known it would be like this. Now that he was here and fully involved in the reality of the present, it should have been obvious. The contradictions created by the knowledge he now possessed threatened to break his sanity. He had come here to confront his doubts, to purge the poison and restore his resolve. Despite those efforts, the man trembling in the shadows now felt less resolved than ever. He had been taught from birth that doubt was weakness, yet it was doubt that had brought him here. Doubt had given him the truth.
Truth made a person strong. He had been taught that as well. The little lies people told themselves bred weakness and sloth. A man was fat because he ate too much and exercised too little, not because of the nefarious actions of food producers. People were ignorant because they did not study, not because the system held them back. A young Balisong was allowed no lies, and so they grew strong.
Mastering all the emotions clamoring around in his head took herculean effort, but logic prevailed in the killer’s mind and the sequence of conclusions was undeniable. The woman had given him doubt. Doubt had brought him to the truth. The truth made him strong.
His teachers had been wrong. Doubt was not poison. Hardesty was. One greedy man had exploited the unwavering nature of their dedication for his own ends. Doubt might have stopped this from happening, had he just been willing to entertain it.
The woman had been right all along. Grimes was a zealot, and this had made him weak.
Whether or not he was still a zealot, Grimes could not say. What he knew for sure was that two teams of his brothers had died for that man’s lies and his greed. Countless more would suffer under the bootheels of corporate oppressors and their fascist governmental lapdogs if Grimes did not put a stop to it.
Like oozing ink, the assassin detached from the shadows and slid behind the reclining Hardesty. For a minute, he simply looked down on the man’s face as it lay in repose, eyes closed and chest rising and falling while he caught his breath. Killam Grimes tried to imagine what thoughts might be filling that head at this very moment. Was Hardesty happy? Was he afraid? Confident? Smug?
The killer had no concept of what made a man like Hardesty tick, and he abandoned speculating when the lean man’s eyes fluttered open. Those eyes widened at the sight of the feared assassin standing over his seat, and the precariously leaning chair toppled over backwards when he jumped in surprise.
“Dammit, Grimes!” Hardesty grumbled. “What the hell are you doing here?” The injured shoulder made Hardesty slow to rise. Killam’s boot across his jaw sent him crashing back to the floor when he had nearly succeeded in doing so.
When it came time to kill, Killam Grimes knew better than to hesitate. He had no speeches to give, and no desire to hear what Hardesty had to say. Part of Grimes acknowledged that he was not as detached from his emotions as he could have been. Killing a man like Hardesty should have been a very quick and clean process for a true professional.
In this case, it was neither.
Chapter Thirty
Lucia’s ears were ringing.
The grenade had not been a large one, but the blast was deafening all the same. Roland appeared none the worse for wear, and she was glad for this. The look of concern on his face told her she should probably reassure him that she, too, was fine.
“I’m all right, Roland.” Her own voice sounded tinny and distant.
“You sure?” He asked the question as if she was incapable of determining her own condition.
She dismissed him with a scowl, and barked, “Yes! It was just loud. Now let’s get back to Mindy and Manny. Hardesty, Craddock, and OmniCorp are about to come down hard now that the hot potato is in play.”
Roland grunted his agreement and pinged Mindy and Manny on their comm channel.
“I’ve got her, team. She’s okay. We need to bug out fast and hard. Hit rally point bravo and stay low. All players are in the game now. Shit’s about to get kinetic.”
“Roger, Breach,” Mindy’s voice came through, sounding very relieved. “RP bravo, copy. Running silent. See you there.”
Roland’s jacket and shirt had been ruined by the grenade, and this meant moving inconspicuously was going to be a problem. Fortunately, Roland’s bulk and the noise from the nightclub above them had been sufficient to muffle the sound of the grenade’s detonation. The big man stripped out of the rags covering his chest and dialed his skin as flat and dark as possible. The trick had worked often enough in the past. In bad lighting, this would look enough like a tight black shirt to prevent too much staring, though anyone who looked closely would find themselves very confused.
“Ready?” Lucia asked when he finished.
“Let’s go.”
They exited into the alley and made their way to the street. Roland’s handheld had not survived the blast, and his internal comm had no retinal display. He was forced to navigate from memory, which was a daunting task in the unfamiliar city. His military training proved to be his savior, and when he applied the basic orienteering skills every good soldier learned, he was able to get them moving in the correct direction.
The big cyborg kept a wary eye out for Killam Grimes. The canny assassin could be anywhere, and he had already proved to be highly resourceful. If Grimes wanted to take another swipe at Lucia, this entertainment sector held any number of convenient ambush locations for him to try. If he looked at it logically, he would have understood that this was unlikely. Grimes was far too outmatched to take them when they were wary. But threats to Lucia’s safety had a way of making Roland behave in a highly illogical manner. The part of him that understood tactics acknowledged that this was the weakness Grimes had been trying to exploit all along. If his intense desire to kill the man was not otherwise clouding his thoughts, he might have been impressed with that.
Meeting with the rest of the team went without incident. Manny checked the various security InfoNets to see who might be looking for them, and the results were predictable. No one was surprised to find that the spaceport was on high alert. Ground transport to the other domes was also looking for them. Pogo planes to The Colander were suspiciously quiet about the group, and this fooled absolutely no one.
“He wants us to go back to The Colander,” Manny sighed.
Roland agreed. “Obviously. His supporters are there. We’ll be waltzing right into Craddock’s stronghold.”
“What’s the plan, then?” Lucia asked.
“They won’t hit us in receiving. They’ll want to tail us until we get to somewhere more private. They run the whole damn place, so I don’t see how we can avoid that.”
“Should we call the RUC?” Lucia suggested. “They may be inclined to help us.”
Manny winced. “That could be a real disaster, Boss. Instead of a few guys trying to bring us down, we could end up with a full-scale riot if the RUC gets involved. Everyone in The Colander hates them. Even folks who don’t like the Red Hats.”
Lucia tried again. Her brain moved faster than anyone else’s. “What about Ellie? Can she help?”
Manny gave that some thought. “She could get us to the same freight haulers we came in on. She really doesn’t like Roland though.”
“Woman has taste, then,” Mindy quipped, unable to stop herself.
Roland ignored her. “Make the call, Manny. Tell her it’s the best way to get rid of me and she’ll probably jump at the chance.”
The call was placed. While reluctant to do so, Ellie agreed to help them. This came only after some spirited cajoling from Manny. The opportunity to get Roland off Venus did prove to be a significant motivator, surprising no one. They booked passage on the next pogo plane and loaded up for the trip. There was no effort made toward hiding their preparations, either. The trap being set for them was obvious and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Thinking they were going to slip through it was a waste of time and wasting time was not their style. The team recovered their equipment without incident and boarded their flight unmolested. The four-hour ride back to The Colander was a tense one, if uneventful. Knowing you were going to be attacked ahead of time did not make waiting for the moment any easier.
The group disembarked in steel-faced silence. All vestiges of subterfuge were discarded and the quartet that exited the landing station were conspicuous for their warlike appearance.
Lucia was wearing a full set of level II plates over a black bodysuit similar to Mindy’s, if not as technologically impressive. She had eschewed a full helmet, settling on a minimal tac visor equipped with a simple comms rig and tactical HUD. She lost some protection, but it kept her weight and bulk down while preserving her peripheral vision. Lucia wore her beloved CZ-105 pistol in a high thigh holster. This and her PC-10 gauntlets were her only offensive weapons. The loricated armored gloves lent an inhuman mechanical menace to her appearance that was only increased by her suit of laminated armor plates and the tense set of her jaw.
Manny preferred lighter armor. He wore a simple gray ballistic weave vest and an armored vambrace for his right arm. His left arm, being made of most of the same materials Roland was, needed no extra protection. He had the same model visor as Lucia, and his long hair was pulled back in a loose knot to keep it out of his face. His satchel rode across his back, filled with whatever nefarious devices the clever scout felt might be needed for a mad dash through hostile territory.
Mindy had her armored blue jumpsuit, and the various accoutrements of the assassin’s trade belted to her body. Her long Sasori dagger was strapped to her thigh, its pommel swaying just below the level of her waist. The suit was zipped tightly all the way to her throat, a clear indication to those who knew her that Mindy was all about business right now.
The three of them thus assembled would have caught attention under the best of circumstances. Even without Roland, their appearance and demeanor were very clearly broadcasting violent intentions. If any of the bleary-eyed Venusian laborers consigned to the dull existence of toiling under the Colander remained obtuse to the naked menace of the group striding across the reception area, the looming presence of Roland Tankowicz corrected any confusion.
Seven-and-a-half feet tall and wide as a car, the big cyborg had not bothered with tac harness or a visor. He wore plain black fatigues and a plain black shirt. He left his skin its default matte black color, and the brown leather stripes of Durendal’s holster was the only color visible below his neck. The denizens of The Colander had seen a lot of weird stuff, and though new and exciting, a big man with a big gun was not the craziest thing they would witness in their lives. What had folks gasping and scurrying away was the helmet.
Roland had no bionic sensory organs. If he wanted tactical displays, targeting assistance, internal damage reports, or any of the other bits of data that were germane to operating on the 25th-century battlefield, he needed to be wearing his helmet. The helmet came in three pieces. A gorget for his neck that cupped his chin, a black skull cap that connected to the back of the gorget to protect his head, and a silver-white faceplate in the shape of a stylized mouthless skull. When all three pieces were assembled, the effect was chilling. Against the ocean of black that was his skin and clothing, the bright death’s head seemed to be floating, a disembodied wraithlike messenger from death himself. In the dark inconsistent light of the battlefield, the grim skull’s face was often the only thing the enemy ever saw clearly. It was a look designed to terrify, and more often than not, it worked.
If the commotion in the receiving area was any indication, the effectiveness had not worn off over the years. In scant seconds, almost all foot traffic had cleared the formerly bustling area and the path through to security was laid bare for all to see. No exotic sensory technology was required for the first, most obvious, anomaly to present itself.
“RUC is missing,” Manny hissed. They all saw it, even from a hundred yards away. The security checkpoint was deserted, and Roland’s scans concurred that the checkpoint was clear of all biologicals. He looped the team’s visors into his scanner feed so they could see it, too. Manny said what they were all thinking. “That doesn’t make sense. There is no way the RUC would ever help the Hats. Especially against a guy like Roland.”
Lucia provided the answer. “OmniCorp is here. They have enough money and political heft to do this.”
“Makes sense,” Manny agreed.
“Look for the Kanos,” Roland advised. “Those are the corporate goons. Stahlkorpers and BobCats are Craddock’s. Remember their weak points.”
“The Kanos don’t have weak points,” Lucia reminded him.
“Leave those to me.”
It was eerie to walk through the abandoned security checkpoint. Scanners and kiosks sat empty and silent, mute witnesses to their passing. Beyond there, the concourse leading deep into the bowels of The Colander stretched before them. The wide spaces of receiving and security narrowed here, choking many lanes of foot traffic into one wide thoroughfare. Like most places under the dome, it was dim. What had been a minor nuisance before was now an ominous harbinger of impending danger. Roland hated choke points like this.
It was very close to receiving, and that made it an unlikely place for Craddock to jump them. Even with this understanding, something did not smell right.
“I’m on point, team. Mindy, you take sweep. Manny and Lucia watch the flanks. Give me sixty seconds to clear this hall.”
“Wait,” Manny called. “Set your scanners for passive sonics.”
“I can’t echolocate past forty or fifty feet, Manny.”
“You will in a minute.”
Roland was confused, but he knew better than to ask questions he was unlikely to understand the answers to. Manny knelt down and placed his palm against the metal floor. “I’m going to pulse for five seconds along a range from 25 kHz to about 400. Keep your gain in that range and you should get very good resolution... I think.” The last bit was a quiet afterthought.
“Roger.”
“Pulsing.”
The actual sound was well outside human auditory range. Mindy yelped, her bionic ears obviously not liking the hypersonic pulse. It was over in five seconds, and sure enough Roland’s HUD superimposed a detailed view of what lay beyond in ghostly pale relief over his view.
“Did it work?” Manny asked.
“Very well, actually,” Roland said. “We need to use that trick more often.”
“Fucking OW!” Mindy added. “That hurt!”
“Sorry,” the scout replied. “I didn’t know you could hear into that range.”
“Neither did I!”
“Eyes front, team,” Roland barked. “We are clear for the next hundred yards or so, but there is an open space at the end of this hallway that accesses a bunch of branching sections. There are moving bogeys in there. Shit, wait.” He stopped explaining and sent the map data over to their visors so they could see as well.
