Though they had been strapped into their seats for less than an hour, the five associates in the passenger compartment behind him were already grumbling like new Melds who were convinced they had overpaid for bad work. Releasing himself from his restraints Volkmann’s second in command came forward, staggering as the floater pitched from side to side in the sand-shot slipstream. Dropping into the empty codriver’s seat he gripped the armrests firmly and squinted through the cockpit’s curving polycrylic windshield.
“How long we have to keep arguing with this bitch, Karl?”
Grim-faced, the squad leader kept his attention focused on the floater console’s instrumentation. He had no choice, because he couldn’t see a damn thing outside.
“If the last position the Triad’s satellite buy-in gave for them is accurate we should be just about on top of them.”
Rocking back and forth in his seat, Xiau grinned. “Hell, man, you set down on top of them and we won’t even have to shoot! We’ll just scrape ’em into a couple of body bags.”
Volksmann shook his head tersely. “Personally I wouldn’t have any problem squashing them, but we can’t do that. We might bust whatever it is we’re supposed to bring back.”
“Any idea what that is? Must be something big serious for the Yeoh to risk sending a full squad into the Sperrgebeit.”
“I don’t have a glueclue, and you know better than to ask. You know the instructions. Bring them out alive if possible, dead if not, along with everything in their immediate vicinity that’s not native, down to and including any bodily excretions.” He made a rude sound. “But you’re right about one thing: must be big serious.”
A powerful gust caught the floater and slewed it to port. Volksmann cursed under his breath as he fought with the controls. Commentary of an equally colorful nature rose from the men and women seated in back.
One of the dash readouts spoke up, pleasant but insistent. The floater’s driver growled.
“What’s wrong?” Untrained to interpret the floater’s sputtering commentary, Xiau had to rely on his boss for an explanation.
“Sand’s getting through the filters. We don’t have any choice now. We’re going to have to set down, wait for the storm to let up, and do a manual clean-out. Forecasting can’t predict for sure when this will stop.” Volksmann glanced at another readout. “We’re close—real close. Even with the delay we should be right on our target and up and out of here before morning. Back in good ol’ Alex Bay before sunrise. That’s all that matters. That and picking up the two meats.” He grunted. “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t hang around long enough to be visible in the ’Geit in the light.”
Xiau nodded understandingly. “Me and the others, we didn’t get a lot of jobbo detail. A twofold pickup and sitewipe is all we were told. Should we be looking for any trouble?”
Volksmann felt he had acquired sufficient control as the floater began to descend to spare a glance for his number two. “Targets are a street Meld, male, and a physician, female. The Zaniwars of Spring ’49 this ain’t.”
Leaning back in his seat Xiau rode the bucking floater as it hit the ground, bounced once, and finally came to rest between low scrub-covered dunes. A smattering of sarcastic applause punctuated by a few choice expletives sounded from the passenger area.
“Suits me. Nothing I like better than a soft objective that doesn’t fight back. Have to wonder what a lady doc is doing out here, though.” Gazing through the windshield, Xiau saw nothing.
As Volksmann shut the floater down the steady burr of the engine was replaced by a staccato rapping, as if the vehicle had come under simultaneous fire from a thousand pellet guns. Driven by the wind, sand spattered against the front and sides of the transport. While the flying grit was potent enough to flay skin, it did not penetrate the tough polycrylic windows or the composite body. Neither the storm nor the darkness intimidated Xiau. He had survived far more cogent and deadly attacks.
Relieved to be at rest, the remainder of the squad gratefully unbuckled themselves from their travel harnesses. Men and women whose noxious profession was not sanctioned by any legal body joked and swapped playful insults as they stretched and availed themselves of the transport’s supply of refreshments. Once outside and on the ground this promised to be an easy job. The fact that half a dozen of them had been contracted for the mission showed the importance the Triad placed on its successful conclusion. None of the six expressed the least doubt as to the outcome even as they wondered why so many of them were deemed necessary to carry it out.
Someone brought the tired Volksmann a hot cup of synthetic civet mocha, heavily sugared. It was a good team, he mused to himself as he drank. Once given the assignment he had brought them together himself. Better to overpay for additional competent help than leave anything to chance.
There had been no predicting the sandstorm, of course, but the rough conditions would result in only a momentary delay. In fact, if the last reading they had taken on the position of the targets was correct, he and his people could probably just step out of the floater and walk up to their quarry while they slept. For certain they would be bundled up and resting while they waited for the storm to subside. The last thing they would be expecting to encounter under such conditions was company. The scenario would play out precisely as Volksmann liked it.
No muss, no fuss. A quick in and quick out, long before their presence could be detected by roving searcher drones. SICK, Inc. security was excellent, but it was not omnipotent.
His attention was drawn to movement in the passenger compartment behind him. Relieved to be able to set aside their restraining, confining harnesses, the members of his team were standing, stretching, and joking about the storm.
“I don’t like it when there’s more ground in the air than underfoot,” muttered Chenwa. Long and lanky, he let his melded left arm twitch back and forth across the floor. Half tentacle and half whip, it could pop out an eye with a single snap.
Presenting the inoffensive appearance of a French grandmother, the diminutive elderly woman standing next to him and joining him in gazing out one of the floater’s windows was neither. Her name was Isgard Fleurine, she was in her late twenties, and she had chosen to undergo the maniped old age meld out of pure professionalism. No one expected a grandmother to be able to scale sheer walls with her bare hands—or throttle a fully-grown Natural. Volksmann knew she was quite capable of that and more.
The remainder of his people were an equally eclectic mix of Naturals and Melds. Each one brought different strengths to the team. With luck no exertions out of the ordinary would be required. With luck he ought to be able to carry out the mission all by himself. It had been given to him because he always fulfilled whatever task the Triad assigned to him. Experience had made him a firm believer in backup. As far as Meyer Volksmann was concerned there was no such thing as overkill.
“I need some air.” The speaker was a partial Meld named Hideki. With his thick glasses (he had stubbornly refused the melds that would have rendered them unnecessary) and short, squat stature he looked like an accountant or pharmacist. In other words, plainly harmless. In his career, harmless Hideki had killed more people than most who opted for employment in certain stressful professions. He glanced questioningly toward his boss.
Volksmann was no barking martinet. You couldn’t be and still maintain control of so many edgy personalities. “If you want to stick your ass out in this, Hiro, go ahead. Just don’t go far.” He checked a readout. “It’s still hours until sunup and I don’t want to lose anybody. We’re very close to target. When this verdammt storm stops I intend to conclude the mission as quickly as possible and get the hell out of here.” He did not blink as he met individual stares. “Anyone not back on board at that time is welcome to try walking out.”
Hideki bulged his eyes and fluttered his fingers. “Oooo—I’m all shaky-scared!” A couple of his companions laughed. Fleurine giggled.
Volksmann ignored them. Though this was regarded as a f
airly simple, straightforward mission, a degree of tautness still ran through every one of the participants. Not from concern over their innocuous targets but because a chance encounter with feared SICK security was a real and far more serious concern.
In the end only Xiau joined the voluble Hideki in stepping outside. As they emerged, both turned their faces away from the howling wind. Blowing sand peppered their exposed necks. The smaller man straightened his glasses, whose special lenses were wirelessly seamed to his own optic nerves, stretched, and took a deep breath.
“Ahh … fresh air!”
Xiau did not inhale deeply. “It’s good to be out of that slay locker, but fresh?” He wiped steadily accumulating grit from the back of his neck, above the collar. “You could plant this stuff.”
Hideki smirked at his colleague. “You have no appreciation for Nature’s wonders.”
“Maybe if I had a baleen nostril meld like you I could appreciate it more. Your throat and sinuses are gunk-protected. And since when did you develop an appreciation for Nature?”
“It has always been a part of me.” The internal optics balanced on his nose flexed suddenly, reporting movement that was not wind-borne. Tensing, he turned in the relevant direction. As soon as his glasses allowed him to identify the source of the unexpected motion he relaxed. “Here, I’ll prove it to you.”
Preternatural reflexes that were a combination of biosurge-enhanced muscles acting in concert with his lenses allowed him to pull his sidearm, raise it, aim and fire all in one continuous motion. Despite his own perceptive skills Xiau was barely able to track the blur that was his colleague’s gun arm. On a ridge among the scrub, something unseen squealed in pain. Straining to penetrate the storm, Xiau saw nothing and said as much.
“What the hell are you shooting at?” He cast an uncomfortable glance in the direction of the floater. “Volksmann will be pissed.”
“Aw, levity a little, will you. Ever seen one of these?” Hideki held up his pistol for his associate to admire. Fully chromed, it glistened in the light shining out through the floater’s windows. “The shells are tapered penetrators, make hardly any noise, and there’s no muzzle flash.” He gestured with the collapsible barrel. “It’s not like we’ve got an audience. Our target isn’t going anywhere and a company searcher would have to be perched on your head to notice anything.”
Shielding his eyes, Xiau continued to peer in the direction of the low ridge. Brush fringed it like a Huli’s hair. “I still don’t see what you were shooting at.”
“That’s because I shot it, wallet-head.” Suddenly he pointed. “Hey, there’s another! See it there, popping up and down?” Raising his weapon he took aim for a second time. “This is like an antique shooting gallery. Very obliging of the local fauna to supply a means for alleviating our boredom. Mine, anyway.”
Sure enough, a second shot produced a second scream. This time Xiau, his attention focused in the right direction, clearly saw something small and slender disappear as the burst from his colleague’s gleaming weapon struck home.
“Nice shot. Wonder what it was?”
Hideki shrugged, hoping another play-target would present itself. Disappointingly, the ridge remained clear. He finally holstered his pistol.
“No idea. Looked kind of like a big rat.” He pushed his glasses a little farther back on his nose and the internal optics immediately realigned themselves. A short flick of pain behind his eyes indicated that the momentarily interrupted contact had been reestablished between the technology on his nose and the nerves in his head. He no longer even noticed the occasional discomfort. “I guess the other rats got the message.” He sounded disappointed. “This little outing is making me hungry. I could do with an ability bar before we go to work.”
Xiau nodded, the two small deaths his companion had inflicted already forgotten. “From what Volksmann says, the whole thing should only take a few minutes. Seems like a waste of money, six of us for this.”
Hideki nodded toward the floater. “Yeah. I imagine Volksmann just needed one backup. Everyone else is dead-weight.”
“Including me?” Through the darkness and blowing sand Xiau eyed the other man sharply.
“Especially you. You’re just a paid kiss-ass anyway.”
“Ah, but a very well paid kiss-ass. Be careful my kiss-ass doesn’t suggest cutting your subsist.”
“That wouldn’t be a … son of a bitch!”
Expecting to locate the source of the sudden excruciating pain, Hideki looked down at himself as both hands plunged toward his lower body. The foot-long length of sharpened and polished bone that had been rammed into his groin was shocking in its whiteness.
Even more shocking was the presence of several giant rats clinging to the end of it.
As he drew his own sidearm it struck a stunned Xiau that the creatures were not rats. Even cloaked in darkness and partially obscured by the horizontally whipping sand it was evident they were something completely different. They were, he quickly decided, clones of the small shape that the seriously wounded Hideki had casually blasted from the top of the scrub-covered ridge. They were also clearly hostile, unexpectedly treacherous, and needed to be dealt with swiftly. Next to him Hideki had dropped to the sand and was still clutching at himself. Blood poured from between his fingers and he was screaming like a baby.
Experience and highly trained reflexes came into play as Xiau took aim at the nearest of the murderous creatures. He would kill all of them and see them served to poor Hideki on a platter, skewered and well seasoned. But despite his skill with a gun he was having trouble drawing a bead on any of the little assailants. The damn things moved like little cheetahs. Not in a straight line, either. They zigged and zagged unpredictably, scampering about like small soldiers who had been taught how to keep themselves from being targeted. One bullet and then a second tore into the sand and soil, sending gouts of grit vomiting into the air that the wind whipped away as rapidly as they rose.
A voice sounded from the floater as the door opened and a figure appeared in the opening.
“What the shinobi is going on out there?”
Something hit Xiau in the left thigh. Wincing at the sudden sting but not daring to look away from where his weapon was tracking, he started backing toward the floater as fast as he could, sweeping the darkness with the muzzle of the gun he now held tightly in both hands. A second thumping pain struck his leg, just above its predecessor. Compelled to look down, trying to peer through the whipping sand, a glint of metal caught his eye. The two pieces of salvage that had been thrust into his flesh had been beaten and pounded with rocks into a pair of crude knife points. Spreading stains surrounded the wounds. Somewhere in the distance Hideki’s screams had given way to moaning sobs that were barely audible above the steady roar of the storm. Xiau turned toward the floater and yelled.
“I’m hurt! Hideki’s down! I need help!” Professional that he was, Volksmann’s second in command fought through the pain as he half limped, half dragged himself toward the transport. As he drew near he was relieved to see that a couple of his colleagues had piled out and were hurrying toward him, weapons drawn.
His relief was short-lived. With a mixture of disbelief and horror he watched as the man and woman who were running to his aid went down. Held tight by multiple tiny hands, the wire that tripped them in the darkness and blowing sand was nearly invisible. Like the two chunks of crudely reworked sharpened metal sticking out of Xiau’s left leg, the wire had been salvaged from one of the innumerable wrecks that littered the southern Namib.
Gun in hand, the woman rolled over and got off one shot into the night before she was swarmed by several dozen furry shapes. At the same time, her companion was being assaulted by what appeared to be giant muscular mice. Trying to blink sand away from his eyes, Xiau looked on aghast.
Some of the attackers wielded small knives and spears. Others stood off at a distance and puffed on one end of what looked like wooden straws. Each time one of the spine-darts they fired stru
ck the downed assassin she twitched. Unable to use her pistol at such close quarters, she set it aside and began striking and pulling at the chittering creatures that covered her body. But as fast as she could break a neck or throw one aside, others took their place. Meanwhile a handful of the attacking animals dashed in and, before she could react, picked up her sidearm and carried it off.
Her larger male companion was having better luck. Having managed to struggle to his knees despite the swarm of biting, stabbing assailants clinging to his back and flanks, he was firing his napistol into the night. Packed with highly compressed napalm, each shell produced a geyser of orange flame where it struck. Small flaming shapes raced in all directions while the wind swept the acrid stink of burning fur and flesh through the air.
Sinking their teeth into his right ear and wrenching back, two of the attackers tore it away from his head.
Shrieking in anguish he rose and flailed madly at the side of his skull. Clinging to his wrist, another of the little monsters attacked the hand holding the wildly waving napistol and bit down hard on the trigger finger. Incredibly sharp teeth punched all the way to the bone. Instead of letting go of the gun, the man’s finger contracted reflexively and the weapon fired again. Unfortunately for its pain-crazed owner, the muzzle was pointing up and at him as his body reacted. The shell entered his open mouth and detonated. Opening like the petals of a red flower, a ball of expanding flame replaced his head.
Chenwa appeared in the floater’s doorway firing a pistol with one hand and snapping his maniped whip. The latter cut one meerkat on the ground in half as two others standing atop the dome of the parked transport dropped a third of their number onto the assassin below. Holding a foot-long porcupine quill tightly in its front paws, the plunging meerkat drove it straight through Chenwa’s right eye. His lower jaw dropped along with his gun, the deadly whip-limb went limp, and the contract killer slowly toppled forward onto the sand.