Date: 2012-03-30 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fantasy; Fiction
Description: Tales of Cinnamon City is a Science fiction and fantasy series set in the rich, deep world of Megarothia. Information Cloud is the first novel in the series, mixing elements of military science fiction, adventure and hi-tech action with an epic tale that travels through a vast land. After the Iridium Wars, a cataclysmic event that killed the vast majority of Megarothia's human and animal populations, the planet has been left to ruin. Only Lord Hades, the Techno Prophet, foresaw this event and was able to save a few thousand survivors beneath a powerful structure that became known as the Dome S
Rights: Copyright 2004 - 2012 Peter James West

Information Cloud

Tales of Cinnamon City #1

Peter James West

Copyright © Peter James West 2012, 2016

Published by: Peter James West

ISBN: 978-0957219007

Ref: v067

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There is a full glossary of terms available here: Glossary

There is a full character list available here: Cast

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Copyright

Copyright Information Cloud, Tales of Cinnamon City © Peter James West 2012, 2016

Published by: Peter James West

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Cover artwork Copyright © Peter James West

Disclaimer

All characters in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, companies or organisations, living, dead, past or present is purely coincidental.

With Thanks

Many thanks to my wife, for her patience and support while I am lost in the long hours of fiction writing and editing.

A big thank you to Tony Chandler for helping me see the wood from the trees.

And a big thank you to you, the reader, and to all those amazing people who leave reviews and ratings on across the Internet.

Keep spreading the good word!

Prologue

Megarothia orbited the star of Durittus. Sapphire oceans surrounded rich green continents while swirling white clouds danced across the thick, oxygen-rich atmosphere.

When the first star ship arrived humans quickly colonised the surface. They built towns and cities, and developed a strong society based on preordained laws that they had brought with them. For a thousand years they populated the lands in peace.

When the second star ship came, it brought only the Sand Lords. They quickly took control, subjugating the humans with ease, and taking all the positions of power within weeks. They forced the humans to build giant fortresses on their behalf.

The Iridium Wars began within a generation of the Sand Lords' landing, and continued for 272 years. Lords fought against Lords and humans turned against each other in battle.

When the Iridium Wars finally ended, Megarothia suffered its first Black Day. The sky turned black. The lands were poisoned. The oceans frothed with death and decay as millions of corpses washed up against the shorelines.

Only those who were granted sanctuary beneath Lord Hades' Dome Shield survived. Five thousand men, women and children huddled together under torn blankets, while millions died in the toxic wasteland outside.

Within the protection of the Dome Shield, Lord Hades constructed the microcosm that he had fought so hard to make possible. He called this new world within a world the Orange Zone, and the people within it worked hard to start a new life.

The White Spear stood at the centre of the Dome Shield, supporting it as it expanded year after year. The people built Cinnamon City around the White Spear. In time they came to call this new city their home.

For 715 years, the Orange Zone grew and prospered, ruled by the Council of Lords. The Lords governed through a military organisation known as Central Command. It offered the people protection in exchange for their service and obedience.

Now, in the year 715DS, a new enemy is rising in the Orange Zone, and Central Command must stand and fight once more.

The Messenger

At the centre of the Orange Zone, Central Command dominated the skyline, its six black towers encircling the White Spear at its heart. The Black Towers reached high into the sky but the White Spear stood tall above them all. Only the White Spear touched the centre of the Dome Shield at its tip. Vertical lines of opaque, reinforced glass perforated the White Spear's stone walls and gun turrets hung at intervals from its sides. Force fields rippled across the building's outer surface.

The Black Towers were shorter and wider than their pale companion. Their walls were embedded with powerful proton cannons that were difficult to ignore. Wasp Drones rose from their flat-topped landing pads before circling the city in a series of randomized patrol patterns.

When the Black Towers were originally constructed, they had each been given a number, but the Council of Lords knew them by other names. Tower One and Tower Two overlooked the farmlands to the North. Tower Three faced the many Tech Factories that punctuated the landscape to the East. To the West, the Industrial Zone sat in the shadow of Tower Six, while Tower Four and Tower Five overlooked the Old Quarter to the South.

While the towers of Central Command were home to the Security Forces, The Old Quarter was the heart of the civilian population. Its narrow dusty streets twisted between tangled multicoloured box cabins for as far as the eye could see.

Among the jumbled buildings of the Old Quarter, rows of wooden market stalls lined the streets. Merchants sold their wares to the locals as they wandered between stalls in search of food and clothing. Some were looking for more exotic items. They found them too. One man sold synthetic fish that had been manufactured in the Industrial Zone. Another sold spare parts for walking Delivery Droids. Occasional stone buildings stood among the wooden market stalls casting long shadows across the street.

Between two crumbling walls, a doorway stood in semi-darkness, a thick curtain obscuring its entrance. The curtain twitched and alert eyes peered out from within.

Commander Jake Harris stood in the doorway with Trooper Dan Rickworth at his side. Both men stared across the street. Rickworth was half as wide as Harris, and a hand shorter, but he was always the first to volunteer for any combat operation. Four members of the Security Forces sat in the small dark room behind them, trying to find a comfortable position on low wooden crates. Rickworth's crate sat unoccupied by the wall.

'It's just faces and more faces,' Rickworth said. 'I can't even tell one from another anymore.'

Harris spoke in a low voice that rumbled in his throat, 'Okay, go take your seat.'

Rickworth made his way to the back of the darkened room with slumped shoulders. He sat with the others on an old wooden crate and rubbed his hands together, frowning at the ground between his feet.

Rachel sat motionless beside him. She gazed through a small gap in the curtain at the swirling patterns of dust that played across the ground in the afternoon breeze outside. The room was claustrophobic to her. She tried not to think about it. Harris had requested her for this mission. It wasn't really in her patrol area, now that she had been reassigned to Beacon Station, but she didn't mind coming back to Cinnamon City for the day. She would be the first to admit that Beacon Station hadn't yet grown on her. She didn't think that it ever would.

She had already suffered a ninety minute journey in the back of a Cage Carrier to reach the city and her backside had been aching just fine, even before Harris had told her to sit on a wooden crate for half an hour. The crate was unforgiving and covered in splinters. She considered sitting on the ground instead. A bad feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that whatever was coming her way would arrive soon enough. She wasn't in a hurry to find out what it was.

Rickworth was staring at her with his usual sour expression. Rachel ignored him. She stared at the ground until she heard Harris mumbling something under his breath. He turned in the doorway and smiled at her, the bright sunlight catching his face as the curtain rippled in a light breeze behind him. His short black beard was shot through with grey streaks but he hadn't yet reached his middle years. He beckoned her with one finger and a twinkle in his eye. To some he was charming, to Rachel he was just Harris.

'Okay Henson,' he said, 'come do what you do best.'

Rickworth made a rough noise in the back of his throat.

Rachel stood up, 'Something bothering you, Rickworth?'

He shook his head, but his eyes told a different story.

'I can't promise anything,' Rachel said, as she walked towards the curtain.

Harris nodded with a smile, 'I don't want any promises, I just want results.' He stepped to one side as she approached, pulling the curtain open a fraction to give her a better view of the narrow street beyond.

Rachel let her eyes adjust to the brightness of the afternoon sun. The sky was bright orange at this time of day, casting long shadows across the dust-covered ground. She tried not to look at the Dome Shield a kilometre above her head. It would be barely visible at this time of day. Something about it always made her whole body itch. She focussed instead on what Harris wanted her to do.

Through the gap in the curtain, she could see the people of Cinnamon City walking past in both directions. The men wore loose pale trousers and shirts, while the women wore long baggy working skirts with jackets that fitted tight around their hips. Their clothes had a thin covering of dust from the street but it didn't seem to bother them at all. At least the breeze was gentle today.

'Keep your eyes open,' Harris said. 'We know they're out there. There should be a Kamari messenger today.'

'Who's your source?' Rachel said.

'You know I'd love to tell you Henson, but I'm not going to.' Harris flashed his white teeth in a winning smile.

'Fine,' Rachel said. She watched the people's faces as they passed by outside. A large man with a round face carried sacks of grain in his arms. Behind him, a tall woman with a pointy nose dragged two children along the street. The children complained that they wanted to see the market stalls but the woman told them that she had no credits to spend. Rachel relaxed. She observed each face without judgement, letting it drift across her mind.

'Anything yet?' Harris said.

'Shhh,' Rachel said, holding her palm out towards him. She took a deep breath and slowed the beating of her heart. She stopped trying to focus on each face in turn and let her mind drift away instead. The people and the market stalls merged together into a single unfocussed image in her mind. She listened to her heart growing slower with each beat. The sound of passing footsteps mingled with a dozen different voices, forming a continuous white noise.

Harris was saying something again, tapping her on the shoulder with his finger, but Rachel ignored him. She felt as though she had fallen into a deep comfortable dream. She let the dream carry her away to a place beyond thought as she opened her senses to everything around her. Suddenly the white noise stopped.

'There,' she said, following the direction of her own outstretched hand. A tall man stood on the opposite side of the street with small dark eyes. He carried a heavy sack across his back. 'That's the messenger.'

Harris leant forwards and took a look through the curtain, 'Him? He looks like a worker from the fields.' Looking her in the eye, he twisted his mouth back and forth as though chewing over what she had just told him. 'Are you sure it's him?'

'Yes. His name's Barker. He's a Kamari soldier. I've seen him before.'

Harris didn't look convinced, but he said, 'Okay. Let's do this.'

The others jumped up from their crates and stood in a tight group behind him.

'This one's yours then,' Harris said. 'You lead.'

He leant back and held the curtain open. Bright sunlight filled the room giving everyone's eyes a chance to adjust to the conditions outside.

Rachel nodded and turned to the others, 'Stay back,' she said. 'If I can see you, then so can they.'

'You heard the Major,' Harris said. 'Let's go.'

Rachel stepped out through the doorway. She wore a light cream cloak over the top of her black Security Forces uniform. It did little to cover her black combat boots, but in the busy streets, nobody would be able to see her feet from a distance. The cloak helped her blend into the crowds. The people wandered among market stalls examining their wares.

Stepping into the middle of the street, she kept her expression neutral and her head down. She fixed one eye on Baker as he walked away from her, but she made no move to follow him. She waited until he was almost out of sight before she headed up the busy street, making sure to look at every market stall as she went, and exaggerated the turn of her head to make it look as though she was interested in the goods on offer. The breeze blew sand across her boots as she tried to make her gait more casual in the hope that it would disguise her among the crowds.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Rickworth moving level with her across the street. His eyes were straight ahead, looking directly towards Baker. Rachel tapped the collar of her jacket beneath her cloak and whispered into her comms unit.

'I said stay back. Keep your eyes off the target.'

Rickworth glared at her, but he stayed where he was until she had moved along the line of fruit stalls, and strolled up the street at a discreet distance.

Baker was already two hundred metres ahead when he stopped and turned, looking back down the street. Rachel kept her head low and her movements slow. She stepped over to a stall that was covered with bolts of silk, wrapped in thick paper. She moved her mouth as though she was talking to the stall holder, but she didn't make any sound. She wasn't interested in talking. She just wanted to listen to her comms channel. The stall keeper looked at her as though she had gone crazy. His curly white mustache twitched beneath a round, red nose. Rachel didn't care what he thought. He was a market stall owner. He must meet crazy people all the time.

Baker was standing up ahead, his eyes searching the crowds. He hadn't noticed her yet. She was sure about that. Rachel opened a bolt of blue silk and examined the fine cloth, holding it up to the light between her fingers.

'I can make you good deal if you speak louder,' the stall holder said with a thin smile spread across his fat face.

Rachel shook her head. In the corner of her eye, she saw Baker walking away again. She waited for a few seconds, placing the blue cloth neatly back in its paper wrapper, then walked along the line of stalls towards him. She pretended to cough and took a quick glance behind her. The other Security Forces were a long way back. They were all wearing the same dirty white cloaks on top of their uniforms. Their identical disguises made them more conspicuous than she had hoped. She could see Harris clearly because of his beard, but she didn't think the Kamari would recognise him. So far, everything was going to plan.

Baker walked over to a tall stone pillar and stepped behind it. Rachel paused, browsing a stall covered with wooden bowls, spoons and ladles. On another day she might have bought one. She waited for Baker to appear on the other side of the pillar, but as the seconds passed by, she realised that he wasn't going to. The bad feeling in her stomach moved up towards her chest.

'What's happening,' Harris said through her comms unit.

Rachel kept her eyes on the pillar. 'Something's wrong,' she said.

'What is it?'

Rachel threw herself onto the ground. The stall behind her erupted into dancing splinters, its contents knocked flying by a hail of bullets.

A stocky man stood on the opposite side of the street holding an impact pistol in each hand. He lowered his aim as Rachel crawled across the ground but she rolled onto her side and pulled out her own impact pistol from beneath her cloak. She returned fire, hitting him twice in the chest as his eyes stared in shock. The man staggered back against a wall and slumped down into a sitting position, his arms hanging loose by his sides.

The crowds dispersed in a flash. A woman screamed and dashed down a side street, dragging her young boy behind her. All the market stall owners ducked out of sight. Some even threw wire mesh blankets across their stalls to protect their wares from bullets. Rachel scanned the street as the people fled down narrow alleys and disappeared through open doorways. Within a few seconds, the street was empty except for the Security Forces. They stood alone in the street, next to abandoned stalls, glancing back and forth between each other.

A small black disc bounced across the ground and rolled past Rachel's arm. She jumped to her feet and began sprinting up the street. The explosion ripped through the stall behind her, the shock wave throwing her off her feet. Rotating her arms for balance, she twisted in mid-air, making sure to land back on her feet a few metres away. Her boots hit the ground in a spray of dust as she crouched down, trying not to think about the heat that still burned the back of her neck.

She looked up, just as a young man in a grey jacket fired a hand-held proton cannon from the roof of a nearby building. A tight red beam ripped through the air, severing a lock of hair from just above her left ear. Rachel ducked to her right and ran under a low wooden roof. She counted her strides as she ran, measuring the distance in her mind. After four strides, she knew he must be standing above her. She turning and fired twice through the roof. The man cried out, then fell with a soft thud above her.

Rachel fell backwards, carried by her momentum, but managed to roll onto her feet, holding her impact pistol close to her shoulder. She heard the man's body rolling across the roof above her until it fell, landing heavily on the street in front of her. Stepping forwards, she gave him a good hard kick and nodded when there was no response.

To her left, Harris approached with his impact pistol held loose in one hand. He looked at the bodies lying in the street, but said nothing. To her right, Rachel caught a glimpse of movement near the tall stone pillar. Baker stuck his head out, and seeing Rachel and Harris standing over the dead man's body, he turned and ran in the opposite direction.

Rachel didn't hesitate. She sprinted after him, her legs pumping hard as the sound of adrenaline filled her ears. She tried to relax her shoulders as her heavy black boots pounded along the dusty street. She caught up with him quickly. When he looked back over his shoulder, she saw that look in his eyes - the look that said you can't possibly be here already - but he was wrong.

Rachel slammed into him and they both tumbled to the ground. They rolled amongst the dirt covered street and came to a halt with Rachel straddled on top of the messenger. Baker snarled. He jerked his shoulders from side to side until he manged to throw her off to one side. Rachel tried to climb to her feet but he lunged towards her, swinging his fist high and catching Rachel with a half-blow across the chin. Her head whipped back as another blow struck her high on the temple. Rachel stumbled and shoved him away from her.

Baker seemed to have regained his confidence. He stood facing her in the middle of the street. He frowned, looking over her shoulder, and Rachel saw Harris approaching in the reflection of his eyes.

A crow swooped low, flying between them with a loud cawing noise. Baker stepped back in surprise and pulled something out of his pocket. He thrust his hand towards Rachel, pointing an impact pistol straight at her face. Panic rose up inside her. She felt her mind exploding outwards. Baker cried out and his wrist bent backwards with a sudden crack. The impact pistol fell to the ground between them. Throwing two short punches, straight between Baker's upturned hands, she caught him off guard. His nose cracked under the impact of the first punch, and the second sent him sprawling across the ground. He landed on his side, bouncing like a limp doll.

Harris came to a sudden halt beside her, breathing hard. He aimed his impact pistol at Baker until he realised that there wasn't any point. The messenger was out cold. Lowering his arm, Harris gave Rachel a puzzled look.

'That was some run,' he said. 'I thought I was fast.'

'I got the messenger,' Rachel said.

'You almost got yourself blown up too. What happened to his wrist?'

Rachel shook her head, 'I don't know.' Her heart was racing. She hadn't had time to think. Baker had almost killed her. She didn't know what she had done.

Rickworth jogged towards them, panting with a red, sweaty face, 'I'm here,' he said, spinning around and looking in all directions at once. 'Where did they go?'

'That's all of them,' Rachel said.

Harris turned towards her. 'You should have waited for the rest of us. You didn't need to take these guys down on your own. That's why you have a team behind you.'

Rachel dusted herself down. 'Teams trust each other. They share information.'

Harris let out a long breath, 'I trust you, Rachel. It was me that requested you for this mission.'

'So why won't you tell me who the source was?'

'It's not my decision. Admiral Thompson told me to keep my mouth shut. That's what I intend to do.'

Harris turned towards Rickworth who had found Baker's sack nearby and had begun unfastening the straps.

'What the hell did he do to his hand?' Rickworth said, looking at Baker's wrist. It was bent backwards so badly that he was pointing at himself.

'Never mind that,' Harris said. 'What's he got in the bag?'

Rickworth slipped his hand inside the sack and rummaged about. He stared through the small opening and squinted to see what was inside. 'Memory cubes,' he said. 'There's some credits and munitions as well.'

'I hope there's something useful on those memory cubes,' Harris said. 'Bring the bag with you. We'll take it back to Central Command for analysis.'

Rickworth nodded. He refastened the straps and lifted the sack onto his back. The two of them stood waiting for Rachel as she straightened her lower back and stretched her stiff shoulder.

'Are you okay?' Harris said.

'I'm fine,' Rachel said. 'But something's bothering me.'

Rickworth gave her a blank expression.

Rachel wiped a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth, 'They knew we were coming.'

'What?' Harris said.

'They knew we were coming.'

Two days later.

Beacon Station (715DS)

To the south of the Orange Zone, the Skybreaker Mountains stood tall, jagged grey rock reaching for the sky. In the few places where the rock protruded through the Dome Shield, it had turned jet black, but below the level of the shield the mountains shone with life. Grassy mounds covered the lower slopes and hardy flowers grew from tiny cracks in the hard grey rock. On the horizon the rock gave way to fields of wheat and maize.

On the northern edge of the wheat fields, fifty kilometres south of Cinnamon City, Beacon Station stood alone on a raised platform. It was one of the many outlying stations of Central Command and it was best described as a modest construction. It stood only three levels above the ground, resembling nothing more than a small, flat, isolated disc. The station's external walls were made from curved black armour plating that glistened in the sunlight. Below ground, the loading bays housed the RS6 personnel carriers, along with enough supplies and munitions to last at least six months.

Mech Droids wandered around the perimeter of Beacon Station, patrolling through the surrounding wheat fields and watching for any signs of impending trouble. The droids' bulky armoured heads were just visible, rocking from side to side above the tops of the swaying crops, as they loped along on reinforced titanium legs.

Blue lights flashed at intervals across the top of the station, warning that the external shields were active. Where the shield touched the ground, a thick brown ring stained the flattened wheat stems. Inside the shield, Beacon Station was unusually quiet but figures could still be seen moving around behind the tinted windows of the second level.

It was late. Beacon Station was as close to silent as it ever would be. A series of low hums and distant clanking noises was all that Rachel could hear as she walked up the slow incline from the loading bay. She had returned from Cinnamon City a little later than she had intended, but at least she had managed to avoid Gail Thompson. A day without Thompson was a day well spent.

'Rachel.'

Rachel could just make out the figure of Major Alan Fredericks standing in a doorway on the upper ramp. The pale blue lights of the hallway made him appear more mysterious than usual. Rachel nodded towards him and walked up the ramp.

'I heard you were back,' he said.

Rachel came to a halt beside him and straightened out a muscle cramp in her neck. He looked tired but determined.

'Yes, I just landed,' she said.

Fredericks nodded. 'You must be tired. I don't want to delay you.'

Rachel turned to head towards her quarters but Fredericks placed a hand on her arm as she passed.

Rachel paused, glancing down at his small hand on her arm then looked up at his tired round face. There was something in his eyes that she hadn't noticed before. 'What is it?' she said.

'I probably shouldn't bother you with it at this hour.'

'Go ahead. If there's something bothering you then you might as well tell me now.'

'It's just Rickworth.'

Rachel frowned. 'What about him?'

'He's been saying things. He talks to a lot of people - you know how he is. I don't think he means any harm, but he just can't stop running off at the mouth.'

'What kind of things?'

'He has friends here in Beacon Station. He talked to some of them on the comms link while you were away, and now there's rumours going around amongst the men. I don't like it. It's bad for the squad. I thought you should know.'

'Men will always talk about something. I can't stop them talking.'

'I don't like to hear these things. It's not good for morale. It's not good for you.'

'What things?'

Fredericks averted his eyes. He examined the ceiling as though looking for answers, then let out a short sigh. 'Rickworth's telling the men that you're a freak.'

Rachel felt heat rising in her face. She wouldn't let her emotions get the better of her. She pushed them down and stared straight ahead. She looked straight through Fredericks as though he wasn't there. 'Go on,' she said.

'He said you broke some guy's wrist without even touching him. He said you recognised people when you couldn't possibly know who they were. I don't listen to such stuff, Rachel. I don't even pretend to know what he's talking about, and I don't want to know either, but some of the men have more empty space in their heads than sense. He should show you more respect. The guys should know better to listen to such nonsense. Every fool has his audience.'

Rachel patted Fredericks on the arm. She didn't know what to say to him. He looked uncomfortable, despite what he had said about not listening to the rumours. If he had come for reassurances then he would leave with none.

'I thought you should know,' he said.

Rachel nodded. 'Thanks, Fredericks. Now I know. Go get some sleep. It won't be long before the alerts start again. You look like you could use some rest.'

Fredericks lowered his eyes. He hesitated and then stepped back through the doorway and walked away with quiet, shuffling steps.

Synthesized Food

Morning was still several hours away when Major Edwards walked across the canteen and joined the small queue of Security Forces who were waiting to grab some food. He picked up a tray from an unbalanced pile and looked over the heads of the men in front of him.

'Oh come on, not synthesised vegetables again.'

Major Fredericks was standing at the front of the line, filling his tray to the top. 'It's food isn't it,' he said.

Edwards shook his head, 'It's shit is what it is.'

At the back of the canteen, Major Tenik sat at a long table with Mason and Bennet. He looked up from his tray and hurried to swallow his food, half choking in the process. 'Why don't you try complaining for a change. That would be something new.'

'Go screw yourself,' Edwards said. He filled his tray with three equal portions of slop. One green, one orange and one the colour of flesh mould. Staring down at it with a frown, he muttered something unintelligible, picked up his tray, and walked over to Tenik.

'Hey, that wasn't an invitation to sit with me,' Tenik said.

Edwards shrugged and took the seat opposite.

Tenik sighed.

Edwards examined the slop on his tray, 'Do we really have to eat this shit every day?'

'You don't have to,' Tenik said. 'You could treat yourself to a handful of dry bioengineered wheat, instead.'

Edwards sneered. 'There's some funny bastards in this room and you're the funniest of them all.'

Fredericks approached the table and sat beside Tenik. He placed his tray on the table and rolled up his shirt sleeves as though he meant business. The food was piled so high, it almost fell off his tray.

'Are you hungry?' Tenik said.

'You could say that. I was on patrol all day yesterday and by the time I got back, the damn canteen had closed.'

Bennet and Mason both rose from their chairs at the same time and started walking towards the door.

'You two play nice,' Mason said on his way out.

'No kissing,' Bennet called from the doorway. The sounds of laughter followed them down the hallway.

Tenik glanced at the empty tables around the canteen. 'There's not many people about today,' he said.

Fredericks nodded, 'It's still quite early. Most people are sleeping after yesterday's patrols.'

Edwards shoved a spoonful of green slop into his mouth and chewed without expression. 'What use is sleep. I've put in for a transfer back to Central Command.'

Tenik shook his head, 'You won't get it.'

'Sure I will. I filled in the request.'

Fredericks put down his spoon and swapped it for a fork, 'Do you know how many people send those requests in every day? Thompson needs us out here. She doesn't need any more fat commanders sat in the comfort of Cinnamon City. She has a list of lower officers always waiting to fill those jobs, men who are already living in the Black Towers. This is a one way trip Edwards. You know that. Your only way out of here is in a body bag. Either that or you leave the Security Forces and do something else.'

Edwards eyes went wide, 'Are you mad? What else would I do?'

'I have no idea,' Fredericks said.

Tenik stood up and brushed a hand through his short black hair, 'You're going to have to sort your own life out, Edwards. This counselling session is over. I need to get some sleep before the next alert.'

'What are you talking about, counselling session? I don't need counselling. I'm just asking questions. Nothing wrong with asking.'

Tenik walked towards the door. He didn't look back.

'What's eating him?' Edwards said after he had gone.

Fredericks shrugged, 'He's just tired, but he's right. There's no way out of here, and there's nothing we can do to avoid the Kamari in this place. We just need to keep our eyes open. It's all we can do.'

The Alert

Beacon Station was cold again. The heating systems were blocked with dust. It a common problem among the outer stations. The maintenance droids were constantly climbing through all the ventilation ducts, unblocking them one by one.

Commander Nick Chambers sat on his bunk with his back against the wall. His quarters were smaller than most. In his right hand, he held a short knife with a sharp blade. Its handle was wrapped with tightly bound string, making it comfortable to hold against the palm of his hand for long periods. In his left hand, he held a small piece of wood. Nick gently twisted the wood against the knife. The blade cut into its surface with ease, lifting the shavings into fine curling strands that fell into his lap. Each cut made the petals more distinct. It was finally starting to look like a wild mountain flower. The carving felt small in his large hands, but he knew it would fit perfectly in his daughter's small palm. He'd promised Lisa it would be ready for her birthday and Nick always kept his promises.

Loud klaxons blared out across Beacon Station. Nick flinched, cutting his finger. A hiss escaped his lips as blood trickled down into the palm of his hand. The cut was already starting to sting. There was never any damn peace at Beacon Station. The alerts were becoming more frequent every day.

Nick tucked the knife into his jacket's inside pocket and slipped the wooden flower carefully under his pillow. Jumping down from his bunk, he landed on the balls of his feet and began to straighten his heavily creased uniform. He adjusted his jacket's stiff collar and made sure that the embedded comms unit was fully charged. It was early in the morning but he had already been awake for several hours. After the last couple of nights, he had taken to sleeping in his uniform, waiting for the next alert.

His quarters were basic. Nick's bunk occupied almost a third of the floor space, standing at shoulder height against the wall. Beneath it, a small desk had been built into the bunk's frame. A set of three drawers stood on each side, providing just enough space to store a few necessities. Nick's console sat in the middle of the desk and a small box of knives perched on one side.

A padded chair sat in the corner of the room and a wash basin protruded from the moulded wall beside it. A bloodstained bandage lay on the edge of the basin, and above it a long mirror was attached to the wall.

The klaxons were loud enough to hurt Nick's ears. He tried to shut out the all too familiar noise as he stepped over to the basin and splashed cold water over his face. When he looked up, a stranger stared back at him from the mirror. The doubts were growing inside him, eating away at his heart like some foul fungus. Memories flashed before his eyes. Enemies broken. Friends dead. Just another day at Beacon Station. It was the thirty-eighth day of his tour of duty. He couldn't help feeling that he'd made a mistake agreeing to transfer to Beacon Station. It was a mistake that he would never be able to take back.

Nick punched the mirror hard. The glass shattered, sending shards of glass crashing to the floor around his feet. He glanced down at the thin trickle of blood that ran between his knuckles and watched it drip onto the floor. He felt nothing. How long could this go on?

Nick dragged his boots out from under the desk and started pulling them on. He barely heard the audible chime. An encrypted transmission had arrived. Leaning over to the small console on his desk, he entered an acknowledgement. The orders were no surprise. He had been dreading them, but in a strange way he welcomed them too. They gave him a reason to stop staring at the curved black walls of his claustrophobic quarters and they released him from the cyclic disturbing thoughts that had plagued his mind every night since he had arrived at Beacon Station.

Nick clenched his bleeding fist and smiled as he plucked a small glass splinter from his hand. The pain helped him shake off the familiar feeling of emptiness, leaving his thoughts free to run through drill procedures, protocols, strategies and rosters. An endless list of scenarios and countermeasures sped through his mind.

Nick typed an override command into his console, reducing the volume of the klaxons. It was against standard procedures, but everybody in the station would have heard the alert by now anyway.

With the sound reduced by half, he could almost hear his own thoughts. Soon, Admiral Gail Thompson would call from Central Command to provide a full briefing about the alert, but for now, Nick knew what he had to do. He was already strapping on his boots and looking towards the impact pistol that hung on the wall beside the door. As he finished fastening his boots, he took his time to listen to the familiar noises of the station coming to life: the ever present klaxons, the low vibration of ventilation fans, and the distant thunder of equipment shuttles carrying their payloads of water, food, and munitions.

He allowed himself one more moment to consider the ghostlike figure that he had become, then got to his feet, holstered his impact pistol, and activated the door release mechanism.

The door slid silently into the bulkheads above, immediately replaced by a cool breeze from the blue-lit corridor beyond. Major Rachel Henson stood facing him, immaculate in her uniform, and ready for duty as always. She looked as though she had spent her whole life preparing for this very moment - she always did. She was always ready to make hard decisions and take charge of the situation - given the chance. He knew she would make commander before long. She was tough and smart, and that counted for a lot in a place like Beacon Station. Only the toughest would survive. She stood watching him while strobe lights played across her neck and jawline, and the lights sparkled in the reflections of her dark brown eyes.

'Commander Chambers, K2 Unit has been mobilised. We'll be ready to launch in four minutes.' Cords of muscle flexed in her neck as she spoke. She kept herself in great shape.

'Welcome back,' Nick said. 'When did you return?'

'Last night. Commander Harris sends his regards.'

'Harris? Of course. He requested you again, didn't he? You might be the only one with a ticket out of here.'

Rachel shook her head.

Nick was Rachel's commanding officer, no longer her lover. He wished that it could be different, but her expression gave no hint of what she was thinking. She could stand that way for hours and not so much as blink. What thoughts circled behind those deep brown eyes?

Nick glanced to his right, seeking an excuse to break eye contact. He wanted to keep his thoughts to himself. He searched the dim corridors for Major Collin Edwards, but as usual, the man was nowhere to be seen.

Rachel followed Nick's gaze, her short dark hair swirling in the draft of the ventilation fans above her head. 'Major Edwards is on his way too,' she said.

When she smiled, the intensity of her eyes softened. The moment was gone almost before it began, but it affected him more profoundly than he cared to admit. What a fool he had become.

Staring towards the empty corridors of the accommodation block, Nick tapped his comms unit. 'Edwards, report your status.'

There was no response. He heard a brief clicking on the line, then nothing. Nick's jacket buttons strained as he took a long, slow breath. There was a cold chill on his skin that he couldn't quite explain. It could have been a bug that he'd picked up from the crew but he knew that Rachel's presence often had odd effects on him too. He couldn't trust his own skin when she was around.

He was about to hail Edwards again when a loud burst of static blared through his comms unit.

'Major Collin Edwards reporting. K3 mo...' His words trailed off into a low hum.

'What is your estimated launch time?'

More static noise filled his ears, and painfully loud this time.

'Damn it, Edwards! Can you sort that fucking comms pack out. Use your backup set.'

'F... Dish.'

'What?'

'Com... D... Seven minutes...'

'Move it!' Nick killed the comms call, silencing the static.

Remembering Rachel was still standing beside him, Nick turned to face her. She looked distracted, puzzling over some problems of her own perhaps. The beginnings of crow's feet played in the corners of her eyes. He couldn't remember having seen them before. They would hardly be noticeable to anyone else, but they were noticeable to him. Maybe he was the cause of her new wrinkles, or maybe he thought too much of himself? None of them were getting any younger.

He remembered holding Rachel's face in his hands and pressing his lips against hers. She had smelt of roses that night. Sweat had glistened across her back. The memory was still strong but he knew that those times would never return. He caught himself gazing too deeply into her eyes, wondering why it had all gone so wrong. Something inside him was broken. He knew that the time for wondering had long since gone. It didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered. They had all grown up so fast since then, and wasn't suffering the fastest way to grow? Nick chuckled to himself, a quiet joyless laugh that faded away before it even escaped his lips.

Rachel was looking at him again. 'Your hand,' she said, glancing down at his bloodstained fingers.

'It's nothing,' Nick said. He could feel warm blood trickling slowly down his hand, and hear it dripping onto the steel mesh floor. It was nothing compared to the pain inside him.

'I'm needed with my unit,' Rachel said.

Nick broke free of his wandering thoughts. He looked her in the eyes and nodded as she broke into a trot and headed towards the loading bay. Her hips swayed from side to side until she disappeared through a side hatch, closing it behind her.

Nick stood in the doorway, feeling suddenly alone. He let his gaze drift along the corridor. A long metal ramp descended towards the lower levels with hatches lining the outer wall at intervals. The hatches led down to loading bays that were hidden beneath the station. Fifteen RS6 personnel carriers occupied the loading bays on a typical day. Three of them were undergoing major repairs after yesterday's patrols. The others were combat ready and fully charged.

The end of the corridor was blocked by a set of doors that led off to a small canteen and the master control room. Beacon Station had a permanent crew of two hundred soldiers. Nick had often thought that permanent was a strange word to use for men who sometimes arrived, served and died in the same week. He'd sent several reports to Central Command telling them that the station needed a larger crew and better equipment, but it had become quickly apparent that they didn't care. Central Command had refused to send any more soldiers. The Security Forces were a finite resource, he had been told. The fact that most of the crew at Beacon Station were involved in combat missions every day didn't seem to bother Admiral Gail Thompson at all.

Nick tilted his head from side to side, stretching the taut muscles in his neck. He tried to gather his thoughts for the mission ahead. A lot of men and women had put their trust in him. Their lives weighed heavily on his shoulders. Nick knew only too well how easily those lives could be lost. Eighteen members of the Security Forces had been killed under his command so far this tour. He remembered every one of their faces.

When he had expressed his concerns about the high casualty rate, Thompson had told him that he was doing much better than the previous head of Beacon Station. Nick had subsequently discovered that his predecessor had been killed during his first week. With each new mission, he had to clear his mind and start again. Memories could kill as easily as bullets.

The tireless drone of klaxons was joined by a high pitched whine; one of the RS6 personnel carriers was powering up its combat systems in the hangar below. Nick stepped back into his cabin and grabbed the wooden flower from beneath his pillow. He slipped it inside his breast pocket and walked back out onto the ramp. Once outside, he activated the door mechanism and watched it slide back into place before locking it with a personalised security code. Stay safe, a friend had once said - a friend who was now dead.

Nick strode down the long mesh walkway, heading for the hangars. The pale blue footlights dimmed as he passed them, suddenly replaced by bright white halogen lamps overhead. Nick's retinal implants automatically reduced the amount of light entering his eyes so he didn't have to squint.

All through the base, systems were coming online. There was no time to waste. Nick ducked under a loose ventilation panel and headed for the second loading bay, where his own unit would be waiting for him.

The Breach

Riser Trent perched on his chair, leaning back to the point where it would have broken again if he hadn't already welded some old table legs to it. His stomach pressed painfully against the rickety desk in front of him. Scratching a noodle loose from his riotous beard, he tried to remember eating it, but couldn't. It wasn't as though there was anybody to disapprove of his appearance down here. The cramped windowless basement had been his home for as long as he could remember.

A dusty display terminal sat lopsided and unloved on the battered old desk in front of him. It was covered in fingerprints and had more faults than Riser could even remember. He had complained about it to Neech every month but still nothing had been done about it.

Arranged in small groups on either side of the terminal, Riser's antique collection of mechanical animals sat in various poses. He'd been collecting them ever since he was a kid. He wasn't really sure why he had collected them, but they did bring him an odd sense of comfort at times. Maybe he had been living alone for too long? There was a silver rabbit that hopped on the spot when you stroked its back, a black metal woodpecker that squawked, and several squirrels and foxes made from various coloured composite materials. Some of them were attached to his control systems while others were just amusements he had gathered over the years.

Halfway through an impressive yawn, Riser was caught by surprise when the black woodpecker started bashing its beak against the desk in manic bursts. At first, his dazed eyes stared at it with incomprehension. He pushed back his headphones and the angry sounds of rock music faded to the buzzing of a distant wasp. The woodpecker hadn't moved for months. Riser had forgotten what it's strange dance meant. He quickly checked which systems the woodpecker was integrated with and realised that it was announcing an incoming message. Not many people had access to that channel. He ran a quick check but found that he could not trace the source of the transmission. The woodpecker continued striking the desk over and over in a demented frenzy.

The mechanical bird's head rose up to face him and its beak wagged in time to an alien squawk. 'Comms code! Comms code!'

Riser thought it sounded more like a mockery of a crow's call than a woodpecker, though he couldn't remember having ever heard either. He paid attention though, quickly grabbing a pencil from a nearby plate of half eaten food and making notes as the woodpecker squawked its urgent appeal.

'Secure channel breach. Comms code. Central Command. D2398HK64T Message has been pooled.' The woodpecker closed its beak and sat back in a restful pose, one glass eye blinking as though in contemplation.

'Yes!' Riser slammed his fist on the desk, sending stale sandwiches crashing to the floor. 'Yes!' This was wonderful news.

He began chuckling to himself and then bellowed with laughter as he placed his hands on the flat, illuminated keypad in front of him. The keys clattered as he typed heavy-handedly as though punishing them for some previous crime. His excitement filled the room with glee. It had been a long time since he had laughed so hard.

A secure channel breach on Central Command! This was the big time. No more cheap pizzas and crap lager for Riser Trent. That asshole Neech could start by doubling his salary. A text box popped up on Riser's screen in answer to his typed commands. He typed in the code from his notes and hit return. The text box disappeared and was replaced with scrolling messages, long lists of codes, and then at the top of the screen he saw the heading:

Central Command.

Secure channel breach.

No back trace.

Message pooled.

Riser raised his cheeks into what had once been a winning smile and bellowed with laughter. 'No back trace!' This was too damn good to be true. His systems had breached a secure channel at Central Command and they hadn't even noticed! He bunched his fists and pounded them on the desk some more, his laughter filling the grim office until it seemed almost cheerful, despite the cobwebs and startled spiders in the corners of the ceiling.

When the woodpecker fell onto its back with all the excitement, he placed it back on its feet and laughed even louder. This was going to be the start of something special. He knew it.

Wyser River

An early morning hare paused in its foraging to sniff the breeze, its long grey ears twitching with alarm. From the dark forest that bordered the soft ploughed fields, came a low cry that did not belong to any animal. It was accompanied by the sound of branches bending and snapping, and the splintering of wood as trees were crushed or toppled onto their sides. The noise drew closer, a dawn chorus that would not be denied. Brilliant white lights erupted all along the edge of the forest. The lights silhouetted tree trunks as they crashed to the ground, sending enormous shadows chasing across the ground.

As more trees fell, a trio of RS6 personnel carriers strode out onto a deserted field, illuminating it with their powerful spotlights. They moved in formation, trudging forwards, dragging up great swathes of turf with their feet as they lumbered towards Wyser River and the unused Gollard Mine beyond. What they lacked in grace they made up for in raw power. One giant metal claw stamped down, pounding the hypnotised hare into a flat paste as the RS6 passed by.

Six lateral-jointed legs earned the RS6 personnel carriers their long-time nickname of Crocs. With strong, flexible legs and wide gripping feet, a Croc could traverse any kind of terrain without difficulty. Their low-slung armoured bodies were made up of three interchangeable modules. The default configuration consisted of a weapons module, a combined communications and navigation module, and a personnel module. They came with intermediate armour rating, top of the range shields, and proton cannons as standard. A Croc could carry up to fifteen crew, in addition to the pilot, but the number could vary according to the pod configuration.

Commander Nick Chambers sat up front in the lead Croc, K1. Outside the reinforced Perspex bubble of his command module, he could see Major Henson and Major Edwards flanking him in their own Crocs, K2 and K3. Their heads were just visible, bobbing like porcelain dolls, in the brightly lit Perspex bubbles of their own carriers. All three were making steady progress, heading towards the coordinates that Central Command had sent Nick twenty-two minutes ago.

Nick glanced up at a clear night sky. The Dome Shield was just visible as a hazy white pattern a kilometre above his head.

Nick popped a stick of gum into his mouth and chewed slowly while checking his console. The status diagrams displayed three green blobs moving in formation towards the blue triangle that marked their destination. The E.T.A. stated at the bottom of the display was four minutes and eight seconds. A second console on his right showed continual updates on the commands that were being entered by everyone in the team. Nick noted that Major Henson was running diagnostics, and Edwards was just powering up weapons systems - which he was supposed to have done before leaving Beacon Station.

A quick sweep through a series of known communications and scanning frequencies suggested that they were not being monitored by any unknown entities. It wasn't a guarantee that they were not being observed, but it did provide some confidence that no weapons systems had yet locked onto their position. Nick couldn't see any enemy units or gun emplacements so far, but he was taking no chances.

Right on time, the three green dots arrived at their destination. The E.T.A. readouts settled to zero and the console emitted a melodious chime, congratulating them on their timely arrival. Nick tapped the comms unit to call Central Command. He wanted to report that his units were in position. They already knew this, of course. Every Croc was tracked automatically by several navigation and command centres across the Orange Zone. A steady feed of information was piped back to Central Command during all combat missions. But it was still considered polite protocol to report the obvious.

Nick monitored his console as he adjusted the straps on his seat. Crocs could get a little feisty at times and he wanted to make sure that he was ready for whatever happened next.

He opened an internal comms channel to the Croc's rear pod. 'How are we doing back there?'

'Good,' Major Marko Tenik replied. He was one of eight crew strapped into the rear pods.

'Are you all sleeping back there?'

A jumble of laughter and heckling filled Nick's ears. He closed the channel and stared out across the fields in front of him.

Confirmation

A short series of clicks announced the arrival of a transmission from Central Command. It was an update from Admiral Gail Thompson adding more detail to the vague message that she had sent before. The new orders appeared as neat green lines of text on Nick's console causing him to curse out loud. Thompson had just confirmed the target to be a Kamari stronghold - possibly even their new HQ. Nick had half expected it, in the back of his mind, but he had still been hoping to be proved wrong.

The Kamari had been growing from strength to strength in recent years. Originally a small political organisation, they had gone underground after several incidents of corruption and illegal arms trading. Since then, they had infiltrated many parts of Cinnamon City. Their members never publicly declared themselves, but it was known that they had representatives in every council and company boardroom throughout the city. There were persistent rumours that the Kamari even had agents within the Security Forces.

Nick often wondered whether the Kamari had agents among the crew of Beacon Station. He did everything that he could to monitor internal communications, but if the Kamari were present, he probably wouldn't know about it until one of them put a bullet in the back of his head. It was pointless worrying about it. All he could do was remain vigilant like everyone else. If he did find a Kamari agent in Beacon Station, he would break their bloody arms before he handed them in to Central Command. He had no doubt about that.

Although the Kamari were seldom seen out in the open, there was a feeling that they were never far away. In the last six months, things had taken a turn for the worse. There had been ambushes on patrols as well as increasingly frequent attacks on the smaller outlying stations. Nick had been forced to transfer from Tower Five at Central Command, where he had lived in relative comfort for the best part of a decade, to Beacon Station, a desolate outpost to the South. Although he hadn't thought about it that way at the time, he now realised that Tower Five had been his true home. Beacon Station would never be a home to anyone. It was nothing more than a place to rest between patrols. There wasn't time for much of anything else.

The daily patrols took Nick far and wide across the Orange Zone. Some alerts took him south towards the Skybreaker Mountains, and some took him north towards Cinnamon City. He was often caught up in disturbances on the city streets, and all too frequently, he found himself fighting door-to-door, or chasing Kamari agents as they fled down narrow alleyways between the multicoloured box cabins of the Old Quarter. Nick had lost several good men in those encounters, not just nameless soldiers, but men that he ate with every day.

He knew some of the crew better than others, but he accepted responsibility for the lives of all of them. They were the ever-changing faces that formed the permanent crew of Beacon Station. Many had become friends before dying in combat operations against the Kamari. It was just one of the things that he had been forced to come to terms with when joining Beacon Station. When he sat down to eat, he knew that the faces around him might not be there the next day. Nick wondered how many of his crew would return from Havers Compound alive. Chewing his gum didn't help take away the bad taste in his mouth.

The Croc's ventilation fans whirred softly beneath his feet, purifying the air and moderating the cockpit's internal temperature. Nick kept one eye on his console, checking for any sign of alerts. There were none, but it didn't stop him from worrying. Something just wasn't right about Havers Compound. The tense silence stretched out as he stared at the white stone building ahead.

Time to listen

Riser put on his best smile. He didn't care that there was nobody with him in the cold basement to see it. Smiling put him in a better mood. It made him feel confident, preparing him for what he had to do next. Taking one last look at the grey concrete walls around him, he opened a comms link and controlled his breathing as he tried to slow his racing pulse. He punched in a security code to encrypt the channel. The console beeped several times as the line secured itself against unwanted listeners and a high pitched whine informed him that the channel was ready to use.

'Ario Neech, CEO Mekinet News... Oh it's you. You better not be fucking wasting my time again Trent. I'm warning you. I'm getting sick and tired of your stupid bloody demands.'

Riser leant back with a smile. The little shit was going to listen to him this time, and listen good. He filled Neech in on the intercepted transmission, and wasted no time in making as many stupid demands as he could think of. Neech agreed to all of them without question.

Special Envoy

Admiral Gail Thompson sat in her small office. Her tight black jacket wrapped around her body in a way that was both feminine and formal. A dozen coloured strips adorned the front of her jacket, just a selection of the medals and distinctions that she had picked up over the years. She tilted her head backwards and her short dark hair fell about her prominent cheekbones in a tight bob cut. She sat listening to the soft shuffling noise outside her door as her green eyes twinkled with an intelligence that was both sharp and dangerous.

She enjoyed sitting in her new office, even if it was rather smaller than she was used to. It had no windows. Her official office was palatial by comparison. It had stunning views over Cinnamon City, but located on one of the the higher levels of the White Spear, it was just too well known. When she worked in her official office, a constant stream of commanders, tacticians and advisers came to her door every day. It gave her no peace. It made it difficult for her to attend to her many important duties. Gail's second office in Tower Four was less well known. She was able to work in relative peace and quiet. Few people visited her in Tower Four. Only a select few were granted details of its location. It was small office, lacking any kind of view, but the peace that it provided far outweighed any inconvenience she might suffer.

Gail checked her impact pistol. It was still in its holster, strapped to her right thigh. It never left her side. Just because she was sat behind a desk didn't mean she was turning soft. She smiled at the thought. Pity the person who mistook her for a desk clerk.

A shuffling noise came from the hallway. Somebody was standing outside, deliberating about whether to enter. Gail found it amusing to think of them standing there, building up the courage to speak to her. She could use her security console to see who it was before she let them in, but that would kind of take the fun out of it. It was probably one of the new Commanders. Not one of them had a back bone to match hers own.

The door console buzzed, rousing Gail from her thoughts. So the mouse had found its courage. 'Who is it?' she said, trying to sound surprised.

The door slid up into the ceiling above, revealing Henry Willow standing in the hallway outside. He opened his mouth into a smile, displaying a row of bright white re-engineered teeth.

'Good morning Admiral,' he said cheerfully.

Gail frowned. She could do without Willow today. She had other matters to attend to. She made no attempt to mask the irritation in her voice as she spoke. 'What is it, Willow?'

Willow ducked his head and smiled. He stepped into her office as though he had been invited as a wide smile took over his whole face. He didn't seem to have picked up on her mood at all. Wasn't that the whole point of diplomats? They could turn any awkward situation into a glowing success, just by ignoring the inconvenient truth around them.

'I trust you are well?' Willow said, stepping towards the desk.

'Get to the point.'

Willow nodded, spreading his hands out wide as though he meant to embrace the room. 'Yes, of course Admiral. You are busy, I see. I'll waste not one moment of your time. I'll be briefer than a passing breeze.'

Gail let out a short choking laugh. It died in her throat before it reached her lips. She felt no mirth at all. 'You? Brief? I will believe that when I see it. Tell me what you want. I only have two minutes. No more!'

Willow clasped his hands in front of his ample frame. His long blue cloak had silver embroidered spirals around the loose-cut sleeves and a heavy gold chain hung around his neck with a many-pointed star at its centre. His deep blue eyes shone like sapphires, protruding from a plump and friendly face.

'I bring important news, Admiral. Guildmaster Gumptor is here to see you.'

'Oh good grief no. Tell him I'm not here. I don't want to see that man today or any other day.' Gail cringed at the thought of meeting any of the guildmasters again. She still remembered her last meeting with them. She had barely been able to stop herself from punching their faces. Her cheek twitched involuntarily as she recalled the memory. Pushing her short dark hair away from her eyes, she considered her options.

'Regrettably, I already told him that you were absent on two previous occasions this week. He has returned once more, and this time he claims to have prior knowledge that you are definitely here.'

'How can he possibly know where I am? Is this not a secure building?'

'I really couldn't say, Admiral. Perhaps he claims to know more than he really does, though I suspect he is a little brighter than we give him credit for.'

Gail sat back in her chair, frowning. Her mind was elsewhere. She needed to get rid of the Guildmaster and Willow with him.

'Perhaps I could speak on your behalf on this occasion?' Willow said. His eyes gave the subtlest suggestion that this was some innocent and harmless idea that had just occurred to him, but Gail was damned sure he had been planning such a statement for days if not weeks. Everything that he said was premeditated to further his own status, position and career. He was the most slippery man she had ever come across. She was inclined to dismiss his suggestion and send him on his way, but maybe she could turn the situation in her favour? Maybe if she played along with this game of diplomacy she might be able to turn his own tricks against him.

'That is an excellent idea,' she said.

Willow's expression didn't change at all. His frozen smile acted as a mask to cover his secret machinations. Did he really think that she didn't know how his mind worked?

'I would need some title of course, some official capacity in which to represent you.'

'I don't like the sound of that,' Gail said.

'Guildmaster Gumptor would not feel satisfied I am sure, if he were to be met by a simple diplomat. But perhaps if he were to meet with the Admiral's official economic spokesman that might sound better?'

'My what? Not a chance, Willow. We do not decide economic policy Henry. You know that. The Council of Lords run the Orange Zone and its economy. We are here to serve the Council of Lords, nothing more. We also serve the people of course, not that they appreciate it.'

'But a token title would better facilitate my discussions with the Guilds. It would lend me credibility and speed the negotiations to a positive outcome. I could be the Admiral's Special Trade Envoy perhaps?'

'Very well. Just understand that your meaningless title does not include any additional powers. Don't agree to anything without consulting me first. That prick will ask for anything he can get.'

Willow frowned at the use of profanity. His delicate features looked wounded and shocked to hear such words, even though Gail had heard him cursing much worse himself when he thought that nobody had been close enough to hear him.

'You can rely on me, Admiral.'

'Okay, deal with it. I'm too tied up right now. I don't have time for the Guilds and their endless complaints.'

Willow offered a half bow, 'Leave it with me, Admiral. I'll handle it with the utmost discretion.'

Gail stared at the door after Willow had left her office. She wondered whether she had just made a very wise decision or a very stupid mistake. Men like Henry Willow were slippery in all respects. She would have to keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn't abusing her trust. She had to admit that the Guilds were the bane of her life. If Willow could take them off her hands it might be worth buttering him up with a few phoney titles. He had aspirations of his own, she was sure about that, but maybe she could use him too. She just hoped that he didn't get too close to the Guilds. She didn't trust any one of them.

Guildmaster Gumptor

'Guildmaster Gumptor, what a pleasure to meet you again,' Henry gave a deep bow that left his gold chain swinging like a pendulum.

Gumptor was unmoved. He stood with spade-like hands perched on his wide hips. Standing at just over five feet tall, he was a round barrel of a man, not lacking in self confidence or charisma. His bulging eyes looked perpetually surprised. Henry didn't intend to underestimate the Guildmaster. He had worked his way up through the guilds for many years. He was anything but naive. Henry knew he would have to tread a careful path. If he did well today, Gail might let him handle more negotiations for her in the future.

As always, Gumptor wore a thick leather tunic. The badge of the Merchant Guild sat prominent upon his chest, a balance scale loaded with coins on each side. His trousers were tailored from a fine cloth that was no doubt obtained at a heavy discount, and his shoes shone with wide silver buckles.

'Where is Gail Thompson?' Gumptor said in a rough barking voice, 'I know she's here. Don't tell me that she isn't.'

Henry straightened his shoulders, lifting his head. His jowls wobbled as he announced himself. 'We have met before, of course, but that was in my previous capacity as a diplomat. It will not surprise you to hear that I have been promoted many times since then. The Admiral has often commended me for my fine skills and my continuing dedication to Central Command and the cherished people of Cinnamon City. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am the Admiral's Special Trade Envoy. I shall be delighted to speak with you on all matters of the Merchant Guild. I am sure we have many matters to discuss.'

Gumptor scrunched up his short round nose. He stared at Henry with open incredulity on his face. 'Why have I never heard of this Envoy of Trade before? Am I not the Guildmaster of the Merchant Guild?'

Henry nodded and gestured for Gumptor to take a seat. 'Yes, of course you are, but in truth this is a relatively new promotion. I wanted you to be the very first to be informed, as is fitting with your rank and status amongst the Guilds. The Admiral recognises that the Guildmasters are highly important to Cinnamon City and to the economy of the whole Orange Zone. She has decided that appointing her finest Special Trade Envoy is the only way to give these matters the high priority that they deserve.'

Gumptor frowned but he did not protest about the compliment.

Henry pulled out one of the high-backed chairs from a small round table behind him. 'Please, Guildmaster, take a seat. We can discuss any matters that you wish to address at length. Would you like anything to drink? Some wine perhaps?'

Gumptor took a seat, slumping down without ceremony. The chair creaked in complaint but managed to hold his weight.

Henry pulled out a chair for himself and sat opposite the Guildmaster, adjusting the blue fabric of his cloak to straighten out a few stray creases.

'I don't want any wine. I'm here to talk business. What kind of room is this to discuss important Guild matters? It is smaller than a kitchen larder.'

Henry suppressed a wince, 'My current office is humble indeed. This is just a temporary meeting room. In a month or so I will be moved up to one of the higher floors. Here at Central Command, space is at a premium as you know.'

'As it is in Cinnamon City.'

'Yes, We must all make allowances at times like these.'

'The box cabins down in the Old Quarter are tangled so tightly, the elderly cannot even leave their homes without help.'

'Has it really become so crowded already?'

'Indeed it has, but that is not why I am here today.'

'Please, how can I help.'

'I am here not just on behalf of the Guild of Merchants. I am here to represent all Guilds in this matter.'

Henry raised an eyebrow, 'Are you in that capacity as a permanent position Guildmaster?'

'No, no, of course not. The other Guilds have their own business. I am here to represent them all on this matter only.'

'I see. What is this matter?' Henry knew it was foolish to ask such a direct question, but he had to admit that his curiosity had got the better of him.

'Elections.'

Henry kept his face perfectly still. Not one jot of indignation, despair, anger or irritation crossed his face.

'Oh, I see,' he said in an even voice.

'When are we to have free elections? This is not the first time that this has been raised. We were promised many times that the policy would be reviewed. Clearly it hasn't happened.'

Henry took a deep breath, making sure to breathe deep into his stomach rather than into his chest, so that the Guildmaster would not be aware of any tension or emotion that swirled within him.

'As you know, Guildmaster, Central Command does not govern the Orange Zone. Perhaps we are not the best people to address with this matter.'

'Central Command police the streets. They fend off the enemies of the Orange Zone, but who voted them into power, I say? Nobody. That is the answer. That has always been the answer.'

'Guildmaster, please understand that Central Command are only here to serve the people.'

'And the Council Of Lords.'

'Yes, and of course to serve the Council Of Lords, who wisely appointed Central Command to attend to such important matters as security and law and order. Without these services, where would Cinnamon City be? Chaos and crime would sweep across the Orange Zone. The Guilds would suffer more than most.'

'Henry Willow. The Guilds know all of this. I was not born under an orange tree last week.'

Henry cringed. He had been a little too blunt, something which he never normally suffered from, but the subject of elections was a sore one that had been debated and dodged for decades with neither side giving an inch.

The Council Of Lords had been governing the Orange Zone ever since the end of the Iridium Wars. Somebody had needed to take control of the chaos left behind by the Emperor's death, but that had been over seven hundred years ago. The popularity of the Council Of Lords had waned heavily during that time. At first the Lords had been heroes, saving the people and protecting them from what had been a terrible time of global war. But it wasn't long before the gratitude and appreciation faded. What the Lords had done had faded into ancient history.

Every year, the Council Of Lords had become less distinct. Generations had passed, and all those who remembered the original Lords were long since dead. Subsequent generations didn't share the same appreciation as their ancestors. They only wanted to know who these mysterious Lords were and why they had been allowed to rule from afar. The Lords had become more of a mystery than a governing body. They governed from a distance, using Central Command as their only public face.

There were some who even doubted whether any of the Lords were still alive. They thought that Central Command maintained their memory just to preserve their own grasp on power, but Henry knew that wasn't true. He was one of the few men who had seen Lord Colloran Hades. Unfortunately, when the citizens of Cinnamon City could not see any sign of the Council Of Lords, that put Central Command right at the heart of their frustration and anger. It was a complex subject with a long history. It was not something that Henry wanted to be caught in the middle of. He had thought that the Guildmaster had come to discuss trade or finance. Henry really didn't want to discuss elections.

'Guildmaster, you must realise that only the Council Of Lords can discuss the matter of elections. Central Command is only here to serve. We do not make policy in such respects.'

'The Council Of Lords will not grant us audience. When was the last time that Lord Colloran Hades lowered himself to speak with the Guilds? Lord Pietra Goran has never spoken to us. Lord Paul Maison last spoke to me eighteen years ago. The others - I don't even recall their names.'

'The Council have many urgent matters to deal with I'm sure.'

'If those who govern do not have time to meet the people of Cinnamon City then what governance is that? It is not serving the people. It is serving only themselves.'

Henry was beginning to wish that he had never put himself in such a position. He could see now why Gail Thompson had done her utmost to avoid meeting the Guildmasters.

'The Council of Lords hold no divine right to rule, Mr Willow. There are no signed treaties. They have no claim to land. We owe them nothing that our great grandfathers didn't already repay tenfold.'

'Guildmaster, please, be careful what you say. The Council Of Lords saved us from the Iridium Wars. They have earned our respect. They rule with an even hand. Cinnamon City prospers under their governance. Crime is under control and our enemies are held back. Each man has food in his mouth and a roof over his head. Please, we should not describe The Council Of Lords as monsters and tyrants, for they are neither, as you must yourself admit.'

'Fair is one thing, Mr Willow, freedom is another. There are others who could govern Cinnamon City also.'

Henry leant forward, brows furrowed heavily, 'And who might that be?'

The Guildmaster leant back and smiled, 'At this point, I would rather not say.'

New powers

Riser pushed hot pizza into his wide open mouth. His brilliant white teeth chewed through pork and pineapple and something quite nasty. What was that? He stuffed two fingers into his mouth and pulled out a black olive. Nasty. They should use that shit in chemical weapons. Scowling at it, Riser threw it over his shoulder and carried on chewing the pizza.

He tried to keep a grip on his excitement. Things had certainly turned around for him in the last twenty-four hours. Neech wasn't annoyed with him anymore. Once Riser had explained just what a damn gold mine he was sat on, the bastard had practically rolled over and begged to help out. He had actually asked Riser if there was anything else he needed. Previously Neech had always been an ignorant bastard at best, and often blunt to the point of insulting. It was funny how the man had changed his tone so suddenly. No doubt he knew just what Riser could deliver to him and his precious network if he played his cards right. News like this would travel far. Other networks would pay for a piece of the action as well. There would be money in it for Neech for sure, and he'd certainly work any angle that he could get to make the best of the situation. That's how Neech worked. Some called him the Fox; some called him worse. He was successful for a reason. His footprints covered the backs of all the poor bastards that he had climbed over on his way to the top.

After a little persuasion, Neech had just given Riser control of one of the Mekinet News Droid hangars down in Shinara. It was one of Neech's latest acquisitions, and it represented a serious investment in state of the art news gathering technologies. Riser almost shit himself with excitement. He couldn't believe Neech had agreed to it. He obviously didn't know Riser at all, even after all these years.

Riser could barely contain himself. He now had direct control of one thousand X16 net-feed droids! The X16 was ex-military. It was a superb piece of equipment with a manual as thick as your arm. It was an autonomous drone with more capabilities than many small aircraft. Not bad for a drone, but it wasn't what a single drone could do for Riser, it was what one thousand could do together. The cloud communications software was extremely advanced.

This kind of power would force everyone to respect him, even those spotty scumbags down at Net1. Riser wasn't just a small-time hacker anymore. He was a man with real power over real events. He could now wield a thousand autonomous machines using just the power of his mind. He could send them anywhere throughout the Orange Zone, flying like the wind beneath the Dome Shield, and scanning everything in their path. It was like having his own private air force. Compared to the grey concrete walls of the dingy basement and the cold hard mattress on the floor, it was heaven itself.

Riser lifted a box from the floor and placed it in his lap before tearing open the protective webbing that encased it. Pulling the manual out of the box, he held it up to the light. It was the first of twenty-three such manuals, each as thick as his fist. They were all securely packaged in boxes piled high beside his desk. While the box had been rough and padded, the manual was like silk, each page slick beneath his fingers and smelling of polished leather. Riser flipped through the pages ten at a time, taking little notice of the actual content. He was just amazed at the sheer quality of the paper and the intricate diagrams that hovered just above the pages as he opened them. Each diagram glowed in blue and green, a complicated structure of cold laser light that seemed to twist to accommodate the angle of his eyes. The section about safety and warnings was two hundred and eighty pages long. Riser bypassed that section entirely. There was no time for all that shit. He would follow his own luck and see where it led him. That is what he had always done, for better or worse. A finger in the air and a flash of white teeth. It had done him no harm in the past - most of the time.

Drop Rangers

Today had been some day already. The transmission was not just an intercepted communication. It had embedded codes, cyphers and keys that he was already running several clustered servers to crack. He would dig deep this time, follow his leads as far as they would go. He had to admit, it had only been a few hours, but already something had changed inside him. This was no passing piece of luck. This was meant to happen. It was a turning point for Riser Trent - the beginning of a bigger and brighter future - and why not? He had worked hard enough for it. For sixteen years, he had sat in a shitty basement, answering to Neech and the men in suits, doing whatever they asked, putting himself at risk to make them rich. And what did he have to show for it? Not fucking much. This time he would make sure it was different. He would keep his cards close to his chest. There would be no more pissing about trespassing on government computers. No more sifting through thousands of encrypted files looking for adultery and insider trading. This was a whole new league. This was his ticket out of the basement.

Riser spun his new executive leather chair all the way around again. He slowed its rotation with one hand, and came to rest facing his new temporary desk. He had agreed to accept the desk until Neech could move him into a bigger office down in S-Wing. Maintenance certainly hadn't taken long to install his new desk, not when Neech had put fire under their asses. Ten minutes after Riser had closed the comms link to Neech, he had heard the cursing and clattering of the old wankers in boiler suits, dragging his first demands down the hallway. They were none too pleased to see Riser's smug expression either, but there was nothing they could do about it. If Riser crapped, they'd have to eat it. Simple as that.

The desk was made of ancient hardwood, dark sinister patterns swirling across its shiny surface like eddies in a stream. It was beautiful. Riser stroked a hand across its surface. It was the smoothest thing he had ever touched. Some bastard on the top floor would no doubt arrive tomorrow to find it missing, but that wasn't Riser's problem. It belonged to him now.

He turned his attention to the three new displays sitting upright on the desk in front of him - another of his very reasonable demands. They sat nicely arranged in a semicircle so that he could see them all without turning his chair. Thin and sleek, they looked far more expensive than the usual crap equipment that Neech had given him over the years. It wasn't until now that he realised just how bad his old equipment had been.

Each terminal displayed different facets of the extensive Mekinet news gathering system. There were a multitude of drone selection options, scrolling status readings, and video windows showing various hangars and secure buildings across Cinnamon City and beyond.

Just in front of the terminals, a thin transparent grid covered the desk, flat touch keys just visible above the dark wood. This made up the manual control system for the net-feed droids. There were other control systems, of course.

Riser pulled his chair closer to the displays, squinting at row upon row of orange and red symbols. The little moving shapes and blinking status lights shifted into occasionally identifiable forms, but they dispersed again before he could work out what they meant. The left terminal showed an overhead view of the Mekinet News hangar in south Shinara. Inside the hangar, four Drop Rangers hung from a high camouflaged ceiling. Four of the bastards!

Riser tried to remain calm, but he kept having the overwhelming urge to insult everyone that he had ever met with his new-found status. Not yet, he cautioned himself. Not with all these droids to play with. He scratched at his sore ear with one chubby finger and blinked slowly at the numbers flashing on the bottom of the console. Each Drop Ranger contained two hundred and fifty droids. Riser nodded to himself, moving his fingers across the controls to entice the first Ranger into action. A few more taps and a red light throbbed with urgency.

ACTIVATED

Riser scrunched up his short nose in appreciation. 'Come on then,' he said, 'let's see what you can do.'

Neech had said not to send more than fifty droids at once, but fuck him. The slimy little bastard was about to get a lesson in the absence of subtlety. Riser knew how to run a news network, even if Neech didn't, and now he finally had the power to do it. He slapped the confirm key and sat back with contentment, waiting for his foul deed to come to fruition.

The Kamari

In recent months, when the Security Forces had attacked the Kamari head-on, their enemy had slipped away, quickly moving their soldiers beyond reach. Too often, they had escaped easily and without explanation. Questions had been asked about whether there had been help from the inside. Nobody liked to talk about that.

Nick wondered if any of the people he knew were helping the Kamari? How would he know? How could he find out? He tapped two fingers on the Perspex above his head and hoped that God was on his side today.

Every day there were more rumours about the Kamari numbers growing. It was difficult to understand why so many people were joining them. It wasn't just fanatics and malcontents. It was tax paying citizens of Cinnamon City, both young and old. They worked their jobs by day, then gathered quietly with Kamari agents to support their cause by night. It didn't make any sense. There was something rotten in the core of Cinnamon City, and Central Command seemed powerless, or unable to cut it out. They didn't even know where to start.

The Security Forces had been forced to defend themselves more often than they had been able to attack. Things were changing for the worse. And now this - a new Kamari stronghold that was so close to Beacon Station - only a few kilometres away. How could it have gone unnoticed for so long? Why had it not been picked up by the flying drones? Beacon Station sent out drones every day. All the stations did. It gave Nick a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach to think that the Kamari could be hiding so close.

He tried to compose his thoughts. Patching a secure channel to K2 and K3, he setup a group call. He told them about Gail Thompson's new orders then waited for the expected groans of dismay.

'The Kamari?' Edwards said. His voice still sounded scratchy behind layers of interference.

'Yes, I know it's not what you wanted to hear. Central Command said that the Kamari have taken over the old Havers Compound. They might be using it as a HQ.'

'Wouldn't we have noticed that?'

'We did, Edwards. That's why we're here.' Nick tried his best to remain patient. It was really difficult talking to Edwards Sometimes. He was an idiot, and he didn't even try to hide the fact.

Edwards didn't know it yet, but this was going to be his last mission as part of Nick's unit. From next week, Nick had arranged for him to be transferred to a law and order unit on the outskirts of Cinnamon City. It was a heavy demotion with less pay. Edwards would hate it, but he would be less of a liability to those around him. Some people just weren't cut out for combat duty. Edwards hadn't really gelled with the other crew either. He had been the cause of many arguments and had often put the other crew on edge when they really needed to unwind between patrols. There was no other option. He had to go.

'Are they expecting us?' Rachel said.

'Not as far as I can tell,' Nick said. 'We have a blackout on all communications.'

'Right.'

'Yes, I know. That doesn't mean much these days.'

'The last blackout we had, ended up being broadcast live on some low budget net feed,' Edwards said. He sounded resigned to the same thing happening again.

'Well, that's all we have for now. As far as the reports say, the Kamari have no idea that we are moving in, so let's keep it that way. Maintain encrypted channels at all times. We'll move in fast and try to pin them down before they can do anything about it.'

'I'm assuming they know we are coming,' Edwards said.

Nick grimaced. He wished that he could believe otherwise, but he had to admit that Edwards was probably right on this occasion.

Rachel made a strange sound in the back of her throat but she made no further comment.

'Okay, let's move out,' Nick said. 'You have the new coordinates now. Let's keep it tight. We can't afford any more fuck ups.'

Croc

The three Crocs waded across the river like drunken lizards climbing out of a bathtub. Crocs had never been described as graceful, but nobody had ever complained about having to be inside one either. Nick rode in the command module. Water, mud, and trees flew past in the near-darkness outside but it made little difference to his comfort level. Sure, he received a decent jolt to his backside every time one of the Croc's legs slapped down on the ground, but it had a kind of rhythm to it, and in time it felt like riding a horse - even if it was a rather demented six-legged horse with heavy armour. Nick had ridden worse in his time. There was a running joke that the Crocs held their bodies so close to the ground so the crew wouldn't have far to fall. Nick had never understood that joke. He sat in the front pod's cockpit, warm air swirling around his feet while the soft sounds of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata accompanied the Croc's lumbering progress.

The Crocs needed no actual controlling other than to be given a set of coordinates and a priority rating. Nick had time to take in the scenery - for what it was worth. He had set the Croc's current navigation priority rating to green, which meant move to the given coordinates, but take whatever evasive action may be necessary to go around any large obstacles that might be in its path. A priority of purple would cause the Croc to sprint on a direct line towards the given coordinates, leaving a trail of destruction behind it that no government would ever want to pay for. Nick's original instructor had suggested that he use the purple priority as little as possible. It had seemed like a fine idea at the time, and nothing had happened in the last eight years to persuade him otherwise.

'Havers Compound up ahead Commander,' Henson said.

Her voice was professional as always but Nick still had to quiet his thoughts before replying. He tapped a series of commands into his console, taking control of all three Crocs at once. His commands overrode any instructions that Henson and Edwards might have entered into their own control systems. The three ungainly machines came to a halt, like giant insects investigating the remains of some decomposing animal. They bent their jointed legs, adjusted their shield generators, and lowered their segmented bodies close to the ground.

'Why do you do that,' Edwards said. 'Why don't you give us the orders and let us carry them out ourselves?' He sounded annoyed, petulant even.

'Get over it,' Nick didn't bother to explain military protocol that Edwards should already know. The commanding unit was entitled to coordinate all units under his control if he thought that offensive operations were about to begin. Nick hadn't formally stated that this was his belief, but he didn't see the need to apologise for it either. He waited for Rachel to join in with the complaints, but when the silence stretched out, he realised that she wasn't going to.

'What now?' Edwards said.

'We scan,' Nick said. 'Full sweep. Five globes each. Now.' He tapped his control panel, initiating a scan.

'Shit! Give us some fucking notice, won't you,' Edwards said. His communications channel continued to hiss and click, but not as bad as before.

'Get that fucking comms pack changed. Now!'

'All right! All right! I'm programming the globes, give me a damn chance.'

'Cool it guys. We have a job to do here,' Rachel said, imposing her feminine calm on the situation.

Nick bit back a response, and for once, Edwards shut up as well. It had been a tough few weeks for all of them. Tempers were beginning to fray.

A distant chorus of console tapping told Nick that they were all doing their jobs. His console confirmed that they were all launching their own scan globes.

At the bottom of his console's display, he noticed a strange command sequence. It was a series of symbols that he hadn't seen for a long time. He couldn't remember what it meant. Releasing his restraining straps, he leant forwards to rummage under his bucket seat, searching for a battered old copy of the RS6 handbook. He hadn't used it at all since his arrival at Beacon Station. He suspected that half of the pages might be missing. He hoped that nobody had thrown the damn thing out. After fumbling around, trying to find it for a couple of minutes, he accepted the fact that someone probably had thrown it out. It was embarrassing, but he needed to know what the strange command sequence meant. Nick forwarded it to Central Command and asked them to look into it. The Tech centre said they would look at it, but it would take some time to find the relevant decoding set. Nick thought it sounded like they had lost their handbook as well, but he let it go. He wasn't in a position to take the piss.

Birthday Girl

Ario Neech sat in his expansive open-plan office on the seventy-first level of the Mekinet News Building. His slight frame perched in a tall, black padded chair that was little wider than his narrow shoulders. He believed in professionalism in action and appearance at all times. He wore nothing but the most expensive suits, made from the finest cloth available in Cinnamon City. His jet black hair was oiled back into a shiny flat cap. He required the same smart, clinical lines from his surroundings. A short low table stood on one side of the room, and two guest chairs had been placed against the far wall, well away from his desk.

There were no windows in the office. Ario had insisted that there weren't any. As a news broadcaster, he believed that he should receive all the information that he needed directly from his own news feeds. If anything was happening outside the four walls of his office that wasn't being reported by a Mekinet News feed, then somebody somewhere wasn't doing their job.

Three large tables formed an island in the centre of the office. Each table housed a dozen small consoles, all angled upwards so that Ario could read the live news feeds while standing. He had long since noticed that his most productive thoughts always occurred to him while standing up.

The consoles showed all the live data feeds as they arrived from places all across the Orange Zone. Ario found it useful to be able to see all the feeds in one place. It made it easier for him to maintain a consistent tone across all the Mekinet News coverage, and it allowed him to remain true to his core goal - to provide honest information, direct to the people. He didn't believe in censorship or embellishing the truth with smart angles or political biases. The truth should stand on its own and tell its own story. He felt proud to uphold his principals. It had been twenty years since Ario had founded Mekinet News, and every day he had learnt something new. That's why he loved the news business, even if there were many in the city that didn't love him.

A yellow light flashed on the nearest console. Ario leant forwards to see what it was. With a tap of his finger, he accepted the incoming comms link.

'Ario Neech, Mekinet News,' he said.

'Mr Neech. This is Paul Raster, from Net3. I've been thinking about your offer.'

Ario smiled, revealing a perfect set of tightly packed teeth. 'I thought you might find it interesting.'

'I've been over it with some of our producers, and we think that it has definite possibilities. We need to check the fine print, but if it all checks out, I'd like to take you up on your offer.'

'This is the truth the people need to hear.'

'When will you be able to provide the live feeds?'

'Soon. Very soon. My droids are on their way now.'

'Where did you say the base was?'

Ario laughed, 'I didn't.'

'Ah very well. You can't blame me for trying.'

'The feeds should start soon. If we are agreed on the terms I sent through, I can route them to Net3 with a one minute delay as soon as you are ready.'

'A one minute delay seems awfully long. Such news needs to be available as soon as possible. Its value is in its timeliness.'

'Mekinet News will be broadcasting live.'

'Mekinet News, yes, but what about Net3. A small delay is understandable, since you are providing the feeds, but wouldn't thirty seconds be enough?'

Ario tapped one finger against his leg as he thought about it. Net3 had been a good source of secondary revenue. If he gave them a good deal this time, they would soon be back for more. With over twenty news networks in the city, reselling feeds could be as lucrative as broadcasting them himself.

'Thirty seconds is fair,' Ario said. 'I can do that.'

'Then you have a deal. I'll have the contracts signed and transmitted within the hour.'

'The feeds will be set up as soon as they come through.'

'Have you thought about how Central Command is going to react to this?'

'Don't worry about Central Command. I'll handle them myself.'

'Won't you have a conflict of interest on this one?'

'No.'

'Well, I'll leave that for you to sort out. I just hope these feeds live up to all your promises. It's a lot of credits that you're asking for.'

'Once the feeds are on, you'll have everything you need.'

The comms link shut down. Ario walked across to the middle table. Riser Trent's feeds were still blank. He'd better not mess this up. There were a lot of credits riding on the story that Trent had promised to deliver. Ario just wished he could find a reason to trust Trent. His service record was patchy at best.

A soft buzz at the door interrupted Ario's thoughts.

'Yes, who is it?'

The door opened a fraction, and a head popped through, 'You have a special visitor,' Mrs Rimmer said. His secretary's expression revealed nothing.

'Well? Who is it?'

He could hear voices in the hallway outside. Mrs Rimmer's head disappeared for a moment and then she returned with a frown, 'Lady Lisa Henson is here to see you.'

Ario wondered what she was talking about. 'Lady what?'

The door flew open and his granddaughter came running into the room in fits of laughter. 'Grandpa! Grandpa!'

Ario reached down and plucked Lisa from the ground as she ran into his arms. At five years old, she was barely tall enough to reach his waist, but already she was getting too heavy to lift up. Using all the strength in his small frame, Ario lifted her high in the air and held her in his arms for a long, warm hug. Lisa returned his hugs in abundance.

'I... can't... breathe...' Ario said.

Lisa laughed and loosened her grip around his neck, but she didn't let go. She looked up at him with big brown eyes that shone from a face that was round and bursting with enthusiasm. Her arms and legs were thinner than sticks. Ario didn't know how she could weigh so much and yet look so thin. She had heavy bones, perhaps, that was what Rachel often said.

Annie entered the room with an apologetic look on her face. She stepped over to join them, 'Sorry, Mr Neech. I told Lisa that you would be busy working but she doesn't listen to me at all. She said she had to see you right away.'

Ario shrugged, 'It's okay, Annie. I'm never too busy to meet a Lady.'

Lisa giggled.

Annie smiled and stroked a hand through Lisa's hair. Well into her middle years, and carrying a little extra weight around her hips, Annie had a friendly face that was framed by curly brown hair that fell about her shoulders in a tangled mess. She had been Lisa's nanny for as long as Ario could remember but he could not recall a time when her hair had been under control.

Mrs Rimmer was still standing in the doorway, smiling and watching. When she caught Ario looking at her, she jumped and turned to face the door. 'I can't stand here all day,' she said over her shoulder. 'Some of us have work to do.' She left the office and closed the door behind her.

Ario turned back to Lisa. Her sandy blonde hair seemed to get more curly every day. He had no idea how her nanny had been able to comb it.

'One of my reporters told me that there is soon to be a birthday in Cinnamon City.'

'Yes!' Lisa said.

'I have no idea whose birthday it is though. It can't be anyone I know.'

'It's my birthday!'

Ario shook his head, 'No, I think it must be someone else.'

'My birthday, grandpa!'

'Really?'

'Yes, I'm ten.'

'Six,' Annie said.

'It's a bit too soon to be ten,' Ario said. 'You really should experience six first. I hear its the best age to be.'

Lisa stared back with wonder in her eyes.

Ario lowered Lisa back onto her feet and turned to face Annie. 'I have a meeting now, but if you check with Mrs Rimmer, there might be a present in her drawer.'

'A present?' Lisa said. 'What is it?' Her smile filled her whole face.

Ario winked at her, 'You'll have to wait and see.'

'I want to know now.'

Annie took Lisa's hand and led her towards the door, 'Come on, Lisa. Let's go get your present. Say goodbye to grandpa.'

Lisa waved her free hand. She walked forwards with her head facing back and tripped over her own feet. Annie kept her upright by tugging on her hand.

'Mind which foot you put down first,' Ario said. 'If you put the same foot down twice in a row, something has probably gone wrong.'

Lisa scrunched up her face, contemplating his wise words.

Annie opened the office door and guided Lisa in front of her. Lisa waved once more, and this time she watched her red shoes carefully as though she expected them to run in opposite directions without her.

'Bye,' Annie said.

Ario nodded with a smile.

Information Cloud

The Drop Ranger flew low across Walstone Forest, a silent black tube surfing the upper branches of the trees. It remained below scanning altitude, hugging the forest like a spring breeze. When it reached Riser's designated coordinates, it plunged down, snapping branches and ripping through foliage on a carefully planned descent. As it fell, a narrow slit opened up on its undercarriage. The slit widened, releasing dozens of polished silver spheres that fell as perfect raindrops. They tumbled towards the ground, wriggling like sacks of fluid, before giving birth to gruesome, unnatural offspring.

The arms and legs that shot through the protective membrane were not organic. They were the limbs of net-feed droids - simple autonomous agents that swarmed like angry wasps. Each droid transmitted live sensory information back to the Drop Ranger, even as it slammed into the forest floor, becoming an instant relay station. The Drop Ranger maintained a secure communications channel straight back to the humming black box on Riser Trent's desk.

The Sphynx-II controller rack was the most understated piece of hardware any organisation could possess. The cost was well beyond the means of any private individuals. A small green light flickered innocently on the front, as it gathered, filtered, error-corrected, and continuously processed immense quantities of data, combining it into a single coherent model of the outside world. The manufacturers referred to this world model as 'Cloud Awareness', though they stopped short of calling it consciousness.

Two hundred and fifty net-feed droids raped the land before them, leaching every ounce of information from their surroundings. Each droid could sense sound, smell and visible light as well infrared and ultraviolet radiation. They also had echolocation abilities - the ability to perceive distance to not only the objects in front of them, but the objects behind those objects, or hidden structures within them. A net-feed droid could determine not only a building's location, but also its temperature, structure, strength, and the thickness of its walls. All that information was pumped back to the nearest Drop Ranger, and relayed to one or more Sphynx-II controller racks.

Riser had been flipping through some of the manuals. It seemed that the X16 net-feed droid was the result of many years of extensive research by the Mekinet News corporation. It was originally a modified military drone that Mekinet News had licensed from the budget-strapped Security Forces. There had been many rumours regarding how exactly such a licensing deal had been struck between such unlikely partners, and how it was that a news organisation had made better progress with the technology than the Security Forces themselves. Many questions had remained unanswered, but integrating thousands of net-feed droids into the Sphynx-II controller rack had made Mekinet News rich beyond its dreams. The extensive work that they had put into the project had been more than worthwhile.

Riser had not been allowed to take part in the project. Though he had been aware of it's existence, he was way too far down the social scale to be let near anything so important. Now that he had control of one of the systems, his pulse raced.

The swarm of droids acted in concert, providing a constantly rolling ocean of information. Riser had never seen an ocean, but he had read about them in books, and the Sphynx-II controller rack provided such lifelike, real-time data that he now felt as though he had seen one. The three consoles on the desk in front of him showed a perfect omnipresent view of miles and miles of open forest. The swarm was moving forward with incredible speed. Riser thought he could almost feel the breeze flowing through his hair. He laughed a great bellowing laugh that came from deep within his considerable belly.

Short Trip

Henry Willow returned to his quarters alone. He closed the door behind him and pressed his back against it. It was a small room, comprising of a bunk, a table and a wardrobe, all within a few paces of each other. A door at the opposite end of the room led into a tiny bathroom that Henry had complained about on many occasions. It was built for a small, thin person, and Henry was the first to admit that he was neither.

Stepping across to the bunk, he perched on the edge and rubbed his aching legs. He kicked off his buckled shoes, reached under the bunk, and pulled out a pair of soft, synthetic wool slippers. They had padded soles and a thick warm lining that he couldn't quite get enough of. His circulation wasn't as good as it used to be and his feet were forever feeling cold. Pulling the slippers on, he sat back and thought about the day's events.

He'd only been the Special Trade Envoy to Admiral Gail Thompson for two hours and he was already wishing that he could roll back time and reverse his decision. He'd been planning for weeks, trying to put himself in the right place at the right time so he could take advantage of Gail's avoidance of the Guilds. The plan had worked brilliantly. Henry had managed to create a new position and award it to himself without arousing too much suspicion. Thompson had some reservations about it but that was always going to be the case. Making it look so natural and spontaneous hadn't been easy.

In time, he would be able to fill the role and make it his own, perhaps even obtaining some better quarters in the process, but the first meeting with Guildmaster Gumptor had been a diplomatic disaster. The Guildmaster had left the meeting more aggrieved than when he had arrived. Nothing had been resolved between them. There was no good way to describe the result. Diplomacy was Henry's speciality and diplomacy was where he had failed. He could charm the birds from the trees and persuade deadly enemies to shake hands within an hour. It was what he did. He had a way with people. He could always turn a situation to his liking, but Guildmaster Gumptor had been something else. He carried the troubles of many people. Henry didn't just have to persuade Gumptor to change his mind, he had to persuade everybody that Gumptor represented as well, and right now, that seemed like a whole lot of people - the whole of Cinnamon City perhaps. The discussions about elections had turned into a real mess. Henry's attempts to assuage the Guildmaster's concerns had failed utterly. The subject had been too loaded with history and malcontent to be easily pushed aside.

Had Thompson known that this was what the Guildmasters wanted to talk about all along? Perhaps. He would have to look at her in a different light if it turned out that she had tricked him into this. Henry rubbed his aching legs. He was worried about how the meeting had ended. Gumptor had shown just enough of his true self to make Henry truly concerned. He had dared to mention that other organisations might challenge the Council of Lords for power. It was a bold remark at best. No doubt he would deny having made any such statements if questioned later.

Gumptor had also claimed to speak for all the Guilds. Were they all going to stand openly in favour of treason against the Council Of Lords? Henry had no doubt that the organisation Gumptor was talking about was the Kamari. There were other organisations in Cinnamon City, some more opaque than others, but the Kamari were the only ones who had the numbers and the strength to make a bid for such power. They could only succeed if they had enough backing from the people.

The Kamari had been talking to key figures in the city, trying to drum up support, but they were still predominantly seen as a terrorist organisation. They had been in open conflict with the Security Forces on several occasions. Surely they couldn't gain large-scale public support? Stranger things had happened. History was littered with terrible leaders who had built up huge public followings. Anything could happen. He couldn't let common sense blind him to reality.

Guildmaster Gumptor had also promised to take action to force the Council Of Lords into granting him an audience. That was at least a diplomatic solution, if not a very subtle one. Henry wished that he could distance himself from the whole situation. Whatever Gumptor did next would reflect badly on Henry, one way or another. Now that he had held the meeting personally, he was at the centre of something that he wanted no part of.

Henry pressed a hand on his lower back while he considered his options. It was a little sore today. Now that he had appointed himself to be Gail Thompson's Special Trade Envoy, he would have to report the outcome of the meeting. Thompson was going to be furious. Henry rubbed his hands together in his lap. It was the worst possible outcome.

Stretching his legs, he rubbed his aching knees. He had put on a few pounds this year. A man of his position had to eat well. There was nothing worse than a skinny diplomat. He gazed up at the book shelf above his bunk, seeking answers. Over one hundred digital volumes occupied the shelf. They sat side by side, each one only a few millimetres thick. Henry's collection included many works on politics, public relations, and philosophy, as well as some of the more common reference books on history, economics and the qualities of leadership. He had always read far and wide. The more influences that guided a man's thoughts, the better would be his solutions. There had to be a way out of his current situation. He just had to apply himself and find it.

Thompson was always busy. She didn't like to be disturbed. It would be inconsiderate of him to take her such bad news while her hands were so full of other important matters. Perhaps it would be better if he didn't report to her just now?

Henry rubbed his thick fingers against his knee. His hands moved as though he was kneading dough. It relieved the aching in his joints and it helped him to think. His father had taught him baking when he was a young boy. He often visualised his problems as tricky recipes that he would soon be able to master, with just a little more practice. He imagined his problems to be nothing more than dough that could be easily reshaped with a little more flour and water. No problem was too great to manage. He just had to work steadily with determination until the situation began to turn in his favour. It required patience too, of course. The best solutions always required careful planning.

Henry's fine blue cloak clung to his back with sweat. He tugged at it, and shook it loose. Perhaps he should take a short trip, just for a couple of days. It would give him time to consider his options. It wouldn't be a trip as such, more of a reconnaissance mission to find out what the public thought and felt about the Council Of Lords. Henry smiled. Yes, he liked the sound of that. It was the perfect reason to get out of Central Command for a day or two. It would keep him out of harms way until he could think of his next steps. Henry pulled out a small sack from under his bunk and began stuffing it with extra clothes and supplies. Yes, a short trip could be exactly what he needed.

Crab Scanners

The silver globes poured from the Crocs' front pods, landing on the wet mud below. From a distance it looked as though the Crocs were laying eggs along the riverbank. The globes rolled down towards the water until thin stabilisers shot out, digging into the mud and securing them in place. Seconds later, the globes burst open. A pool of crabs spilled out in a wriggling mass that spread across the riverbank.

The Crab scanners swam across the water's surface, short legs pumping away to combat the currents. Several were washed down stream, spinning in circles until they were out of sight. Those that managed to navigate the currents, scurried up the opposite riverbank, dripping with water. As they climbed, they fanned out across the width of the field. Their frenzied legs grappled for purchase on the slippery mud as Nick watched their slow progress on his console.

Despite their best attempts at haste, the Crab's short legs and the uneven terrain meant that their progress was a slow tide at best. Nick sighed. The combined scans did at least provide him with a comprehensive, all-round display of the ground ahead. His console was now showing a range of images including infrared and ultraviolet radiation. It was just taking a hell of a long time to do so.

The Crab scanners' orders led them gradually towards Havers Compound, a couple of kilometres across the ploughed fields ahead. Nick wondered just how long they were going to take to get there. He noted that already a third of them had failed, either washed down the river, or stuck somewhere with their legs sunk deep into the mud. Several had toppled helplessly onto their backs with their legs kicking in the air. Crab scanners were old technology. Nick had complained to Admiral Gail Thompson about them more times than enough. When they would be upgraded, nobody could say.

Nick studied his console and tried to push aside his frustration. There was no sign of any mines. He hadn't detected any energy fields either. All was quiet at Havers Compound - a little too quiet perhaps.

'Sit still,' Nick said. He knew Edwards was about to complain about something. Edwards had no patience at all.

The seconds ticked by in silence and the Crab scanners rolled onwards in their own sweet time. Nick listened to the sound of his own breathing as it was fed back through his headset. He rested his hand on the dashboard, stretching forwards to see what was happening below. Outside, he could see the river undulating gently in the breeze. A pink haze crept over the land as morning encroached. The moon was still visible among heavy clouds. Hazy lines played across its surface, an optical illusion caused by the Dome Shield. It was almost idyllic. Nick tapped his fingers and chewed his tasteless gum. He could hear the forest creaking behind him as the trees swayed in the breeze outside.

'Commander, I'm picking up movement to the West,' Rachel said.

'Where?' Nick said, flicking through his external cameras.

'Shit. What is that?' Edwards said.

Nick finally found what they were all looking at. 'Oh fuck!'

Havers Compound

A yellow warning light flashed on Riser's communications panel. It was Neech, no doubt. Sod him. Riser ignored the call and closed his eyes, imagining the largest swarm of net-feed droids ever seen. Two hundred and fifty exquisite machines racing through the forest in perfect harmony.

The heavy metal music rattling through his brain changed to a calm symphony by some old crackpot, as he tapped away at the projected keypad in front of him. He had to take several long, slow breaths to take control of his excitement. When he had found that special calm place inside himself, he opened his eyes and examined the progress of the Information Cloud. It was making good progress towards Havers Compound.

The transmissions had been quite explicit about the destination of the Beacon Attack Force. It made Riser's task easier than it might have been. Mekinet News would be right on the scene when anything exciting happened.

'Exclusive! Let's go live to Havers Compound with Riser Trent commentating on a spectacular showdown between the Security Forces and the Kamari rebels!'

Riser laughed and clasped his hands together with joy. He could hardly wait. He tilted his chair back into a more relaxing pose, and selected some music featuring a string quartet. He had no idea what the music was, but the gentle strings helped him relax even further.

Rather than continuing to use the consoles, he reached out and took the new sensor cap from under his desk. The cap's blue jelly lining felt like a cold fish in his hands. He slipped the cap over his head and plugged the jacks into the square ports on the side of the Sphynx-II controller rack. A bio-nerve mesh integrated all the information from the drones directly into his brain, giving him the 'full immersion experience'. The net result was that while wearing the cap, Riser had extrasensory perception, not of the things around him in the small basement, but rather extrasensory perception of everything in range of the Information Cloud.

He felt as though he himself sped across the treetops with wind blowing through his thinning hair. Fresh scents of the forest surrounding him. There were some not so fresh scents too - a bear taking a shit, no doubt. Riser sat motionless, arms hanging by his sides as the data streamed into his mind. His lips curled into a rictus, half joy, half pain. The disclaimer on the back of the sensor cap had said that the massive volume of information provided by the cap could cause 'minor side effects.' Apparently these included migraines, fits and temporary blindness. It certainly was an immersive experience.

He felt the swarm tearing through the forest, each drone a seamless part of the cloud, a new world of knowledge laid bare before him. He could sense the health of the trees, not directly, but somehow he knew that a tall tree on the left lacked density. It was almost hollow inside. A strong wind would break its trunk and send it crashing to the ground. The other trees were solid and strong, he could feel it. He wasn't sure how he knew this but somehow he just did. It was exhilarating.

Riser rode the wave of pleasure pulling at his thoughts. He allowed himself to sink into the virtual world of the racing cloud. The wrist controller that came with the cap was just another way to control the system. It enabled him to imagine flying in any direction, and then flick his wrist to confirm the thought as a command. It acted as a way of double checking that a thought was intended, rather than just an accidental daydream. Riser was beginning to realise just how complex the control systems were, and yet there was also something deeply intuitive about them. Once he had used a command sequence once, it felt somehow right. It was easier to remember the next time. The manual claimed that the sensor cap included 'Assisted Learning Technology' which somehow worked alongside the brain's own natural abilities, accelerating memory formation and creating stronger neural connections, with less need for repetition.

Riser was just beginning to get to grips with the way that the sensor cap subtly merged new information into his existing memories. He felt like he already knew things that he had never directly experienced. At first it was unsettling, but after a while he began to really enjoy the experience. The cap also overlaid glowing images onto his peripheral vision, presenting context-dependent options to him as visual glyphs in the corner of his eye. Hundreds of thought commands hovered in Riser's peripheral vision, bubbling up to the surface when he needed them and automatically fading away as they became less relevant. Somehow the controller made so many complex operations seem so simple. The feeling of power was incredible. The amber light of Neech's unanswered call blinked in the corner of Riser's mind but he ignored it. That was one symbol that he was not interested in. Responding to his thought, the sensor cap reduced the size of the warning, and pushed it further to the outskirts of his mind. Neech had given him control, and Riser was going to damn well use it. He immersed himself in the swarm, letting his immediate surroundings fade away.

The Information Cloud had now reached the edge of the forest. He could see ploughed fields ahead, bathed in the early morning sunshine. Riser felt the heat of the sun on his face. He gasped for breath as his senses expanded to assimilate the immense quantity of information provided by the sensor cap. He had the vision of an eagle. Below, morning dew hung on scattered shoots of grass and left a thin silvery film over the rich brown soil. A mouse scurried away into a nearby hedgerow, looking as though it half expected a net-feed droid to swoop down and snatch it from the ground. Riser chuckled to himself. He could do anything he wanted to.

With a flick of his fingers, he instructed the swarm to spread out across the area between the three huddled Crocs at one end of the field, and Havers Compound at the other. The ground was littered with stupid Crab scanners, which were slowly fumbling their way towards the compound. Such primitive devices were decades old. The Security Forces clearly couldn't compete with the budget of Mekinet News. The Crocs were more impressive. They hung back, staying close to Wyser River. They seemed to be expecting trouble but the compound looked unoccupied.

As Riser watched, his view of the three Crocs became increasingly enriched by the Sphynx-II controller rack's live updates. The sensor cap detected that his awareness was focussed on the Crocs and it automatically deployed several of the net-feed droids to gather more detailed information about them. First, it overlaid his vision with what looked like multicoloured streams of bullets flowing between the Crocs. Riser quickly realised that these small coloured dots were not bullets. They were communications packets being transmitted from Croc to Croc as part of their own private network. Symbols now hovered above each Croc labelling them as K1, K2 and K3. Riser had no idea how the sensor cap knew their names. K1 sent green dots in bursts to K2 and K3. Each responded with bursts of dots of their own, in blue or red. The sensor cap continued to seek out relevant information. It now overlaid the names of the pilots beside each Croc. Was it decrypting their private communication channels? Riser wasn't sure. In his mind's view he could now see hovering labels above each Croc showing K1 (Commander Nick Chambers), K2 (Major Collin Edwards), K3 (Major Rachel Henson). The labels even had small images of each pilot's face next to them. Henson looked quite pretty! Riser chuckled to himself. Was there anything that this equipment couldn't do?

Riser turned his attention to the wide white building at the opposite end of the fields. The name, 'Havers Compound' hovered above it. Guiding the swarm forwards, he decided to take a closer look. The net-feed droids swooped around the low white stone buildings, analysing them from every side at once. They searched for any sign of inhabitants. If the Kamari had made their HQ inside, then they had certainly been subtle about it. Riser twisted his wrist with two short jolts, selecting a fan manoeuvre. The swarm obligingly spread itself outwards like a starburst, filling his mind with images in a three hundred and sixty degree arc. It was time to do what he was paid to do - provide the world with exclusive live action news.

Riser activated a live feed and focussed on the RS6 personnel carriers huddling beside Wyser River. Images of the Crocs appeared instantaneously all across the Orange Zone, in homes across the continent and even way down in Shinara. Subtitles in various languages described how the Security Forces were planning a secret attack upon a suspected Kamari headquarters.

The single blinking amber light in Riser's mind was instantly replaced by thirty-seven red strobes. Shit! He examined the first three calls to see who was so keen to talk to him: Admiral Gail Thompson, Central Command; Sir Isaac Thurman, Chief anti terrorist officer; Paul Maison, President of the International Governing Union. Riser wondered who the other thirty-four callers might be. He knew one thing for sure; he wasn't going to be answering any of them.

More warnings appeared. He realised that the number of urgent warning symbols had risen to one hundred and forty-eight. A thin film of sweat formed on his wide forehead. A belated adjustment to the broadcast, attributed it to Ario Neech rather than himself. The waiting calls jumped to one hundred and seventy-three. Riser decided he'd best get something awesome out of this story if he was going to have any hope of saving his own ass. He flicked his wrist controller up and down to engage forward injection mode. The net-feed droids turned in unison, swooping back towards Havers Compound like an angry crowd at the January sales.

The Swarm

'That's not possible,' Edwards said.

Nick stared at his console, trying to believe him, or even find a way to contradict him. The read-outs made no sense at all. He stared up at the pink morning sky through the Perspex bubble above his head, and saw for himself what the read-outs could not describe. An endless stream of flying droids poured out of Walstone Forest behind them. The droids darkened the sky like a plague of locusts. Nick's mouth fell open. The other units must have been equally astonished. None of them uttered a word. The swarm gathered in a circular swirling cloud, before exploding in all directions at once.

'They look like news droids,' Nick said. 'What the hell are they doing here? Does anybody know which network they are from?'

Rachel grunted under her breath, 'I haven't seen that chassis before, but then news droids aren't really my speciality.'

A second later, klaxons sounded in Nick's cockpit. Red lights rolled across his console in a pattern that Nick hadn't seen for months.

'Sat strike! Scramble!'

Nobody spoke. They knew what the warnings meant as well as anyone. Central Command monitored Sat-Grid at all times. The klaxons meant that a satellite platform had targeted their current location. How the hell the Kamari had taken control of a satellite platform, and how they had managed to pinpoint the exact location of the Beacon Attack Force was a question for another time. Right now, Nick knew that he had to act, and act fast. A satellite strike took only seconds to execute.

All the Crocs lurched into alert positions automatically, leg dampeners powering up for any sudden movements. Nick hit his console in a rapid series of jabs, activating random evasive patterns, purple navigation mode, one hundred metre displacement. This was going to be rough, but he had no choice.

'Brace yourselves!' he said, hitting confirm. He sent the command with override mode, enforcing it on all three Crocs. There was no time to discuss anything.

The three Crocs linked controllers to carry out a joint manoeuvre. Each personnel carrier would move one hundred metres from its original position, without any Croc arriving in the previous location of another, and without any collisions occurring between them. Such plans could never be left to human reactions.

The Crocs confirmed their orders, formed a plan, and executed it before Nick's finger left the console. The usual smooth ride within the cockpit was replaced by a scene of panic. Dirty brown water sloshed over the Perspex above Nick's head. His whole body jolted forward, throwing him down the steep stairwell at his feet. He banged his elbow on the ladder, tumbling and clattering along the interior walls of the stairwell until his body smashed down on the floor below. Nick gasped for air as he held his bruised ribs. He cursed his own foolishness for not belting himself in before entering the command, but there had been no time. If a satellite strike hit the Croc, wearing a belt wouldn't have made any difference anyway.

Nick had no doubt that somewhere on his console above, another red light would now be flashing, telling him to return to his seat. The thought would have made him laugh, if he hadn't just smacked his head at the bottom of the stair well. A thin stream of blood trickled down the side of his face as he lay dazed on his back, holding his ribs. He watched the river enclose the Perspex pod above.

K1 had decided to move to submerged coordinates. Nick could see the sense of it. The river water would help cool the outer chassis if the Croc was hit.

'Sat Strike - Sat Strike - Sat Strike,' the calm voice of his console intoned. It sounded as though it might have been announcing that breakfast was ready. The voice was supposed to inspire calm amongst the crew during emergencies, but Nick knew what satellite strike meant, and he felt far from calm. Each of the Croc's previous positions had just been hit with a Gigawatt maser cannon from an orbiting satellite platform under the control of the Kamari. It was never a good thing. There was no way to shoot back. The only option was to get the hell out of the way, and hope that the satellite platform lost track of your position.

Nick scrambled to his feet and propelled himself back up the stairwell. His foot slipped a couple of times on the metal ladder before he managed to leap upwards and grab the handrail. He yanked himself up into the command module and jumped back into his seat.

Wiping a smear of blood from above his eye, he strapped himself tight into the bucket seat to avoid disgracing himself again. He had only been out of his seat for eight seconds, according to the warning on his console. Fast reactions had always been one of his strong points.

'K2 report damage,' Nick said.

There was no reply. Five red lights flashed on his console but he couldn't attend to them yet.

'K3 report damage.'

Nick rubbed his stiff jaw, listening for any sign of a response. He realised that he must have smacked his face on the way down the ladder, even before he hit his head on the deck below. He would have to be more careful. He had lost his gum too, and part of a tooth with it. The gum had lost its taste anyway.

Nick tried to see the other Crocs through the Perspex of his command module, but he could see nothing but the swirling brown water of the river outside. Examining the alerts on his console, he saw that K3 was illuminated in orange. Nick stared at it with an unsettling feeling running down the length of his spine. He tapped the image of K3 with a bloodstained finger.

A calm monotone voice reported the status, 'K3 autonomous damage report. Pod one 47% damage, pod two 83% damage, pod three destroyed.'

The orange symbol stopped blinking, then flashed back on again, indicating an update. Nick hesitated, then tapped the symbol again.

'K3 auton...'

The symbol blinked out and did not return.

'Contact lost. Shields up.'

Nick felt the cockpit vibrate under a sudden impact. Lurching backwards, the Croc's hull groaned under immense strain. The river's brown water bubbled, evaporating away from the outer Perspex as it turned opaque and blistered under intense heat. The cockpit shook and the ventilation fans whined in high-pitched torment. It was getting hot, fast. Nick felt sweat forming on his cheeks. He wondered if his hair was going to catch fire. He ducked as low as he could in his command seat, fighting an increasing urge to fling himself back down the stairwell at his feet.

The Fortress

Riser felt Havers Compound suddenly transform. The apparently empty buildings took on life as some kind of light bending force was released and the true structure of the compound was revealed. The whole compound was a fortress. Proton cannons opened fire immediately, destroying one of the RS6 personnel carriers. The morning haze vanished under a blinding white light.

Holy shit! It was a satellite strike, and Riser was broadcasting it live! Neech was going to kiss his ass after this. A series of alerts flashed up inside his mind, providing live feedback of events. After some confusion, he realised that the Kamari's proton cannons were tearing straight through his net-feed droids! The Kamari didn't care about news droids. They were just firing at the Security Forces, but if the net-feed droids got in the way they would be destroyed too.

Riser gritted his uneven teeth. Figures flashed within his mind. Thirty-six droids vaporised. They had no armour. They were certainly never designed to withstand satellite strikes or proton cannon fire. Such powerful weapons would vaporise them on the spot, armoured or not. Riser wiggled his fingers through the wrist controller, granting the swarm self preservation rights.

Normally an order was an order. Droids had to obey their commands even if it meant that they would be destroyed. But now that the self preservation right had been enabled, a droid could take evasive action to save itself. It would return to its designated coordinates as soon as the danger had passed. It wasn't infallible by any means, but it did allow a droid to preserve itself from destruction while following orders at the same time.

Riser lolled in his chair, watching the bizarre darting antics of the droids as they leapt out of harms way whenever a proton blast shot through the cloud, only to dash back into position after the shot had passed to retain the best possible news coverage. It was an incredible performance. Over two hundred droids followed his orders while simultaneously weaving themselves in a dance of spectacular proportions, just to avoid being destroyed by passing fire from both sides.

Nick Stew

The second satellite strike was causing heavy damage. Wyser River had turned into a boiling muddy stew with Nick as its core ingredient. He had to do something, and do it fast. Since K1 was underwater, and the back of the Croc was facing Walstone Forest, he redirected all power to the upper shields. He was taking a risk in hoping that no proton cannons could hit him while submerged. The water would not stop proton fire, but if the Kamari could not see the Croc underwater, and if the riverbank was blocking the line of sight... It was a lot of ifs, but it was all he had to work with. Nick reconfigured the shields and held his breath. It would have to hold, for now.

'K2 autonomous damage rep -'

'Nick? Are you there?' Rachel's voice sounded shaky, scared. She was never scared. Nick balled his fist. Those Kamari bastards were going to pay for this.

'Rachel! Are you okay?'

'Been better. I'm just about in one piece. I've lost pod3. I'm still mobile but... and this will make you laugh -'

'I doubt it.'

'Havers Compound has opened for business. My front shields are taking a beating. I'm pulling back.'

Nick watched a series of commands fly across his console. It was confirmation that K3 Croc was directing full power to its front shields, and limping backwards into the river. Rachel was maintaining her distance from K1. He wished that he could see a damn thing through the reinforced Perspex. White flashes danced across the muddy water above. Something was going on up there.

Reports were finally coming in from the Crab scanners. Energy sources had been detected all across Havers Compound. What use was that information now? If he got out of this alive, he was going to give bloody Gail Thompson a piece of his mind. There was no way Crab scanners should still be used in active combat. Their slow progress had endangered the lives of everyone in the Beacon Attack Force. If Nick had been warned earlier, his units might not have been exposed for so long in open territory.

'Edwards?' Nick already knew the answer, but he asked all the same.

It was Rachel who answered, 'The satellite strike crippled K2. I think he was okay... just, but Havers Compound hit him with proton cannons directly afterwards. His shields were inoperable, I guess.'

Nick rubbed his chin. Rough stubble was already poking through his skin, making him itch, but compared to Edwards he had no problems at all. Proton cannons could pound a large carrier even when its shields were fully functional. Without shields, there would be nothing left of Edwards' Croc but dust.

A dozen warning lights flashed across Nick's console. He couldn't face them yet. There had been sixteen people on board K2, not just Edwards. Argumentative sod that he was, he was still a friend. He didn't deserve to die like that. It looked as though this was Edwards' last mission with Nick after all - but not for the reasons he had hoped. Nick felt a pang of guilt about having arranged to move Edwards back to law enforcement work in Cinnamon City. Edwards would have hated it, but if Nick had ordered it a week ago, which he had considered doing, Edwards would still be alive today. It was no use thinking like that. It was too easy to tie your mind in knots with ifs and buts. For every man who had died because of Nick's decisions, another man had been saved. How could he quantify the value of one life over another? Nick decided that he would leave such decisions to God. He reminded himself that the only reality was here and now, and the only people that he could save were those who were still living.

'Nick?' Rachel was worried about him, he could tell.

'I'm okay,' he said, but he knew he wasn't. It didn't matter anyway. He was trained to deal with exactly this kind of situation, and that was what he was going to do.

The upper shields were burning hot. Every warning light was illuminated on Nick's console. The shields could fail at any time.

'K3, are you operational?' Nick said.

There was a noticeable pause. No doubt Rachel was offended by his officious tone, but he knew too that she would retain her professionalism. Both of them had always had to put work before their private lives, and before their daughter too. Lisa's face flashed before his eyes. No. He couldn't think about how much he missed her now.

'K3 operational, Commander Chambers,' Rachel said. 'We've lost most of communications and navigation, but we can still carry out instructions downloaded from K1.'

Nick felt the harsh tone of her words but he carried on regardless. 'Good. I want you to pull back.'

'We are -'

'Pull back further, to these coordinates.' Nick tapped them into his console and ignored the blood which was again trickling down his cheek from a cut on his forehead. He hoped the bleeding would stop soon.

'Okay.' Her tone of voice told him that she didn't agree, but she would do it anyway.

Nick knew that she was pissed at him, but she would follow orders when it came to it. He wasn't ordering her to pull back because he loved her. He kept telling himself that. It was standard procedure. When one unit was down, and the commander was facing an unknown situation, another unit should always be pulled back so that it could report on any further losses that may occur. Nick suspected that it should be his own unit that pulled back, but he didn't care about that. He had to get Rachel out of danger. Okay, so fuck it. Yes, it was a personal decision, but what about it? He wasn't just some machine. The years of training hadn't eroded all of his humanity. Somewhere within him, he still felt responsible for Rachel and his daughter. He had been dealing with that for as long as he could remember.

Nick tapped in the codes and watched as K3 continued its painful retreat. The proton cannons were smashing the hell out of Rachel's front shields. He wondered how much power she still had remaining. He couldn't tell from his console. Some of the remote diagnostics had failed to connect. It was a good thing that there were no mobile enemy units on the field, otherwise she wouldn't be able to redirect all power to one side like that. He knew that no Croc could defend against a proton cannon, and fight off another attack at the same time. RS6 personnel carriers were not intended to handle such heavy bombardments. They would normally be accompanied by assault vehicles. Nick wondered why Gail Thompson had not sent any with the Beacon Attack Force. Why was she leaving him so exposed?

It was getting too damned hot. Sweat covered Nick's forehead. He brushed a hand through his hair, and it felt hot under his hand. It wasn't burning, but it did smell burnt. He had a horrible feeling that it might be melting or smouldering. He struggled to slide further down in his seat. He had to put a little more distance between his head and the tortured surface of the Perspex bubble above. He knew that it was the only thing between him and the boiling river water outside. The frothing waters were getting ever more agitated. The Croc lurched and shuddered in the currents while tiny cracks spread across the Perspex above him. Nick gripped his seat.

'Shields failing,' the console reported.

Nick jumped despite himself. He knew that a shield failure was always reported long before it actually happened, but it didn't make him feel any better about it. He would be okay. He had some time left. He just needed to focus. The satellite couldn't keep this up for much longer, could it? Nick had no idea. Ignoring all the warnings, he sent a quick report to Central Command, just in case.

K2 down. Sat-strike.

K3 pulling back due to heavy proton cannon fire.

Havers Compound confirmed heavily fortified Kamari base.

Code D6942.'

The final code would tell Central Command all that they needed to know. It was a standard command code that meant the Beacon Attack Force may be destroyed. The code also admitted that he was about to do something drastic. It would look better on his record. Combat ready, no longer described the state of the K1 personnel carrier. D6942 meant for all practical purposes that Nick, as the commander of K1, had decided to throw everything he had against the target, and hope that it stuck. It was a near kamikaze-style assault. That's why he had asked Rachel to pull back. Not so that she could report the situation as protocol dictated, but because he couldn't bare to think of her dying as a result of his own last orders. Nick realised that he didn't believe he would survive the next few minutes, and that made it even more essential that his plan succeeded. He would only get one chance.

Nowhere to Hide

Riser leaned back in his chair. He was starting to get worried. This wasn't quite how he had envisaged things turning out. The power of the swarm was a tremendous buzz, but row upon row of raging red lights in his head were not what he wanted at all. Every light represented a person that he had never heard of. They all outranked him by orders of magnitude, and every last one of them wanted to tell him that they thought he was a complete wanker - a wanker who would soon be unemployed, and perhaps the victim of a nasty mech-tractor accident. That was the summary of his mind's display. They all wanted to kick his ass. Even for someone of Riser's sensibility this was by no means ideal. He hit the pseudo power out backup switch and all the red lights went away. It would make it look as though he had lost power, and therefore unfortunately could not answer their urgent calls. It was a poor excuse, but it was the only one he could think of. All he could do now was watch and wait.

There had to be a way out of this. In the centre of his mind, one red light was still blinking. It was Neech. That bastard knew he still had power! Fuck him! Riser flicked off the classical junk music, and switched back to 'Angry Young Men,' their first album before they were bought out by the Prince of Scarvetch. Thunder and iron rumbled through his head like a freight train in a storm.

Riser managed a small smile. These fuckers didn't have him in their net just yet. He had been crawling out of trouble since before he was out of nappies. If they thought he was finished they were sadly mistaken.

Then he really did lose power.

Cafe Lyon

Henry had changed into a fine grey cloak, tied at the waist with a thick red band. His golden chain was tucked inside his cloak, but its shape was still visible as a rough outline beneath the fabric. As he strolled through Cinnamon City, he felt a lightness in his step, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Was it just the effect of leaving Central Command? Tower Four was his home, but it could also be oppressive at times. Living in a high black tower, surrounded by the constant buzzing of security force fields could be disconcerting at times. It was not the most conducive atmosphere to relaxation and creative thought. Often, he found that his best plans came to him while he was out walking in Cinnamon City.

He particularly enjoyed walking through the Old Quarter. He had been roaming through its narrow side streets ever since he was a child. The multicoloured box cabins had been much more spread out back then. Guildmaster Gumptor had been right about that. The box cabins were now so close together that even walking between them was becoming difficult. Some backed right up to each other, and others overlapped, like boxes and tubes thrown into a tangled heap. Henry squeezed his ample frame between a long blue tubular box cabin and one that was painted in such bright red colours that it made his eyes ache to be so close to it. He laughed as he slid through sideways and ducked under a yellow overhanging building to reach the other side. He had grown up in the Old Quarter and he still had fond memories of the place.

'Hey Mister, can I lend ten credits?'

Henry looked down at a small blonde boy with a heavily freckled face. A group of five smaller children stood around him with eyes gazing upwards as though Henry was a high building.

'Lend you ten credits? Don't you mean give you ten credits?'

'No sir. I only need to lend. My momma will pay you back later.'

'When will she pay me back?'

'In the next life, sir.'

Some of the boys and girls around him began giggling and hiding their faces in their hands. Henry gave the boy an appraising look. One day he would make a fine diplomat. Reaching into his cloak pocket, he plucked out a ten credit data disc and tossed it to the boy.

'Thank you, Mr Man!'

'Just be sure to build up a small empire with that, and remember me when you make it to the rank of Admiral, Okay?'

The boy's face beamed, 'Sure thing, Mr. I'll give you a call when I'm Admiral and make you some tea.'

The other boys and girls jumped and laughed and pulled him away, 'Come on Johnny, let's get some sweets.' Their laughter faded away as they ran around the corner out of sight.

Henry smiled. Once upon a time, that had been him playing in the streets. How happy would he have been if a stranger had tossed him ten credits. It had never happened for him. Still, that didn't mean that it had to be the same for the next generation. Maybe that little boy really would make Admiral one day.

Henry made his way deeper into the Old Quarter. There was a fresh breeze in the air and it made him realise just how much he enjoyed walking. He examined each building that he passed. Some were new and some were old. Most were people's homes but some were trader's stalls or small cafes that offered refreshments and synthetic food.

It was right where he remembered it. A small door tucked into an archway at the bottom of three wide steps. It was hidden between an overhanging laundry block and the ugliest yellow, three-storey box cabin that Henry had ever seen. He descended the steps and opened the small wood-panelled door that led into Cafe Lyon.

The cafe was dimly lit with flickering yellow flames that hung from the walls in mock-antique cages. A dozen wooden tables were laid out in a semi circle around the outer wall. Henry stepped over to a table close to the net screens and the auto-bar, and sat himself down on a wide bench, with his back against the wall. He tapped a button on the edge of the table and the auto-bar flickered into life. The pale blue face of a woman hung just above the table, semi-transparent and smiling back at him.

'Welcome to Auto-bar! What can I get you? Drink? Food? Something else?'

'Drink and food,' Henry said.

The blue floating head blinked back at him, eyes staring with delight, 'Sure thing! What drink will it be?'

'Orange juice.'

'On its way! What food will it be?'

'Poached trout, thyme, potatoes roasted in butter and a white wine sauce.'

'On its way!'

'Will there be any...'

'No.'

The blue head blinked out and disappeared. Thirty-seconds later the middle section of the table opened up to reveal a large square hole. From the bottom of the hole a platform started rising up, bringing with it a tray of synthetic food and orange juice. Henry picked up the knife and fork and cut himself a piece of trout. He popped it into his mouth and chewed. The taste of freshwater trout assaulted his tongue, and the aromas from the herbs gave a fresh kick to the synthetic potatoes. It wasn't a bad dish. He almost believed that it was real fresh food. Cafe Lyon wasn't cheap but it had the best food synthesizers in the area. Henry took another bite and nodded towards the nearest net feed console. It swung around to face him and lit up.

'Thanks for joining us on Mekinet News. We have something special for you today. Yes, we have a live exclusive feed of a combat mission taking place at Havers Compound.'

The console switched to a live overhead camera showing three Crocs huddled beside a river. The caption scrolling along the bottom of the screen said:

Central Command has sent three RS6 personnel carriers to launch an attack on a suspected Kamari headquarters at Havers Compound.

Henry spat his trout across the table. It bounced on the far edge of the table and hit the floor with a squelch.

'What the hell is going on with Mekinet News?'

A blue semi-transparent face appeared between Henry and the news feed console, 'Profanity will not be tolerated. Would you like more orange juice, trout, or other?'

'Clear,' Henry said.

The blue head disappeared again.

The news feed was now showing a big white building that had a subtitle:

Havers Compound

Henry shook his head. What were Mekinet News thinking? Central Command were going to go crazy when they saw this. Gail Thompson would be sending out commanders right now. Cinnamon City was getting worse. He had never seen such irresponsible live reporting before. It was more than just irresponsible. It was dangerous. Henry flicked over to another channel, CX Live.

The news feed showed a crowd of people walking through the Old Quarter, a little way to the North. Several news agencies were walking alongside them, shouting out questions as they pushed their way through the city.

'What is this about?' One of the reporters asked.

'This is about free elections,' a man said.

Henry tapped the console, zooming in on the man at the front of the crowd. It was Guildmaster Gumptor.

'Oh shit.'

A blue semi-transparent head appeared above the table, 'Profanity will not be tolerated. Would you..'

'Clear.'

The head disappeared.

The reporters were running along to keep up with the moving crowd. Around a hundred people marched through the streets. As the crowd reached a wide plaza, they gathered around a small raised platform. Guildmaster Gumptor climbed onto the platform and turned to face the gathered people. He waited while more people arrived, his bulging eyes taking them all into his wide sweeping gaze.

'Good people of Cinnamon City,' he said. 'I have come here today, not as one man, not as one Guild, but as one nation. I have come here with a clear voice and a clear statement.'

Henry popped a chunk of synthetic trout into his mouth and chewed. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Surely Gumptor wasn't going to ask for free elections on the news feeds? Was he so desperate that he had to take such extreme measures for publicity? Nobody spoke openly against the Council Of Lords. It would be madness.

Gumptor stared straight into the camera, with his head held high and his arms behind his back, 'The Council Of Lords have governed over the Orange Zone for over seven hundred years. Our ancestors owed them a gratitude of debt for freeing us from the Iridium Wars. It's a tale we all know. It's taught in schools up and down the Orange Zone. But seven hundred years is a long, long time ago. The gratitude of our ancestors is buried along with their bodies. We, as modern citizens of Cinnamon City, do not share that debt. The debt was long since paid. So why is it that even today, the Council of Lords still governs Cinnamon City? Why do the Council Of Lords still dictate economic policy to the Guilds? Why is it that the Council Of Lords do not come forwards to discuss important matters when summoned? And why is it that we sit back and allow this to happen, Year after year, generation after generation? The time has come for this to stop. From this day forwards, the Guilds will pay no tax of food nor money to the Council Of Lords or any of its agents until free elections have been agreed.'

Henry buried his head in his hands, 'Oh my sweet aunt.'

His bag started buzzing loudly. Henry reached inside and pulled out his comms unit. It was an incoming call from Admiral Gail Thompson. Henry hovered his thumb just above the accept button. What was he going to say? Glancing around the room with a guilty expression, he tossed the comms unit back into his bag unanswered.

The Bull Rangers

The vibrations stopped at last. K1 Croc shook one last time before settling back down on the riverbed with a painful groan. Every part of it creaked and popped in ways that didn't sound in any way encouraging. The river had calmed down to a low simmer. It would be some time before it recovered its normal cool temperature. Nick grabbed a cloth from a small container beside his seat and wiped the blood and sweat from his face. He turned the air conditioning onto full power, but only hot air blew out of the vents, so he turned it off again.

Was that a poached trout that had just floated past? It didn't look very appetising. It was unusual to see any fish in the rivers at all. This one had been unlucky to be taking a swim in this part of the river.

Checking his instruments, Nick was relieved to see that the satellite strike had finally ended. He had no doubt that his own Croc had survived the blast longer because it had been submerged. The cooling currents of the river had managed to keep the temperature down just long enough to save him from being baked like a pie in his own personnel carrier. The shields had held, but the residual heat had been growing uncomfortably for way too long. Nick had been lucky - this time. He rubbed a hand across his face and wondered how much longer his luck could last.

The temperature in the cockpit was finally starting to drop. Nick straightened his jacket and unfastened a couple more buttons. A thin smile spread across his face. The Kamari had been dictating the battle so far, but it was time for a little payback.

Only Nick knew that pod three of K1 was not a communications and navigation pod, as it was in the other two Crocs. It looked that way, certainly. That was the intention. It was described that way in the documentation and training courses, and shown as such on every schematic a person would ever see, and yet it wasn't. K1 didn't need a communications and navigation team. It had a simple virtual controller unit that combined the abilities of the other Crocs perfectly to negate the need of its own. The other Crocs didn't even know that they were providing the necessary calculations and processing. Now that K2 was down, K1 was relying on K3 only, but every system had its limits. Nick used this fact as additional justification that he had made the right decision about pulling Rachel back. If K3 had been destroyed, then he too would have lost communications and navigation.

The Crocs had shown that they could take a beating. His life was testament to that, but maybe it was time to give a little back. Nick grinned. He sat up straight in his bucket seat and entered the command.

K1 lurched forwards, rising out of the steaming brown water, and mounted the riverbank. It climbed just far enough to raise all three pods out of the water, while retaining the rim of the riverbank between itself and the proton cannons of Havers Compound. When the third pod was clear of the water, it burst open, spilling twelve Bull Rangers onto the muddy riverbank below. Their short limbs pumped as they launched themselves over the mound, advancing across the battlefield with malevolent purpose. With two thick legs, and short powerful arms, the armoured droids had both the advantage of speed, and the disadvantage of balance, though it didn't seem to bother them too much. They looked unusual as they ran, taller than a man but heavier in all respects. They were built for power and moved with incredible speed. From a distance, they could be mistaken for angry silver lizards, sprinting on their hind legs.

Bull Rangers were not illegal, not yet anyway, but they did lack finesse, so the saying went. Once unleashed, they had only one purpose, to destroy their target. There was no way to recall them. That was another reason that they were so unpopular with civil rights groups.

Normally, to release three Bull Rangers would be seen as unpleasant. Nick released his full complement of twelve. His console showed their progress, as they sprinted across the charred fields, legs pumping as they approached Havers Compound. The proton cannons were not slow to notice their arrival. A barrage of hostile fire swam amongst them, making the Bull Rangers activate multiple evasion patterns. Two were knocked flat, battered by crossfire from multiple proton cannons, but the others weaved through the hostile fire, homing in on their targets.

Nick checked his console and saw that Rachel had indeed fallen back to the coordinates that he had sent her. He felt intense relief. He never doubted her abilities, but he did doubt that she would listen to him as a person, and in the current circumstances that could be fatal for both of them. She was trying to hail him, no doubt wanting to demand an explanation as to what the hell he was doing, but for the moment he didn't accept the call.

Ten golden streaks on Nick's console indicated the progress of the remaining Bull Rangers. They had already covered half the distance to the compound. Their claw-like feet crunched the burnt remains of Crab scanners into the blackened soil as they accelerated close to Mach-1.

Bull Rangers were the fastest 'walking' attack rangers ever made. They could reach Mach-4 on a level surface, but on this uneven field, they were likely to stay around Mach-1. They needed the added mobility to avoid proton cannon blasts that followed their continuous dodging manoeuvres. Some blasts were purposely aimed in front of the Bull Rangers, making craters in their path, but they leapt easily across the craters, and charged onwards.

What happened next would be a first for Commander Nick Chambers. He knew from special weapons training sessions that Bull Rangers carried a unique carrier shield that was supposed to sync with the force fields of enemy defences. The compound would no doubt have a matter deflection shield erected, a simple field which would vaporise any solid object that came into contact with it. It was used to repel simple weapons such as missiles and attack vehicles. Nothing could pass through, other than energy weapons, and those would be absorbed by powerful magnetic fields erected around key installations. The Bull Ranger, however, had an ionic field of its own. When it came within range of the compound's field, the two shields would automatically merge, letting the Ranger pass straight through. It was a feature that was normally used to combine the force fields of multiple autonomous moving platforms, but in this case it was used to trick enemy installations into believing that the Bull Rangers were allied units that should be assimilated into their own matter deflection shields. It was, of course, possible to use encryption codes to validate new members of the shield grid... but Nick was definitely hoping that the Kamari had not thought that was necessary.

Where finesse failed, a Bull Ranger would use its kinetic energy to cause 'physical impact damage' - it would simply butt the compound walls. Nick watched his console with interest. His orders were irrevocable. He would have to live with the consequences.

Out of the water, K1 was exposed again, but he couldn't hide in Wyser River all day. He had to turn this battle around. He hoped that the flying droids would not give away his current location to the satellite platform again. He hoped that the satellite-grid would not decide to put down random attack patterns to guess where the Crocs might have moved to, and he hoped that Rachel would still be alive if he ever survived long enough to see her again. He had called a D6942 attack pattern, and he knew that the command could not be recalled. It was time to prove once again why he deserved the rank of commander.

Golden lines danced back and forth across his console, weaving ever more manically as the Bull Rangers drew closer to Havers Compound. One Ranger went down from a direct hit, and then another. Nick was down to eight, but he knew that each Bull Ranger was a force to be reckoned with. Eight would be trouble enough for the Kamari to deal with.

The first Ranger penetrated Havers Compound's outer shield, and swept straight through a multilayer hybrid deflector dish, smashing it into a thousand pieces. It hit the proton cannon directly behind the deflector, just as the cannon fired for the final time. At such close range, the exploding Bull Ranger took out ten percent of the compound in a bulbous cloud of smoke and debris. That wasn't supposed to happen, but Nick would take all the luck he could get.

As the other Bull Rangers pounded into the unprotected walls of the compound, flames rose high into the smoke-filled sky and ash fell like rain upon the destruction below. Black impact craters scarred the front of Havers Compound, and smoke partially obscured what was left of the damaged sections of the wall. The occasional explosion was the only indication that intense fighting had broken out inside. The Bull Rangers, having slammed through several outer walls, were now blasting energy weapons in all directions, with little regard for life or limb. They had their orders, and they would pursue them to the end.

Net Feed Droids

Rachel examined the status reports on her console. It was clear that her Croc was too badly damaged to take part in any further combat. It was a miracle that it hadn't shut down altogether. Eleven crew sat in the various compartments behind her, trying to communicate with Central Command using their heavily damaged instruments. They scanned for hostile fire, and managed the burnt out systems as best they could. Four crew had died during the satellite strikes. The smell of burnt flesh still lingered in the stale air, despite the best efforts of the overloaded ventilation systems.

Through the Perspex bubble of her command module, Rachel looked out across the river to where Nick's Croc sat half submerged, like a sleeping frog. It had climbed out of the river earlier, and unloaded those strange running lizard droids, but now it had slipped back down the riverbank, presumably to avoid being attacked by the fierce proton cannons that still crackled and blazed across the battlefield.

The Bull Rangers had been a surprise to Rachel. She wondered why Nick had not told her about them before. The Ranger’s power and speed had been as impressive as their reputation had led her to believe, but she had been surprised at the level of destruction that they had caused. Havers Compound was leaking plumes of smoke from several places, flames spreading like wildfire.

Nick's Croc looked even more damaged than her own. She guessed that his shields must be low on reserves too. The normally dull metallic chassis was now mostly black, and in some places it was even blue where the metal had been heated and distorted so badly. The reinforced Perspex body compartments were opaque, like cataract, and riddled with tiny cracks. It was a miracle that they had not shattered completely.

Nick's busy form was just visible within the command module. He sat amongst the bright lights and control panels coordinating the battle. He looked tired, even from this distance. She was too far away to see his face clearly, but something made her think that he might be injured. Rachel smiled. Her intuition had been running on overdrive lately, but she knew that there was no way she could know about his health problems from this far away. An image flashed across her mind of Nick banging his head on the ladder leading to his cockpit. She dismissed the thought, unable to say where it had come from. She was letting her imagination get away from her. Maybe she needed more sleep? Maybe she would get another medical check-up after this mission. It had been a while since her last one.

Rachel wondered if the Kamari would launch any more satellite strikes. She didn't think that any of the Crocs would be able to survive another hit. She felt nauseous as a result of breathing in the fumes from the ventilation systems, but the feeling was tinged with an anxiety that wasn't normally part of her character. She considered hailing Nick again, just to hear his voice. She wanted to check if he was okay, but she knew that he would be busy coordinating the attack. She would leave him to get on with rescuing what was left of their mission. Her questions could wait.

Adjusting her position in the pilot's seat, Rachel gazed out through the cockpit's damaged Perspex bubble at the pale blue sky above. The flying droids were circling overhead like bad omens. They were net-feed droids, she knew that much. Several of the news networks had bought similar systems, but most were clumsy, basic devices. These droids looked expensive. They would be beyond the budgets of many of the news networks. She had a bad feeling that she might already know who they belonged to, but she wanted to make sure that she wasn't jumping to conclusions.

She lifted the thin plastic protector that covered her console and entered a series of commands. She set up a tracking program that followed the progress of each droid and plotted it on her console's display. Then she refined the program, selecting one small group of five net-feed droids that were travelling in close formation. They moved in a cyclic, oval orbit between the Crocs and Havers Compound. Their path had a regular interval that she could use to predict the exact moment that each droid would fly close to her own Croc. She knew that she wouldn't be able to use the Croc's proton cannons, without disintegrating the droids entirely. She needed them mostly intact. Instead, she selected one of the Croc's automatic side guns that could fire rapid bursts of simple projectile munitions. She locked the gun's targeting system onto the predicted paths of the net-feed droids and armed it. She noticed that some of the droids were successfully dodging the Kamari proton cannons, so as an afterthought, she instructed the targeting system to use a munition with a wide dispersal pattern. It would be more difficult for the droids to avoid.

Ten-seconds later, the five net-feed droids drew close as they approached on their regular orbit. The side gun opened fire, spraying the sky with a wide burst of solid projectiles. Three of the droids successfully fled the attack. The other two were not so lucky. The first of the damaged droids rolled sideways and sped off at an odd angle, leaving a trail of sparks and smoke across the sky. The second droid tumbled out of control, bounced across the ground, and came to halt a hundred metres away. It lay wobbling on the ground as sparks travelled across its shattered outer shell.

'Perfect,' Rachel said.

She stared at it through the Perspex bubble of the cockpit. The fallen droid wasn't far away but she knew that Nick would be unhappy if she went out on foot to inspect it. He was always overprotective around her, even though there wasn't any need to be. She thought about her other options. Most of the Crab scanners had made it across the fields already. The ones that had been successful were now too far away to be of any use to her, but many of the Crab scanners hadn't made it that far. Many had been washed away down the river, and some had been stranded on their backs after tumbling over rocks or chunks of uneven soil. One or two had managed to get back onto their feet after a time, and now stood motionless close to her Croc.

Rachel selected the closest Crab scanner and ran a diagnostic on it. It was still operational. The original command to approach Havers Compound had expired, since the others had already arrived at their destination and sent back all the data that was needed. Rachel ordered the Crab scanner to turn around and approach the fallen net-feed droid. She switched part of her console to show a view from the Crab scanner's on board camera. It was gazing out across the rough soil, stumbling towards the downed net-feed droid. Each chunk of soil looked like a boulder from its perspective, though she knew that the soil was no larger than the small clumps she had stepped on many times before. The Crab scanner made slow progress, dragging itself along with feet slipping and sliding every second step.

As it grew closer, she could make out that the net-feed droid's outer shell was cracked in several places. Rachel selected manual control, and steered it closer. After a couple of minutes, the Crab scanner was close enough to peer through a large hole in the side of the net-feed droid. It had stopped smoking, but the casing was black and covered in burn marks. Rachel raised the Crab scanner's extendable eyes on stalks and manoeuvred them to peer inside the droid's shell.

It was dim inside, but she managed to control a small spotlight mounted on the Crab scanner's head and pan it across the internal components. She zoomed in to get a close up image, but didn't recognise much of what she was seeing. Maybe that was a good sign? The inside shell was blackened and dented where it had been hit by the side gun. She found what she was looking for on one particularly bent and twisted piece of metal. The droid's chassis code was stamped on the inside of the case with small black letters embossed onto a silver plate. The image from the Crab scanner was badly focussed and hard to read. She overrode the auto-focus settings and manually adjusted it to cope with the close range view that she required. With a little effort, the chassis code came into clear focus.

MKN-37809

That was all she needed to know. She opened a comms link to Nick.

'I know who sent the net-feed droids,' she said.

'Who?' Nick said. His voice sounded apprehensive as though he already knew what she was going to say.

'Mekinet News.'

Nick didn't reply.

Missing Code

Nick was trying to work out how damaged his shields were but there was something wrong with the diagnostics software. It was impossible to calculate whether the shields were still working correctly or not. He had no choice but to assume that they were too damaged to be relied upon. There was not much he could do about it. He triggered a shield recharge cycle, but it would take several hours and he suspected that it would fail before completion. Nick didn't think that the Croc had enough energy reserves to remain combat ready.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a white flashing light on his console. There was an incoming call. He switched it to voice.

'Commander Chambers, this is Central Command network centre. We have been looking at the call you placed earlier, and we have identified the code you requested.'

Nick tried to remember what they were talking about, 'Oh yes, the code,' he said. 'What does it mean?'

'It took us a while to track it down. It's not very common these days. It's a warning.'

'What kind of warning?' Nick said.

'It means that one of the other Crocs in your local defence network is making multiple connections to your systems from several different sources.'

'I don't think I understand. Give me the summary.'

'Normally each Croc in your local network will make only one connection to your network, unless it has two separate sections or an escape pod, then maybe it would make two connections.'

Nick wasn't really sure where this was going. He figured that he would stick with it and hope it made sense soon. 'Okay. Go on.'

'What I'm saying is that each Croc in your unit should only be making one - or at most two - connections to your local network, not thirty-three.'

'Thirty-three? Where did that come from?'

'That's what the warning meant. Major Edwards' Croc was making thirty-three connections to your local network. We suspect that thirty-two of them were not actually him.'

'Do you mean I've been hacked?'

'Quite probably, yes. We couldn't identify where the other connections came from, but there's a lot of hi-tech droids flying around out there. They are packed full of top of the range equipment. It's quite likely that some of those are accessing your systems.'

Nick couldn't believe it. As if it wasn't bad enough that these bloody droids were flying around, broadcasting live battle scenes, and putting lives at risk, it seemed that they had hacked into his local communications network as well.

'Oh, come on. How is that possible?'

'We're not exactly sure. Maybe they intercepted Edwards' encryption codes and broke them somehow. It's a typical man in the middle attack. They intercept transmissions meant for you, decode them, and then send them on to you as though they were from Edwards. Your systems then respond to the hacker instead of Edwards. It's a common strategy.'

Nick groaned.

'You might want to shut down his access privileges. There are still thirty-two inbound connections under his name.'

Nick cursed. He slapped at his console, revoking all privileges for Edwards and disconnected the existing connections.

'What information did they get?' Nick said.

'No idea. You might be able to tell more from your own console.'

'Sure.'

'Sorry it took us so long to get back to you, Commander. It's an obscure code and we couldn't establish contact with you for a while there.'

'Okay. Thanks for the help.'

The connection was dropped from the other end.

Nick rubbed his chin. Security had become a real mess lately. It was getting worse every day. He wondered what those droids were looking for. He hoped that whatever it was, he wouldn't suffer because of it.

Inside Havers Compound

The lights flickered, dimmed, then shone brighter than ever while the walls shuddered and lurched. A dozen Kamari soldiers pounded down the corridor, heading for the lift ahead of them. Between them, they carried heavy equipment packs, and munitions in low slung steel boxes. Their breathing came short and fast after the long jog from the east wing. Supplies were running low at this end of the compound, and their munitions were sorely needed by the other units.

As they approached the lift, its double doors shook, and a thin spray of dust flew out around the edges. Before the soldiers could react, a loud bang came from behind the doors. Tortured metal groaned, and glass shattered.

The man nearest the doors came to a sudden halt. An emblem on his upper arm marked him out as a captain in the Kamari ranks. His name was Redwood. He had heard that the fighting had intensified in this area, so he kept himself low and ready for whatever was to come. The rest of the soldiers stopped in their tracks, cautiously spreading themselves across the hallway, their weapons raised and ready. They had the look of men who had seen many things, and were ready to see some more.

Silence filled the hallway. Nobody moved. The silence stretched on until it could stretch no more. The captain took a step forward, but waved a hand behind him, signalling the others to stay back.

Just as he moved, the steel doors blew outwards in twisted outrage. One of the doors spun sideways knocking the captain flying back across the hallway. He landed hard, head slapping against the stone floor, and stayed down.

The other soldiers scattered. Some leapt aside, staying on their feet, but most were knocked flat by the shock wave and flying debris.

Captain Redwood groaned. He stretched out one leg, and half lifted himself. His eyes were unfocussed. A couple of the other soldiers scrambled to their feet and tried to help him up, but they were struggling too. The noise of the explosion still rang throughout the hallway. Another soldier got up and started firing his impact pistol repeatedly. He was aiming towards the dust cloud that billowed out from the exposed lift shaft. He stared intently into the dust, as though he could see something that the others could not.

The settling dust was interrupted by the sound of crunching glass and creaking metal. A single Bull Ranger strode out of the lifts. Standing one and a half times the height of a man, its thick protruding head jutted towards them like an anvil of vengeance. The crumbling ceiling hung only inches above its head, as it hunched low to step out of the lift.

At once, the other soldiers started firing their impact pistols. One of them shouted for someone to go and get help. The Bull Ranger ignored their low calibre weapons. The projectiles sprayed across its SP armour without bouncing off. Instead, the armour absorbed their kinetic energy entirely. The projectiles sank into the soft armour, and moments later emerged again to fall on the floor around the machine's claw-like feet. It sucked them in, and spat them out like apple pips.

Captain Redwood was back on his feet. He leant heavily to one side as he nursed a cracked rib. 'Get out of here,' he shouted to the others, but it was too late.

The Bull Ranger stepped forwards. One thick fist pointed towards them. It rotated clockwise ninety degrees and a small opening at its tip flashed white as it expelled a burst of chaff. Hundreds of pieces of jagged hot metal sped across the hallway, slicing through flesh, and embedding themselves in the surrounding walls. One soldier went down holding his face as blood spurted out between his fingers. Another collapsed holding his stomach. In unison, they all fell, crying out and twisting to hold their injuries. Their cries faded quickly to groans, and most fell silent after only a few seconds, their blood pooling out across the hallway.

The Bull Ranger paused, scanning for signs of life. It's bulbous head twisted to one side, listening to a rustling noise in a ventilation shaft. Then it noticed a movement to one side. A soldier was trying to drag himself along the hallway, slick blood trailing behind him. The Ranger rushed forwards and stepped onto his back, gradually applying its full weight until bones crunched and the soldier expelled his final breath. He didn't move again.

The heavy fighting machine scanned the hallway for any more signs of life, and finding none, headed through a doorway half a dozen paces beyond the fallen bodies. The concrete frame of the door wasn't wide enough for the Bull Ranger's powerful body, but it battered its way through with ease. Concrete crumbled and dust poured down from the ceiling, as it strode through the newly enlarged archway, and disappeared into the clouds of dust beyond.

Blackout

All was blackness. The ventilation fans span down with a final whining sigh, before silence filled the darkness of the Mekinet News basement. Riser Trent cursed himself for not having an uninterruptible power supply. He wondered which one of today's two hundred and nineteen enemies had done this to him. One of the red flashing lights that he had been ignoring for so long must have lost their patience and taken matters into their own hands. How many of them had the authority and nerve to shut down the power of a major news network? Not many. That bastard Neech must have done this, but if it was him, his actions reeked of desperation. Maybe it was Central Command? They had the nerve and the necessary level of stupidity. Riser didn't know who it was.

The sudden loss of information from the data cap made him feel dizzy and nauseous. Silver flecks danced across his vision. The cap's disclaimers had not been far off. The beginnings of a headache lingered at the back of his mind. Riser forced himself to remain calm. He took off the cap and tried to place it on his desk, missing its surface twice in the darkness, before banging his finger on the console.

The total absence of stimuli felt like a bereavement after the full immersion of the Information Cloud, but he knew that it was only a temporary side-effect of using the sensor cap. Already he was starting to feel a little better.

He'd always been good with machines. Whether it was a mech-tractor, a rack server, or a sensor cap, Riser knew that he would understand how to use it faster than anyone else. He wasn't bright, as such - nobody had called him that. He just intuitively knew how things worked, and that was good enough for most things. Within a few days he would acclimatise to the sensor cap better than anyone.

Rubbing his thick beard, he sat in the darkness and thought about his situation. Pulling the power on him had been a stupid thing to do. It was probably standard procedure in some rule book sat on a shelf at Central Command, but it was still dumb. They couldn't really believe that pulling the plug would shut him down? Did they know so little about him? He wasn't about to pack up his toys and go home just yet. Riser knew people. He knew things. He knew what made the world tick, and he knew when some dumb fuck had just underestimated him. He was just getting started.

Reaching into a pocket of his crumpled combat trousers, he pulled out a net phone, and selected Damen's number. It was a long time before his brother answered.

'What is it?' The voice was deep, muffled and sleepy.

'I have a job for you,' Riser said. He tried to keep his voice neutral. He didn't want to get his brother too interested in what he was doing. He just needed to call in a favour and that was it.

'Oh, it's you. Hold on.' Sounds of shuffling drifted away and then came back again. 'What do you want, Riser?'

'I just need you to do something for me. It's a very simple task and I can pay you, but I need you to come right now. What were you doing just now?'

'I was sleeping. You woke me up, you stupid fuck. Did you mention credits?'

'Yes, but if you're too busy sleeping, maybe I should call someone else.'

'Hmmm. No. I guess you're in luck. Paid jobs are the only kind of jobs I like.'

'Don't I know it,' Riser let out a great belly laugh. 'Do you want to know what the job is or shall we just talk numbers?'

'Let's get to the numbers. How many credits do you have? I'm not doing anything for less than a hundred. It's just not worth the time. I can make that in half an hour down in the Durban district.'

Riser shrugged in the darkness. It was a hopeless gesture, but he couldn't help himself. His brother had always been greedy. Ever since Riser could remember, Damen had been asking for credits before he would do anything for anyone. By now he must have hoarded away a massive amount but he always seemed to be the same old Damen. He always wore the same creased blue boiler suit. He never seemed to progress. Riser decided to save time on negotiating and give him what he wanted straight away. Neech would pay for it anyway when all this was done.

'Okay. If you do what I'm asking right now I'll give you 500 credits.'

'I'm not killing anyone, Riser.'

Riser barked a half laugh, 'I'm not asking you to kill anyone, you fat bastard. Just bring me power.'

'What kind of power?'

Damen knew him well. He was suspicious, distrustful and greedy, as only a brother could be. Riser stifled another chuckle.

'I'm not running for governor, that's for sure. Okay, I'll explain it to you, but it's very simple. I was busy doing some stuff, and Neech - or somebody else maybe, blacked out the building. All I need you to do is to bring some of your gear down here so I can power my systems back up again.'

'Why has he shut the power down? What were you doing?'

'Never you mind. Just bring the gear.'

'Hmm.'

'And Damen...'

'Yeh, what?'

'If you get here in ten minutes I'll make it 1000 Credits.'

Damen was silent for a moment. 'You don't really have any credits do you Riser?'

'Yes, I actually have, for once. It might be a rare thing in my life, but take it from me, today I'm a walking credit dispenser. That's all you need to know and that's all I'm going to tell you. Remember, you'll get more if you move your ass and bring me some power right now so I'd get moving if I was you, rather than asking any more stupid questions.'

Riser thought about it, then added in a softer tone, 'I'm not messing around, Damen. I need that gear.'

'Okay, okay. I'm on my way. You better not be shitting me though, Riser. I have other things to do you know.'

Damen Trent pushed his fat fingers between the blinds, peering across the street. Sure enough, all the windows of the Mekinet News building were in darkness. A group of people were standing on the pavement outside, looking upset and confused. A woman in a dressing gown looked like she had started crying. It was obvious that something was not right about the whole thing and he knew that his brother must be at the bottom of it all. But one thousand credits could do a whole lot to help a man forget about what he knew. How had Riser come into possession of so many credits? Uneasiness tugged at the back of Damen's mind. Riser was difficult to judge at the best of times.

Damen didn't have to think too hard to recall some previous scrapes that he'd got into because of Riser. There had always been a rivalry of a kind between them. Whenever one was in trouble, the other would soon be in trouble too. That was how it had always been. They had always come through whatever it was, and they would do so again. If Riser was in trouble, then Damen had to help, credits or not. Sure he wanted the credits, and he'd complain like hell if he didn't get them, but at the same time there was an implicit understanding between them that Damen would always answer a call for help. That was how it had been, ever since they played on the rooftops of Cinnamon City as kids. That was how it had to be. Damen took a long breath and watched the busy street below. Some memories were hard to forget, however many years had passed, and however hard he tried to forget.

Damen pushed his engineer's phone back into his pocket, and turned away from the window. His wide shoulders flexed under a dark boiler suit that was stained with oil and grime from working so many years in Cinnamon City. Something felt different about today. His thick eyebrows lowered in concentration and his eyes shone with intensity. Something wasn't right, for sure, even if he couldn't quite say what it was. He glanced around the room, and finding nothing out of place, he decided that he'd better go and see what mess Riser had got himself into this time.

Damen strode towards his workshop at the back of the room. His deep brown eyes wandered over a bank of small screens showing women dancing as they undressed, but he wasn't in the mood for that any more. He walked straight past trampled old beer cans and pushed open the double doors to his workshop.

All his tools and equipment hung on the walls. Welder torches hung on rusty hooks. Plasma cutters sat in an old wooden box on the floor. Every part of the wall had a hook where steel grips, power drivers or electromagnets hung in various sizes. He filled his pockets with a dozen small items, then picked up a Hand-Box Generator that sat against the wall. He wouldn't need much more than that. Damen turned and walked back towards the living room, but paused just before leaving the workshop. Reaching behind one of the doors, he rummaged in the pockets of a heavy, dust-covered jacket and pulled out an impact pistol. It was an old model, no serial number, but it worked well enough. He shoved it into the inside pocket of his overalls and returned the living room. It was time to make a move.

As he left the apartment, he passed through the kitchen and picked up a long-bladed knife. Whatever his brother was involved in this time, Damen had a feeling that there was going to be trouble. His feelings were seldom wrong.

Status Report

Nick watched the smoke rising from Havers Compound with increasing anxiety. The routine mission had not gone to plan at all. He was far from happy about it.

The briefing from Central Command - if you could call it that - had been to expect moderate resistance. Thompson had hinted that Havers Compound could possibly be a new Kamari HQ, but she had said nothing about it being this well defended. The compound had clearly been in the possession of the Kamari for a long time. Those proton cannons would have taken months to install, and the sophisticated shielding and cloaking fields were not the work of rebels passing through. This place had been built with strength in mind. The Kamari had clearly moved up a league in their levels of organisation, planning and aggression. They had not been afraid to make a stronghold so close to Beacon Station and they had not been afraid to come out and fight. Three Crocs were an entirely inadequate force to send against such a target.

Another thing that Nick didn't understand was why Central Command had not taken any satellite pictures of the area before calling out the Beacon Attack Force. They should have dropped in floating scanners and checked for signs of troop movements at the very least. Scanners might have picked up some heat signatures from within the compound or gained some clues about whether there had been any recent activity in the area.

Why had there been no warning that the Kamari had gained access to a satellite platform? Wasn't that a vital piece of information that should have been reported to all commanders as soon as it was known? A string of blunders had left Nick and the Beacon Attack Force highly exposed. Edwards and the others had paid the price of those mistakes with their lives. Before the day was out, they could all pay the same price.

Calling Central Command again, Nick fought to control his unravelling temper.

The call was answered quickly by a young man, 'Commander Chambers, what is your position?'

'What is my position? I'll tell you my bloody position! I have twenty-three personnel dead, one destroyed RS6, two heavily damaged RS6s that will never see combat again, and one hell of a lot of pissed off people who are lucky to be alive, and all of them may not stay that way for long.'

'Commander Chambers, I know you are in a bad position -'

'Bad position? I'm on the damned news channels! Has it occurred to you that these soldier's families don't even know that their loved ones are on this mission, and yet if they happen to flick onto the right news broadcast, they can see their loved ones being blown to pieces, and burnt to death, in high definition? It's not fucking good enough.'

The channel shut down. A few discreet clicks told him that his call was being transferred.

'This is Admiral Gail Thompson. Report, Commander.'

'Yeah, I'll report -'

'Calm down. Now,' The Admiral’s voice was low but powerful. She sounded like a woman who had spent years controlling people, meetings, events, and wars. Anyone that made the mistake of thinking they could talk over her was corrected immediately. She wasn't angry, but she made it clear that she would accept no disrespect or lack of discipline.

Nick bit back his angry words. It wasn't easy. He wanted to pound his fist on the console and demand answers from them all. Edwards deserved that much. His life had to be worth something to someone. Nick's ragged breaths filled the silence as the moments passed. An eternity of tension filled the air. It felt like it would never end. He was surprised when it was Thompson who broke the silence first.

'Our investigation into the security breach that allowed Mekinet News -'

'Mekinet News!' Nick bit his lip and held back several more curses. Mekinet News were renowned for their 'on-the-edge' reporting, which broadly translated to dubious, corrupt or illegal activities. Rachel had mentioned that the net-feed droids belonged to Mekinet News but Nick had been hoping that she was mistaken.

Thompson paused just long enough to let him know that she would not tolerate any more interruptions, then continued. 'A low-life known as Rix Mulholly has been traced via our security camera archives. It appears that he infiltrated Beacon Station over two months ago and entered the accommodation units. While he was inside the station, he somehow managed to install a code breaking unit in Edwards' communications pack.'

'Edwards?' Nick remembered the static interference. His friend had died less than an hour ago. The proton fire that destroyed his Croc would have been a relief to anybody that had survived that long. Nick shivered at Edwards' fate - at what might yet happen to Rachel, himself, and the remaining crew. Their situation was dire.

The Admiral continued, 'It also seems that Mulholly installed the device in the wrong comms pack. It was the backup unit. Edwards didn't used it until his primary comms pack failed. We have no idea what information Mulholly was expecting to gleam at that time, but we believe he missed his opportunity, and that today's security breach was not intended.'

Thompson waited, as though expecting Nick to fly into another angry outburst, but all that filled the silence was his focussed breathing. He was controlling himself, verbally at least.

'Who is this Mulholly, anyway?' Nick said.

'An unknown for the most part. He works for the highest bidder.'

'And who paid him this time?'

'Riser Trent.'

'Who?'

'Riser Trent is a net hack from Mekinet News. Also a no-name, until now at least. Today he has made quite a name for himself. It is Riser Trent that is controlling the swarm of net-feed droids that are flying over Havers Compound.

'Bastard! He hacked into my control systems. He had thirty-two connections into our local network somehow. What does he want anyway? Who sent him?'

'We don't know yet. He's not there in person. He's controlling them remotely from another place. We are fully aware of the damage that he has caused, Commander. Every possible measure is being taken to deal with him, in whatever way is necessary.'

There was ice in her voice, not a threat but a promise.

'Where is he?'

'Riser Trent is in the basement of one very dark and powerless Mekinet News building in Cinnamon City. We shut down the power grid fifteen minutes ago. He will not be taking part in today's activities any further. Indeed, he will not be taking part in freedom either. We have sent several armed units to secure his arrest. His immediate superior, Ario Neech - CEO of Mekinet News, is already in custody. He denies all knowledge of the current situation. Will get to the bottom of this. All those responsible will be identified, located, and punished.'

The Admiral's emphasis left Nick in no doubt that she meant what she said. For the first time today, Nick was glad to be on the side of the Security Forces. He just wished that it could make him feel any better about what had already happened.

The Descent

The building was in full darkness. Damen activated the shoulder lamps on his overalls, and made his way down the nearest stairwell. He looked around the lobby until he saw a sign on the wall.

RESEARCH LEVELS

Damen could not remember how many research levels there were. He had heard that the Mekinet News building had as many levels below ground, as it had above. He looked around the deserted hallway, and at the small clumps of confused people that lingered outside the glass doors at the front of the building. Some of them were looking at him with questions in their eyes, if not on their lips. Information was not a good thing for people to have. Damen made his way to the top of the stairs and began his descent.

The first eight floors went quickly, but he was pleased that he had not brought any more equipment than necessary. A thin trickle of sweat ran down his wide back, and his thighs were beginning to burn because of the never ending steps. By the time he had descended fourteen floors, he was getting pissed off. None of the levels were properly labelled. He was beginning to think that he might be lost. Even with the lights on it would be confusing, but in the dark with only shoulder lamps to guide his steps, Damen's patience was wearing thin.

He pulled out his grease-stained engineer's phone and called his brother. 'Where the hell are you?'

Riser answered almost immediately, 'I'm in my chair as usual, dear brother. Where the hell are you?'

'Don't get smart. I'm doing you a favour, remember? I can just as soon turn around and go back to what I was doing.'

'And what was that?'

'Nothing that concerns you. What bloody floor are you on? This whole place is blacker than a cronin pit, and I'm not getting paid by the hour. Quit pissing around and tell me where you are.'

'Patient as always. I can tell you the way if you tell me what level you are on now.'

Damen looked around. It was still dark even with his shoulder lamps, 'Fuck knows. I've seen more steps than I care to remember.'

'What signs can you see?'

'Signs?'

'On the wall. Wooden plaques, containing enlightenment.'

'Fuck off!'

'I'm trying to help.'

'Like shit. The only sign I can see says toilet.'

'Ladies or Gents?'

'Ladies, but I'm going to use it anyway. I'm sick of these damn steps.'

Riser took a while to respond. Damen wondered if he was going to help at all, but when the reply did come, it told him all that he needed to know.

'I'm two floors below that, on the left, at the end of the corridor.'

Damen kicked open the door to the toilets and took a well deserved piss.

Riser sat in the dark. He was getting tired of waiting. He had told Damen exactly where to find him and yet he still hadn't arrived. There were opportunities waiting to be taken. Riser didn't have time to waste like this. He had to know what was happening with the Information Cloud. He knew it would manage itself while the Sphynx-II controller rack was down. The relay station would still act as a central hub, lying there in the woods where it had crash landed. All the net-feed droids would communicate through it as before, it was just that he was not able to receive their transmissions, and not able to send his orders back to the Cloud. Without orders, the net-feed droids would trigger a default circling pattern, slowly following each other around Havers Compound like a swarm of locusts waiting for permission to land. For the moment, at least, they would have to manage by themselves. Riser scratched at the back of his hand and muttered curses under his breath.

Damen finally arrived in the small basement, over half an hour later. He looked around the small office and said, 'What a shit hole.'

Riser ignored his enthusiasm and quickly set about helping him rig up the power cables from his Hand-Box Generator into the main fuse box in the hallway. Despite looking far too small to offer much hope, somehow the Hand-Box Generator managed to generate enough power to run all of Riser's equipment. Two green bars lit up on a small status panel that offered a maximum of five bars. Damen said it could run all of Riser's systems for a month without any recharge. Whether that was bravado or truth, Riser would never know. He told Damen to stick around while he attended to his business. With Damen nearby, he had more confidence that the power wouldn't fail again.

Damen grunted and seated himself in a rickety old chair on the other side of the desk.

With all his systems back online, Riser wasted no time in checking what was happening at Havers Compound. Placing the sensor cap back on his head, he welcomed the cool feeling of its blue jelly lining and immersed himself once more into the Information Cloud. The pleasure it gave him was almost obscene. He could see how a person might get addicted to such power.

The pain behind his eyes eased away, replaced with the panoramic view of battle. A smell of burning filled the air. For a moment, Riser almost thought that his basement office in the Mekinet News building had caught fire, but then he remembered that all of his sensations were being supplied by the net-feed droids. All sensations were being piped to him from a far away place, fed directly into his mind through the sensor cap. Smoke was billowing from Havers Compound's fractured exterior, not from the basement around him. Riser's mind settled into its dislocation. He was there in the battle once more. Using his wrist controller, he surveyed the scene in front of him.

The two remaining Crocs were clumped together in the river. They looked badly damaged. He didn't expect much in the way of exciting news from either of them. Instead, he turned his attention towards Havers Compound. The damage outside the building was impressive, but what he really wanted to see was what was going on inside. Riser selected live broadcast mode so that the world could share in his exploits. He laughed out loud as rows of red warning lights flashed inside his mind again. You silly bastards thought that you'd shut me down, did you? Well, you were wrong! Riser laughed and laughed until he almost choked. He wanted to stamp his feet on the floor like he did when he was a child.

Out of the original two hundred and fifty net-feed droids only one hundred and eighty remained. That was a little annoying. A dozen or so had been destroyed before Riser had given them the self preservation right. The others had become 'collateral damage' during the power outage when Riser hadn't been able to see what was happening. Flying between two heavily armed enemies was a dangerous pastime for a net-feed droid.

Riser gathered all the remaining droids and set them into a free style reconnaissance mode. Each droid now made its own way into Havers Compound through the nearest door or breached wall. The sensation of being in one hundred and eighty places at once was... disconcerting. Where the Information Cloud had been one coherent consciousness with all the droids working together to provide a wide coverage of what was essentially the same area, this new set of many distributed Information Clouds split his mind into dozens of separate cells, each distinct from the others. Riser groaned inwardly. He felt as though a thousand fishing hooks were tearing his mind in every direction. The sensation was too much. He could feel his conscious mind unravelling. He wondered if this was how schizophrenics felt? Instead of having one mind, he could feel himself crumbling into multiple selves. It felt like death, falling from a high building, waiting for the pavement. No! Riser shook his head. The Sphynx-II rack on his desk recognised the gesture as a safety override. It simplified the feed, reduced the number of separate data streams, and encoded the real-time experience into a sequence of different locations one after the other, rather than all at once. It also slowed down the data feed, buffering it to rates that his mind could handle more easily. It was as though the storm in his mind had become a series of manageable scenes from a movie. For three-seconds he was high above Havers Compound looking down. Then he was inside the compound in a hallway full of bodies and bloodstained rubble. Three-seconds later he was in a laboratory with the lights off and just a glimpse of light shining from an adjoining room.

Riser started to breathe again. He felt the disparate threads of his mind coalescing back into a whole. His consciousness receded from so many different places, and became a single self again. The pavement of his mind receded, but Riser didn't feel like laughing anymore. He felt as though part of himself had been lost in a howling wind. He wasn't sure if he would ever get it back again. It burned memories within him, memories that he'd rather forget.

'I'm me again,' Riser said, but he didn't quite manage a chuckle. What would have happened if he hadn't shaken his head in time? What if he hadn't remembered the safety override gesture? Where would his mind be now? Lost in the Cloud like butterflies thrown into the wind. Riser calmed himself. He was all right. He was going to be all right. He would just have to be a bit more careful until he got used to controlling the Sphynx-II controller rack, that was all. All this equipment would do him no good if he turned into a drooling idiot and couldn't find his way back from all these strange new places in his mind.

Damen watched his brother attend to his equipment. He looked strange wearing that cap. It barely covered his head and it looked as though it moulded itself onto him like some insane jelly fish devouring his skull. Riser had made no attempt to stop it. He looked as though he might be enjoying it, but then from time to time he would flinch or scrunch up his eyes like when he was a kid. His eyes were closed now. He had started groaning loudly not long ago. He had shaken his head violently.

Damen wasn't sure whether he should shake is brother to snap him out of what ever was happening to him, or whether he should just let him continue. Riser hadn't really explained what any of the equipment was, or what he was doing with it. He'd just told Damen to stay nearby, and make sure that the Hand-Box Generator didn't stop working. Damen didn't need to watch the generator. It would run for months without him around. He was a little confused about Riser though. What was he doing? His wrists twitched in an eerie fashion. Now that he had stopped shaking his head, he looked like a twitching corpse in an electric chair that had just been switched off.

Riser's equipment was clearly expensive. One small box - Riser had called it a Sphincter box or some dumb shit - was definitely worth more than the rest of the stuff put together. Damen wondered just what sort of trouble Riser was mixed up in this time. Whatever it was, it looked as though he was going to be busy for some time.

Damen sat down at the back of the cramped basement office and played with the security console. He managed to locate a camera attached to the top of the building. Turning it to face the building opposite, he looked for a window with wide black blinds. That was his own apartment. The blinds made sure that nobody could see what he was doing. There was nothing to feel guilty about if nobody knew what you were doing. That was how Damen saw it anyway. He adjusted the camera to face the window two floors up from his own. It was Mrs Tindal's apartment. With a little luck, she might be taking a shower.

The sound of vomiting made Damen jump. Riser was slumped forward emptying his stomach onto the floor between his knees. He still wore the sensor cap and his face looked pale and clammy. After retching a couple more times, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat back upright in his chair, muttering something under his breath.

Damen pulled his chair a little further back and tried to ignore the nasty acidic smell as best he could. He switched on the air conditioning and turned his attention back to Mrs Tindal. It seemed that she was entertaining a guest this evening. Her curvaceous figure cast a fine silhouette on the thin cream curtains of her apartment. Damen chewed a piece of dry pizza and watched with interest.

Time to Recharge

'Jacob, when will the satellite grid be ready to strike again?' Roy said. He was pacing back and forth in the small control room. It was the sign of a restless mind. With a conscious effort, Roy forced himself to stand still. He reminded himself that others looked to him for guidance. He could not let these things bother him.

Jacob was examining a wide console on the wall. He tapped away at it and shook his head, 'We've drained the power banks already. It's going to take about four hours to recharge, I think. Until then, we'll have to rely on ground troops.'

Roy frowned. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. He had enjoyed watching the Security Forces suffer under the devastating blasts of the satellite platform. They had scurried back like wounded dogs. The Security Forces would have to learn to take the Kamari seriously now.

Turning to his other son, Roy hoped to distract himself from the satellite platforms, 'Isor, how are we doing with the Bull Rangers?'

Isor was standing against the opposite wall. He gazed across the room without expression. 'We've taken some losses Roy, a couple of hundred, as far as I can tell. I've ordered the squad leaders to pull back to the inner strongholds and use the flux shields until I can go and sort this out in person.'

Roy shook his head, 'Are they not able to resolve this themselves?'

'They should be able to. I trained several units to do just that, but it looks like they have been killed.'

'Useless,' Roy wanted to grab the soldiers and shake them, but it wouldn't do any good now. He needed to stay on top of the situation. His grey eyes shone with intensity as he glanced at each of his sons in turn. They were both looking at him for guidance, and that's exactly what they were going to receive. 'Any further news on the Security Forces' movements?' Roy kept his voice neutral. Through calmness comes strength.

Isor smiled, 'They didn't seem to be expecting a swarm of news droids. I guess they don't want the world to see what a bunch of fools they really are. The publicity will do us no harm at all, but unfortunately, somebody has shut down Mekinet News.'

'Shame,' Roy said.

'Yes, I was enjoying that,' Jacob said. 'Our friend put on quite a show for a while there. I was surprised by his enthusiasm. Maybe we should offer him a job?'

'Trent?' Roy said.

Jacob shrugged, 'Just a thought.'

In the distance an explosion shook the compound. Dust trickled down from the ceiling. Roy flicked a little dust from his shoulder and cocked his head as though listening. He raised a hand to silence the others.

'I suspect one of our friends can hear us,' he said, nodding his head towards a closed door at the end of the corridor. As though summoned by his words, a Bull Ranger smashed through the archway, sending the door crashing to the ground.

The Bull Ranger swung its bulbous head towards them, listening for the source of the voices. Its scanners penetrated the dust cloud, and identified three figures standing in the corridor ahead. The Ranger thrust one thick fist toward them and released a plume of high-velocity liquid flame. The three Kamari leaders remained motionless as the flames surrounded them in a fireball that stripped insulation from hanging cables, and blackened the walls around them. The flames fizzled ineffectively against their personal force fields.

'Tiresome,' Jacob said.

Roy stepped back, balancing on the balls of his feet. He turned towards Isor and said, 'Finish it!'

Isor dug into one of his many pockets and pulled out a small device. He tapped at it with a quick series of staccato commands.

The Bull Ranger took two steps towards an adjacent door, looking to continue its rampage through the compound, but then it noticed that its targets were not dead. It scanned them, clearly confused by what had happened, then turned back towards them. Its legs whined as they powered up for action, then without further warning, it propelled itself down the corridor towards them like a battering ram.

Isor glanced upwards as he tapped away at an EMP device. The Bull Ranger was charging towards them at an alarming speed. He looked at Roy with a puzzled expression, holding the device at an angle so that he could see the orange warning light. Roy stepped closer and tapped a short code into the device. The EMP discharged with a sudden flash. The visible light was mostly a warning for humans. The real power came from the invisible electromagnetic discharge.

The Bull Ranger's legs gave way immediately. Jacob leapt out of its path as the Bull Ranger crashed head first into the wall behind him. The wall console shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of metal, glass and plastic bounced across the floor.

'Bloody hell,' Jacob said. He was now standing to one side with his impact pistol in his hand. Chunks of masonry fell from the ceiling and crashed down on top of metal tubing and equipment racks. Jacob replaced his impact pistol in its holster and glared at Isor, 'Thanks for that.'

'I can never remember that code,' Isor said.

Roy patted his younger son's back. 'I hope you'll remember it if I'm not with you one day.'

'Oh, I'm sure I will.'

'And I hope that I'm not standing next to you on the day that you don't,' Jacob said. He picked up a piece of his broken console screen, stared at it and then tossed it back on the ground with an audible sigh.

From behind him, Roy heard footsteps approaching. Somebody was running towards them at speed. They all turned in unison, with weapons drawn.

Michael Roneggar came to a sliding halt, just in time to be hit in the arm by a piece of flying metal. He clasped one hand over the streaming blood and grimaced.

'You want to be careful Michael,' Jacob said.

The metal fragment had come from a ventilation system that had just fallen from the ceiling in front of them.

They all looked up at the ceiling and stepped back from the hanging debris above.

Michael nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. He gritted his teeth and scrunched his eyes shut, letting out a low groan.

'Are you okay?' Roy said.

Michael nodded and opened his eyes. When he saw the Bull Ranger's legs jutting out from the wall, he stepped back so far that he almost fell. He reached for his impact pistol and held it out in front of him with both shaking hands.

'You realise it will recover?' he said. 'An electromagnetic pulse only puts them down for a few minutes. You can't kill those bastards!'

'Calm yourself,' Roy said. 'It's a machine and therefore it was never alive. That is the only reason it cannot be killed. Isor will deal with it. Don't trouble yourself further about it. Now tell me, have you come to report something, or are you just at a loose end?'

Michael didn't reply. He looked down at his feet and appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.

Roy gave Jacob a questioning look. Jacob shrugged in return. Perhaps Michael had forgotten what he had come to say?

Roy guided Michael away from the disturbing scenes of destruction, and placed one arm across his shoulders in a poor imitation of a caring gesture, but he found it hard to conceal his impatience.

Michael looked pale. His eyes were trying to look in every direction at once. After some uncertainty, he turned back to face Isor.

'It will reload its firmware! Don't you understand? You're all just standing here, but it will recover any minute. It will kill us all!'

'No,' Isor said with authority. 'It will reload my firmware.' He was standing over the fallen Bull Ranger, tapping at a device that he had pulled from one of his many pockets. He waved one hand dismissively towards Michael and continued with what he was doing.

Roy pulled Michael away again, and faced him head on, gazing deep into his eyes and emphasising his words as though talking to a child.

'Do not trouble yourself, Michael. As I have already told you, and Isor has told you too, everything is in hand. The Bull Ranger is not your problem. You came here for a reason. Now pull yourself together and tell me what you came here to say. I don't have time for this!'

Michael stiffened. An alertness returned to his eyes, and he straightened his shoulders. He dropped his arms to his sides, ignoring the blood that still trailed from his elbow.

'We cannot hold them, sir. The Bull Rangers... they are tearing the place apart. So many of the men have been killed. We tried this EMP. It didn't stop them. Some fell for a time, but they recovered and became more deadly than ever. Others were too fast. They killed our soldiers before an EMP could even be deployed. How can we fight these machines? We are just men. Give us our own machines so we can fight back. Only then can we make a difference. Like this we just die. Dead men litter the hallways everywhere I turn. Blood is thick on the walls. It is no use like this!'

Roy nodded, 'Okay. If it is this way then we will turn the tables a different way. Have your men pull back to the inner chambers, Michael. Use the flux shields, and wait for further instructions. Your men will be safe there.'

'But -'

'Do as I said. We will deal with the Bull Rangers. You deal with your men.'

Michael stared over Roy's shoulder with a frown. The Bull Ranger was now back on its feet, but standing passive in front of Isor. He was saying something to Jacob and waving a device at the Bull Ranger. Jacob was lighting a cigarette and nodding back casually. He looked bored.

Michael turned and ran, 'I'll do what you said,' he called over his shoulder. His footsteps were already receding down the hallway.

Mental Gymnastics

The feeling of dislocation was beginning to subside but Riser had struggled to split his mind into hundreds of separate cells. He hadn't felt comfortable with it at all. Instead, he had reconfigured the Sphynx-II controller rack to enable augmented peripheral awareness (APA). It would allow him to handle multiple distributed streams again, but in a different way. Instead of splitting his mind into hundreds of separate mini-selves, APA injected high level summaries of each of the parallel streams directly into the user's visual cortex, so that each stream became a high-level awareness in the operator's peripheral vision. Riser was now indirectly aware of every location that the Information Cloud was scanning, but he only ever directly focussed on one location at a time. It was a little like staring at one photograph on a wall, and yet being aware of many other photographs, all around the edges of his vision. It was kind of working. It felt more like a natural experience. It was much better than having his mind shredded into tiny pieces, over and over.

Riser was aware of fighting taking place in dozens of places across the compound, but the details of each location were little more than a blur. It gave him the sense of having an extended peripheral vision that could provide him with an overview of a wide area, without making his head hurt. To look more closely at any single location, he just focussed his mind on it.

Riser concentrated and managed to focus his attention on one of the net-feed droids in particular. This kind of mental gymnastics was supposed to be learnt over months of specialised training, but he didn't have the luxury of so much time. He had to do the best that he could in the here and now. With some effort, he cleared the fog of sensations from his mind, and gathered the scattered remnants of his thoughts into one place.

He could not say what exactly had caused him to choose this room, rather than any other, except maybe that it was quiet. The peacefulness of the room itself was in sharp contrast to the blood and destruction elsewhere in Havers Compound.

There were two people in the room, both working on a device on a makeshift bench. The sparse room was otherwise clean and empty. Moving the droid closer, Riser could see the device was around a metre long and quite bulky. He wondered what it could be. The men working on it nodded from time to time and used hand-held tools to work on it. The smaller of the two technicians adjusted his spectacles, and rubbed a bony hand through his thinning grey hair. His hands moved in a constant stream of gestures as though he was explaining something to his colleague.

Riser increased the sensitivity of the droid's audio receiver but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. It sounded as though they might be arguing about something. One of them started waving his finger and shouting. The other technician was about to shout back, when he suddenly turned and looked straight at the net-feed droid as it hovered at the back of the room. His eyes stared wide and then he leapt back and slapped his colleague's arm to get his attention.

The two of them stared in disbelief. Belatedly, they placed themselves in front of the device, shielding it from Riser's view. When they called out in alarm, the words they used were strangely alien to Riser. He couldn't make them out at all, even with the filtering and translation software that the Sphynx-II controller rack had triggered on his behalf.

The sound of pounding footsteps approached from behind. The droid's rear camera showed two Kamari soldiers running into the room, impact pistols at the ready. On seeing the net-feed droid, they both opened fire. A jolt ran through Riser as the droid exploded. His body shook uncontrollably, and his lips pulled back from uneven teeth like a frightened horse. Panic ripped through his mind, burning into his nerves and blinding him. He cried out in agony. He was not dead! He was not. He had to keep telling himself, it was just a fucking news droid.

The sensations running through his body were not his own but they had felt so real. Even now, shards of pain ran up and down the length of his spine. The droids didn't feel pain. They just transmitted raw data that the Sphynx-II controller rack translated. The raw data from a fireball was not the sort of sensations that Riser wanted to feel flowing through his exhausted mind. He knew that the controller rack had filtered most of the data out, but it hadn't done it soon enough for his liking.

The software was designed to translate raw data into the more natural feelings and sensations that a human operator would be able to assimilate into their own mind. That was its strength and also its weakness. The experience had become too real. Riser clung to his chair and coughed to clear his burning lungs. His head pounded with the beginnings of a new migraine. He scrunched up his face and rubbed at his tightly closed eyes, struggling to calm himself.

With a great effort, he forced his mind to focus on the swarm of net-feed droids as a whole, pushing the pain to the back of his mind. It took him a little while, but he managed to focus at last. He was learning fast. The pain would just accelerate his learning. Others would have given up by now, he knew that, but not Riser Trent. He would learn. He would improve. He would make the Information Cloud a natural extension of himself.

Riser concentrated on bringing his thoughts together. He focussed on the centre of his mind and pushed away unwanted memories. He had to work out where the technicians might have been within Havers Compound. It had all happened so quickly that he hadn't thought to check the droid's physical location before it had been destroyed. Whatever the technicians were working on, it had to be something important. They clearly didn't want others to know about it. Riser knew from experience that where there were secrets, there were those who would pay for those secrets. He might even be able to use this to his own advantage. He had to find out what it was.

Prepare the Roaches

The readouts on her console showed that extensive fighting continued inside Havers Compound. Even without the console, Rachel could see the devastation beyond the top of the steaming riverbank. She had run out of patience long ago. Sitting tight was not something she had ever been good at, not when people who had been her friends lay dead and charred only a few metres away. Unstrapping herself from the command chair, she climbed down into the control room below. Mathews and Royce looked surprised to see her. Their heads were close in discussion.

'Prepare the Roaches,' Rachel said. 'We're moving in.' She paused just long enough to see the lack of comprehension on their faces, then strode through to the weapons bay. Strapping on an impact pistol, she glanced down the blackened annex which led to the smouldering accommodation pods. The lingering stench was all that she needed to harden her resolve.

'We can't go into the Compound yet,' Royce said, 'the Bull Rangers are still active.' He was standing in the doorway, a thin film of sweat making his ghostly white face glisten. His dark rimmed eyes made him look as though he was already dead.

'We will be... careful,' Rachel managed.

'A Bull Rangers' targeting is... loose,' Mathews said. He looked over Royce's shoulder but did not push forward into the small enclosure.

'I'm aware of that,' Rachel said. 'We'll track the Rangers and stay clear of the areas that they are working in. That's all we need to do. Havers Compound is a big place, Lieutenant.'

A small chime stole Mathews' attention. Ducking back into the control room, he tapped half a dozen keys on his console before calling out the news. 'We have company.'

Rachel and Royce herded through the doorway to see what he was talking about.

'It seems Central Command don't want to wait either, Major. They're launching another ground assault.'

The console switched to the view from a sensor camera mounted on top of the Croc. Its cracked lens showed clearly the banks of spotlights approaching from the woods behind them. Dozens of small craft poured out across the ragged fields, adding their own guns to the cacophony of battle in the smoking buildings beyond.

'Let's move,' Rachel said, 'there's no reason to wait any longer.'

Slow Paralysis

Two Bull Rangers stood motionless in a rubble-strewn conference room. A third stood in the hallway, looking in. Half a dozen maintenance workers stood huddled in the corner, trying their best to fade into the peeling paintwork. The new arrival noticed the men and powered up its legs, getting ready to charge. Its metal claws smashed the concrete as it sprinted towards them.

Halfway across the room it noticed a small movement from one of the two defunct Rangers. As it passed between them, the nearest Ranger thrust out one of its thick arms, striking a precision blow to the side of the charging Ranger's head. Its forward motion continued, but something was suddenly wrong.

The side of a Bull Ranger's head was a weakness in its design - perhaps the only weakness. But to exploit it, an enemy would require very specific details from schematics that were classified. The stationary Bull Ranger in the centre of the room had security access to all of those schematics. Its new firmware showed it exactly where and when to strike.

The blow to the charging Bull Ranger's head had begun the process of 'slow paralysis'. The systems used to control movement had received only minor damage. That in itself would not stop the Ranger. The problems would arise from the Bull Ranger's continuing attempts at self-diagnosis and repair. The neural maintenance algorithms were designed to find inconsistency, and to 'rationalise' damaged systems within itself. Ordinarily this process was successful at targeting hostile viruses and other nano-grade weapons, but if the damage was caused in just the right way, in just the right place, the system could be turned against itself.

The Bull Ranger's systems tried to compensate for the lack of control in its charging legs. Fail-safe systems reduced its speed as it slammed into the huddled crowd of maintenance workers. Their bodies slapped into the wall, organs bursting and bones jutting out from bent limbs. The group of tangled and bloody men slid down onto the floor. One of them tried to cry out but blood frothed out of his mouth in a spray. Within seconds he was dead. The others lay in an unmoving heap around him, and silence filled the room.

The Ranger paused, leaning against the wall while it tried to diagnose its own condition. The blow to the side of its head had resulted in a full self-diagnostic system test. Triggering the algorithm was the true aim of the attack, rather than the minor damage of the blow itself. Now that the T7 diagnostic system had been triggered, it was only a matter of time. It would search through all the Ranger's systems, seeking viruses or nano-grade weapons. Any variation would be identified, isolated and shut down. When the diagnostic systems located the movement control network, they would see that it was damaged, and due to bugs in the analysis software, they would mistakenly conclude that it was being attacked by a virus. The system would do what no weapon ever could: it would destroy the Ranger's own movement control system piece by piece. Slow paralysis.

Within seconds, the Ranger stood motionless, neural systems raging against its own broken body. Algorithms fought algorithms. Systems were shut down or forcibly destroyed. The once formidable Bull Ranger stood forever motionless, a useless casualty of war. It would not move again.

The Ranger that had struck the deciding blow, straightened itself and strode out of the conference hall in search of more Rangers to cripple. As it left, it transmitted an encrypted status update to Isor.

RANGER DOWN.

Moving in

Nick watched the RS12 personnel carriers lumbering out of the forest as they made their way across the open fields. They rumbled over the tracks left by hundreds of smaller vehicles. The RS12 was like a hotel on wheels compared to the nimble Crocs, and it always arrived late to the party. It was heavily armoured and carried five hundred members of the Security Forces with full combat gear and all of their equipment. It was damned slow, and had a reputation for sinking into uneven terrain and getting stuck. So far, the eight RS12s that Nick had seen were doing just fine. They left long trails of flattened mud as they dragged themselves across the battlefield on dozens of wide bubble wheels.

The first RS12 had already parked itself close to the compound, laying down suppressing fire towards the last of the compound's external defences. Security Forces swarmed down a dozen ramps and ran into the compound.

The whole area was so swamped with military hardware that it looked like a huge arms exhibition. Nick's console was going into overdrive. Transmissions from the various armed units scrolled across his display in a continuous rolling mass of confusion. He had no way to read it all, even if he had wanted to.

The confines of Nick's damaged Croc were driving him nuts. The air conditioning was broken, and the various malodours of the Croc were combining into a potent cocktail that he really didn't care for. When he noticed that Rachel's team had joined the wave of Security Forces that were heading into the compound, he almost swallowed his own tongue. Attempts to contact her were unfruitful. Her comms pack had been switched off. There was no way that he was going to be the only person that sat useless in the middle of the battlefield. He abandoned all hope of understanding his consoles, and opened a comms channel to all sections of his own Croc.

'There's some crazy shit going on out there, people. I, for one, intend to be part of it. Those who are injured, make your way towards the woods and find the medical units that are coming in behind us. The rest of you buckle up and join me. It's time we saw what Havers Compound looks like from the inside.'

A fit of coughing from engineering was his only response.

The Assault

Bouncing across the rough soil, the Roach sped towards Havers Compound. Rachel clung to the front rail and left the machine to steer itself. Alongside her, the remainder of the crew shadowed her in their own vehicles. The lightweight Roaches clung to the uneven ground with vehemence. The larger assault craft of Central Command's belated reinforcements merged in amongst them, pouring forth like an ocean of angry beetles.

Exhilaration flooded through Rachel's veins. The act of attacking the Kamari, rather than sitting helpless in a damaged personnel carrier, was an enormous relief. The Compound laid down a minimal defensive fire, but it was clear that most of the fighting had turned inwards, no doubt due to the chaos unleashed by the rampaging Bull Rangers. The Compound wall was fractured in so many places.

Rachel hoped that there were no Bull Rangers still in the area she had chosen to attack. They hadn't shown up on her scans, but they were capable of moving at such great speeds when they wanted to, and there was no real way to keep an accurate track of the location of all the Rangers remaining in the combat zone. By the time she had completed the scan, they would have moved again. She hadn't mentioned this fact to Royce. It would only make him even more troubled than he already was. Rachel instructed her Roach to scurry its way towards the nearest breach in the compound wall. Its six short legs churned up plumes of soil as it ran. She had to veer to one side to make way for Mathews' Roach as it raced in beside her. They all headed for the opening, a continuous stream of vehicles pouring in behind them.

Inside the compound, bodies lay scattered about the rubble-strewn floor and hundreds of black marks stained the walls. Troops climbed through every available opening, pouring into the compound with assault rifles and stun grenades at the ready.

Rachel sped through a wide opening in the compound wall, turned her Roach to one side, and jumped off into an adjoining hallway. The Roach slowed to a halt without her and waited patiently where she had left it. Mathews appeared beside her shortly afterwards. There was no sign of Royce. Maybe he had been caught up in the inflow of soldiers from other units.

Rachel pulled her impact pistol from its holster and made sure that it was loaded. She glanced down the hallway ahead. It appeared empty except for a couple of dead soldiers lying on the ground some distance away.

Suddenly, Royce came running from behind, trying to catch his breath. 'Sorry. There was a commander back there. He wanted to know where I was going.'

'You mean Nick?'

'No, it was Commander Rodnig. He's just arrived but he's brought quite a crowd with him. He said there's four RS12s on their way as well.'

Rachel nodded, 'What did you tell him?'

'Not much. I said I was trying to find my unit. He asked where Commander Chambers was. I told him that he's already in here somewhere.'

'Okay,' Rachel glanced up and down the hallway. She couldn't let her guard down in this place. Anything could happen. 'Come on,' she said.

The hallway was lined with doors on both sides, most of them already open. Rachel ran ahead, glancing from door to door as she went. The rooms were all empty. Dust and rubble lay in heaps as though recently swept against the walls. She ran around the dead soldiers and up to the end of the hallway. It turned sharply to the right as she approached, revealing another hallway and yet more doors.

The walls here were mostly pale grey concrete, but some had been painted white. Many looked in poor repair, cracks riddling their surface. Rachel even saw moss growing from the cracks in one or two places. The Kamari couldn't have been here very long, at least not at this end of the compound. But there were also some signs of recent activity. New cabling covered several parts of the ceiling. Power lines ran through walls and over doorways. Rachel thought that the cabling looked expensive. It also lacked a covering of dust, unlike most other parts of the compound.

Royce was the first to see them. He put a hand on Rachel's arm pulling her to the side wall. He pointed ahead with his impact pistol already in his hand. From one of the doors ahead, two Kamari soldiers ran out into the hallway. Their white combat trousers were held tight at the waist with rough black belts. The legs of their trousers had several wide pockets with overhanging flaps. One of them turned and opened fire. A chunk of concrete split away from the wall, narrowly missing Rachel's head.

Royce was already firing back. Mathews leapt to the other side of the hallway and knelt down. He fired twice, hitting the lead soldier in the shoulder with one of the shots. Rachel pulled out her own impact pistol and took aim. She fired straight at the second Kamari soldier. He was already aiming at her. She had to be fast. At the moment she fired, she ducked down and rolled to her right. She heard something whistle past her ear just before her own shot struck home. The second soldier flew backwards and crashed to the ground in a jumble of limbs. Royce was still firing and the lead Kamari soldier went down too. Gunfire reverberated through the hallway. Rachel kept her eyes on the fallen soldiers as she got back to her feet. She stepped forwards with small, careful steps. Royce and Mathews followed closely behind. She examined the bodies while Royce and Matthews kept their impact pistols aimed at the soldier's heads. Both the soldiers were dead. She could feel the absence of life within them without needing to check for a pulse. She didn't know how. She didn't want to think about it.

Rachel stepped back and poked her head through a nearby doorway. It was yet another hallway, darker than the first. She wondered just how many rooms and hallways there were inside Havers Compound. From the outside, the building had looked quite large, but the back of the building hadn't been visible from where the Crocs had been. It was difficult to judge the true size of the building now that she was inside.

Rachel signalled for the others to follow her. She stepped into the adjacent hallway and Royce flinched. A Bull Ranger was standing dormant against the wall.

'It's okay,' Rachel said. 'It's not active.'

She stepped closer to examine it, and tapped its head with the butt of her impact pistol. It was not something that she would do unless she was sure it had shut down. The Bull Ranger gave no sign that it knew she was there. She noticed that it was undamaged except for one small dent on the side of its head. Stepping away from it, she wondered what kind of weapon could have done such a thing. Bull Rangers had a reputation for being extremely difficult to stop. There were no burn marks around the dent so she doubted it had been a missile or hand-held proton cannon. She couldn't see anything else wrong with it.

The Bull Ranger was standing next to a pile of bodies. Slick blood had flooded the hallway on both sides and the smell of death filled the air. Shaking her head, Rachel held her impact pistol at shoulder height and made her way further into the labyrinth of rooms beyond. The sounds of fierce fighting came from all directions. She looked forward to finding some of it.

Sphynx-II

A net-feed droid misses nothing, so the saying went. Its operator, however, misses everything. When such vast quantities of information gets collected and channelled into a soft wet clump of human brain cells it's not surprising that most events go unnoticed. That's why the Sphynx-II controller rack installation includes extensive logging and retrieval systems. Every piece of information is recorded for later analysis. Riser had a suspicion. Somewhere in that huge data store was the information that could prove or disprove his theory. He just wasn't at all sure how to find it.

A shaded area of his mind, reserved for input, lit up as though active. Riser checked his wrist controller to see if he had accidentally selected it, but he hadn't. His other hand was resting on his knee, well away from the projected keypad on his desk, but there was definitely something going on. Letters were appearing as though he was entering them himself.

'Hey, asshole,' the message said.

What the hell? Had someone hacked into his system? No, that wasn't possible. In any case this was coming from his own input systems, not from outside.

'Quit wanking and take a look outside.'

Damen! It had to be. The silly bastard was typing on Riser's keypad. Riser had no way to insult him back, which was grating. He was loathe to remove the sensor cap, remembering the feelings of nausea and discomfort it had caused him the last time. He could try to speak, but while wearing the sensor cap it was difficult to articulate words correctly, and even more difficult to work out what you had actually said, or if you had even spoken at all. There must be some other way to communicate with his stupid brother? Riser searched through the attached systems and managed to locate an old public address system that was still functional on the lower levels. It had once been used by Neech, when the basement was full of busy technicians and reporter types, but that was a long time ago. Now that the whole place was empty, it wouldn't make any difference if Riser used it.

It was difficult to think in terms of his immediate surroundings. His own sensations were drowned out by the massive input from the swarm of net-feed droids. The thick manual had said that the more he used the sensor cap, the more difficult it would be to sense his own surroundings. Eventually, his own voice would become little more than a distant buzz that made no sense at all. Another of the endless disclaimers that came with the Sphynx-II controller rack said that speech may become slurred, but that this was a temporary effect only. Riser wondered if temporary was measured in days or years. He opened a channel to the PA system and typed the words he wanted spoken. The voice that came from the dusty speakers was a neutral female tone, but it didn't matter.

'What do you want, dickhead? Stay off my console, do you understand?'

Damen blinked and looked around the room. The woman's voice was coming from the hallway. He took a step towards the door and then laughed. It was Riser being some kind of fool. Damen thought about what might be the most insulting thing he could say, but he couldn't think of anything. It was unusual for him to be short of an insult. He sighed but before he could type anything else, the woman's voice spoke again.

'Just speak, Damen. I've opened a channel. I can hear you.'

Damen grunted, 'Oh. Okay.'

'What do you want? I haven't got time for this.'

'I didn't mean to disturb your... whatever it is you do all day, but there's something outside that you might want to take a look at. You'll see it sooner or later, when they come down here and smash your skull in, but I figured you might want to take a look a bit sooner than that.'

'Outside where? What are you talking about?'

'We're in the basement aren't we? In the Mekinet News building. Outside there.'

Riser wondered what his brother was talking about. He didn't have time to be distracted with whatever it was. He had the droids to keep control of, and he didn't want to lose even more of them while his attention was being wasted elsewhere. Reluctantly, he flicked through the views from various cameras around the Mekinet News building, those that still had any power in their residual batteries. Most were not working, but he managed to redirect some power from the Hand-Box Generator to the upper levels' security systems. The lower levels were all blackness, that much he already knew. The lights were out and there was nobody in sight. Somewhere on the thirty-eighth level, a cleaning bot was stuck behind a plant pot. On the twenty-second level, a couple were making out in the lift. Any other time he might have lingered on that camera for longer, but right now he had too many other things to focus on.

Riser continued flicking through the security cameras, hoping to find an external view, but he paused when he saw the lobby. A camera high above the reception desk was angled down towards a set of empty leather chairs and an antique mahogany table. The thick grey carpets were illuminated with bright lights. The room was far too bright considering that the building had no power. That wasn't the only thing that concerned Riser. There was also broken glass scattered all over the carpet, much of it well trampled in.

Riser found the control systems for the camera and managed to turn it further towards what had once been the tall glass doors that led to the street. The frames were still there, stretching up to the ceiling of the lobby, but the windows were now gone. Only small fragments of jagged glass remained around the edges. Wind and rain blew in from the street outside. Several vehicles were parked in the rain. Their roofs had been mounted with racks of spotlights, and every spotlight was pointed into the lobby. It was hard to see through the bright lights, but Riser thought that he could make out the silhouettes of Security Forces milling around near the entrance. There were people there too. They were all pacing around outside, preparing for something.

Panic rose from Riser's chest until it formed a lump in his throat. What were they doing? Surely they hadn't come to storm the building just because he was broadcasting the battle of Havers Compound? He had expected complaints and angry outbursts, but this was open warfare. He hadn't planned for this. Where was Neech? Weren't they negotiating with him? How had things descended into open hostilities without any of the usual backhanded deals happening first?

A bunch of armed soldiers passed through the lobby with guns held high. They had bright spotlights mounted on their shoulders. Their heavy boots crunched the broken glass further into the carpet as they disappeared down a stairwell at the back of the lobby.

Riser's heart raced. How many soldiers had already entered the building? He flicked through more cameras until he found one that was mounted high above the stairwell. It was offline, but he managed to redirect some power from his own systems. He hoped that his brother's generators were as good as he claimed they were. The camera flickered into life. Riser angled it down the deep stairwell. It was mounted on floor eighty-six, so it couldn't see all the way down to the basement, but from the levels that it could see, one thing was very clear, Security Forces were crawling all over the building. Small white lights wandered amongst the empty offices and deserted corridors like foraging insects. One other thing was clear also, and for that Riser felt an immense sense of relief. They didn't know where he was.

The Search

Things were not going well. Riser did his best to prevent the Security Forces from locating his underground office but the building wasn't really intended for such things. The Mekinet News building was just a news centre. It didn't have any weapons or security features. The best he could manage was to lock some doors and take control of two or three cleaning droids. It wasn't much to work with.

After several attempts, Riser finally managed to knock one of the soldiers down a flight of stairs, by driving a floor cleaning droid right up behind him, just before he stepped backwards. It was a dirty trick, and not something he was very proud of. The man had cried out, and toppled backwards down the stone steps. He had landed heavily on his arm, flipped over twice, then smacked his head against one of the balusters. He was now lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs but Riser knew that there were many others to replace him. Even if he spent all day trying to trip soldiers in the dark, it wouldn't be long before someone noticed and destroyed all the cleaning droids.

There were some things that he could do though. The building had many automated features intended for use by employees or security staff. Riser could lock and unlock many of the doors on the upper floors. He could also change the access control restrictions on each floor, revoking security passes and triggering security alarms. He could trigger alerts, flash lights on walls or ceilings, and broadcast a whole range of audible warnings. With some practice, he worked out how to rapidly alternate the power on and off for many of these systems. Riser had applied this technique to a few of the upper hallway lights, turning them on and off so rapidly that it gave them the appearance of strobe lights. These were all small things, but they were enough to cause considerable irritation and disorientation to anyone trying to find their way around the building's maze of hallways and staircases.

For the time being, the bulk of the Security Forces were confused by all the locked doors, flashing lights and loud piercing alarms. It didn't stop them advancing, but it did slow their progress, and it made them unsure of what was happening. It made the soldiers more cautious. They took longer to search each room. Riser even managed to activate a fire alarm throughout the whole building. He had hoped that the soldiers would turn and go back to the surface. Some of them did, the ones who followed procedures just to get paid, but others remained and continued their search with grim, determined expressions.

Riser took a quick time out and thought about his situation. He had to think this through. It was just another sticky situation in a long line of sticky situations that he had been scraping through ever since he was a kid. This was the worst situation he had been in for sure, by an order of magnitude, but it should be no different from any of the others. If he took his time, and thought it through, he would be okay. He just had to focus. He just had to stand tall and show the world who Riser Trent really was.

Riser stretched his fingers and concentrated. He recalled that it had taken Damen nearly one and a half hours to make his way down from the lobby to the basement. Riser had helped Damen navigate some of the stranger parts of the journey, and his brother had been down to the basement once before. It had been a few months back, and Damen's memory was shit, but he had still remembered some parts of the route.

What stood in Riser's favour was that the Mekinet News building was not all straight up and down like many older buildings. It was one of a new generation of building designs. It gave more freedom to the architect's imagination. The building was more about the architect's ego and the Mekinet News corporation's ambitions to stamp an authoritative landmark onto Cinnamon City's skyline than any practical considerations for the poor bastards who lived and worked inside it.

There were floors where you couldn't go down without first taking a detour to the south side of the building. There were places where you had to go up one staircase before you could go down another. What had no doubt looked delightful and artistic on the architect's drawings didn't translate so well into a logical living space. The lower floors in particular had many narrow staircases that doubled back and forth, and several doors that looked like they led to side rooms but turned into separate hallways. What was even better, was that the building's lift shafts only ran down as far as sub-level five. The architect had probably won some award for such a dumb design, but right now it all counted in Riser's favour.

The soldiers were making much slower progress than Damen had. They were searching each floor room by room. They didn't know what floor Riser was on, so they couldn't just skip past rows of doors to progress faster. There were hundreds of rooms to go through. At their current rate, Riser estimated that it might take them between three and four hours to reach the basement. That would buy him some time at least, and time is what he needed most. He needed to get rid of the Security Forces before they got too close to the lower levels, but he didn't need to panic just yet. Ideally, he wanted Damen to deal with the Security Forces, but could he trust him to deal with them without fucking it up? Probably... yes. Damen might be a little heavy handed at times, and he certainly lacked finesse, but he should be able to do it. Damen only needed to impede the Security Forces by doing the same kinds of things that Riser had been doing already, just playing around with the simple mechanised functions of the building. Every minute added to their search would be a minute longer for Riser to do what he needed to do. Riser opened a channel to the PA system again.

'Damen. They're coming in.'

'No shit. I told you that.'

'You've got to slow them down.'

'What are you talking about? Slow them down? How am I supposed to do that? Have you seen how many of the bastards are heading down here? There must be at least fifty of them! They're all armed, Riser. This isn't some game in the back streets. These are Security Forces with big fucking guns. They're looking for you, aren't they? How am I supposed to stop them? I'm not a soldier. I didn't come here to be part of your own private army. There's only so much your credits can buy. If I get blown to hell by plasma grenades no amount of credits will be of any fucking use to me anyway. Just what the hell have you done this time? Why are they coming for you like this?'

Riser knew he was asking a lot from his brother, but what choice did he have? He had to explain to Damen what he needed, and hope that he understood enough to do it without asking too many questions. 'You don't to fight them, Damen. I'm not asking you to get into a gun battle. There's no point, and there's too many of them, like you said. Just keep them from finding us for as long as you can. That's all I ask. Use the building against them. You know how to do that. Buy me some time. I'll come up with something to get us out of this.'

'It's a shitty job, Riser. You shouldn't have brought me into this.'

'I know it is. I didn't think the Security Forces would storm the building. They are even dumber than I thought, but I'll get us out of this.'

Damen grunted.

'Don't I always get us out of things?'

'Everyone has their limits. If you keep digging, sooner or later you'll be in so deep you'll bury yourself. I don't see why I should get dragged into it every time. I have enough shit to sort out in my own life. What the hell have you done this time? These guys aren't looking for a small time hacker. They have guns. They are expecting something big.'

'It'll be okay, Damen. Just buy me some time. That's all I'm asking. I'll handle the rest.'

Damen took a long time to answer. Riser wondered whether he had asked too much this time.

'Okay, I guess,' Damen said. 'What other option do I have? I'm here already, saving your ass again. But this is the last time, Riser. I mean it. How long do I have to go on owing you?'

Riser remained silent. Old memories died hard. He told his complaining brother to get on with it. He didn't have time for this right now. He had bigger fish to fry. He would have to come up with a plan for dealing with the Security Forces - and pretty damn soon. He knew that. First there was something else he had to do.

Riser turned off the PA system. He let his attention slip slowly back to the Information Cloud. It was like sinking into hot fudge. The Sphynx-II controller rack sat purring on his desk. He could feel its smooth vibrations through his arms. Power roared within it.

Returning to the familiar place in his mind, he reconvened his search. He couldn't see the Sphynx-II logs directly. Like everything about the Information Cloud, there was just too much data to search through in a conventional way. Instead, something floated in the centre of his awareness, an amorphous blue field that swirled and flowed like a hot gas. Riser knew that it contained what he needed to know. Now he just had to figure out how to extract it.

He thought about what he already knew. There had been several satellite strikes in front of Havers Compound. The net-feed droids had logged their exact start and end times as well as the coordinates of the locations that had been hit. He could sense that information at the periphery of his mind.

One thing he hadn't thought about until now was that the Security Forces' Crocs had made several attempts to take evasive action, and yet they had still been hit by multiple satellite strikes. That meant that the satellite strikes were not following a preprogrammed strike pattern. The Kamari wouldn't have been able to repeatedly strike moving targets unless they had been actively targeting the strikes themselves. Riser tried not to directly search for answers. Instead, he focussed on what he already knew. The sensor cap felt cool and comfortable on his head. It felt like it belonged there. He was learning how to use it, but it was also learning how to understand his thoughts.

A tingling sensation ran through his mind and he opened himself to it. Words dissolved. Language fell away. His thoughts now consisted only of concepts, images, feelings, and needs. Without verbalising anything he brought up an image of the three Crocs in his mind. The Satellite strikes hit them over and over as he replayed the day's events. The Croc's positions moved across the battlefield but the satellite strikes still hit their targets. The Kamari had actively targeted each attack. The strike began. The strike ended. The Crocs ran their evasive actions. Then it happened again. The timings of the strikes throbbed from within the churning blue cloud in Riser's mind - but there was something else too. He hadn't noticed it before. Alongside the strike timings, there was another signal, just before the first strike, and just before the second. It was a control signal. The signal had been broadcast narrow beam, directly up into the sky, towards the satellite platform. Not all the net-feed droids had picked it up, only those nearest to the signal. The transmissions all came from within Havers Compound. Riser triangulated the signals from the perspective of the nearest net-feed droids. A grid of droids appeared in his mind, and thin lines shot down from each one, showing the source of their intercepted signals. All lines pointed to one location, a small white building at the rear of the compound. It didn't look like much, but that building was the location of the satellite-grid controller.

Riser felt a wave of euphoria coursing through his veins. His lungs filled with air and a great bellowing laugh poured out of him. He didn't care what his brother thought about it. For the first time in his life he had real power in his hands. The Information Cloud was learning the way his mind worked, and he was learning how to use it. They would become more integrated the more they worked together. The Cloud would become part of him and he would become part of it, the two indistinguishable from one another. He was becoming more than human. He laughed again, tears of joy running down his cheeks. He was now much more than the sum of his parts. But he still needed the satellite-grid controller. That was his insurance policy. The Security Forces couldn't move against him if he had that.

Everybody wanted the controller for the same reason. Controlling a satellite platform meant that everybody had to respect you. Respect, or fear - it didn't matter which. What mattered was that they would have to listen. Maybe if he could get hold of the controller he might be able to use it as bargaining power, not just against the Security Forces, but against the Kamari too. Sometimes the eye of the storm was the safest place to be. Riser smiled a big wide smile. He always found his way out of trouble. Always. A strange peace came over his mind. At last, he knew what he had to do. Flicking his wrist controller sideways, he sent a sizeable force of net-feed droids swarming towards the back of Havers Compound.

Missing Numbers

The fighting sounded more fierce than it really was. Everywhere that Rachel went, there were small pockets of resistance, but nowhere did she find the numbers she was expecting. Havers Compound was a huge building. There had to have been a sizeable Kamari force within it when the Beacon Attack Force had arrived. Even accounting for the bodies that lay strewn across the floor, the numbers just didn't add up. Looking down, she noticed that her comms pack was turned off. She switched it back on. Before she could turn her attention back to the sporadic fighting, her collar vibrated. She accepted the comms link. It was Nick. She had to admit it was good to hear his voice.

'Rachel? Are you okay?'

'Yes, Nick.'

'What's going on? Why did you turn your comms pack off?'

Rachel sighed. 'I didn't turn it off, Nick. It just got knocked when I was riding in on the Roach. Those things are never the smoothest of rides.' She considered her next question before asking it, but she realised that she really did want to know, and it surprised her.

'Are you okay, Nick? Are you hurt?' He must have been as surprised as her because he took a long time answering.

'I'm... I'm okay. I'm on my way. Where are you?'

An explosion rocked the room. Chunks of masonry fell to the ground in front of her. Rachel ducked down behind a bench and took a precautionary glance over the top. Smoke and dust plumed out from an adjacent room but she couldn't see any active fighting nearby.

'I'm in C-wing,' she said. 'At least I think I am. It's hard to tell in this place. Most of the rooms are nothing more than rubble. They all look the same. I don't like how this is turning out. It just doesn't stack up.'

'What do you mean?'

'I've only been through about a quarter of the compound, I admit, but so far I haven't come across more than a handful of Kamari in one place. There have only been a few small pockets of resistance.'

'Their main force must be in a different part of the building,' Nick said.

'No. The other commanders report the same thing. Nobody has seen more than a dozen Kamari in one place. I thought Central Command said-'

'They said thousands, Rachel, but maybe they were just preparing us for the worst.'

'But all these reinforcements. They wouldn't have sent so many ground forces if they were expecting only a few dozen Kamari soldiers.'

'I don't know. I wish I did. The reinforcements are a bit late. It seems more like an afterthought than part of a great plan. What's the situation in there like now?'

'It's mostly just clean up. I expect by the time you get here there will be little resistance left.'

'Okay, well I'll come and find you soon then,' Nick shut down the link and climbed onto his Roach. The machine lurched forward and sped its way across the ever increasing pile of destruction that covered the fields in front of Havers Compound. He swerved the demented craft between RS12 carriers and mobile gun units, weaving his way towards a crowd of black uniformed Security Forces that were pushing their way into the compound. The sun had now passed its highest point and was moving back towards the horizon. It would be dark again in a few hours. Fighting would be more difficult in the dark.

Report

The technician's eyes bulged almost out of his head as he entered the cloaked section of B-wing. His sweaty palms taunted him and his long white lab coat refused to sit straight on his shoulders.

'Ah, Dr Senar. You seem tense. Good news, I hope?' Roy stood with his hands in the large hip pockets of his trousers. His pointed black shoes were shiny and crisp despite the trails of dust falling from the ceiling.

Dr Senar rubbed his hands together and took quick, uneven breaths. His eyes darted from Roy to Isor, then back to Jacob again. His thin-rimmed spectacles sparkled in the overhead lights as he spoke to Roy while keeping one eye on Jacob at the same time. 'Roy... they've taken the satellite-grid controller.'

Jacob stopped bouncing a rubber ball on the stone floor and looked up with a frown. Isor stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and stepped forward, a half twitch playing across the corner of his mouth.

Only Roy remained perfectly still. His eyes were like steel. 'Who has taken the satellite-grid controller?'

'The droids, Roy.'

'Which droids?' Jacob said.

'The flying droids,' Dr Senar managed. His eyes darted between the three of them and his wheezing became worse with every sentence. A thin bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

'You mean the news droids? How exactly did they manage that?' Isor said. He stepped closer, glaring with an unpleasant smile.

The Doctor's wheezing forced him to lean on his knees. He doubled up and rubbed the back of one shaking hand across his forehead. He looked up and did his best to explain between rasping breaths. 'I ran here. Wanted to tell you at once. My lungs are not so good. Give me one moment.'

'Get to the point,' Roy said, 'save us the sad story. It's not appropriate.'

Dr Senar nodded from his stooping position, 'I'll tell you. There were lots of them. They came swarming into the lab. I didn't know what to do. There were too many to stop. They had short arms with gripping claws. They were grabbing at everything. I tried to stop them. They grabbed at the controller. They were grabbing at me. I cut my arm, struggling with them. I thought they were going to drag me up in the air with them. I didn't know what to do, Roy. I'm a scientist, not a soldier. There was nothing I could do.'

'And where is the controller now?' Roy said.

'West,' The Doctor looked relieved to be reaching the end of the questions. His shoulders heaved with the effort of breathing, but he managed to stand upright again. A thin mist covered the inside of his glasses.

Isor's frown turned into a half-smile, 'West into the woods you mean?'

The Doctor made a choking noise which he hoped they would understand as yes.

Isor glanced across to Roy, who was gazing into the distance as though lost in thought.

'So Trent has taken the controller,' Roy said in a calm voice. 'I wonder what he thinks he's doing. He won't keep it for very long if he's heading in that direction. Inform Adam that he has guests on the way.'

Jacob pulled a device from his pocket and tapped away at its grubby keypad. With his other hand he raised his impact pistol and fired twice.

The Dr's bloodstained spectacles flew across the corridor and slid to a halt on the hard stone floor.

Questions

The small room was on the eighty-third floor of Tower Four at Central Command. Plain white walls surrounded Ario Neech on three sides. The other wall was made entirely out of glass and looked out over Cinnamon City. When he had entered the room, Ario had been amazed by the stunning views of the Old Quarter and the Skybreaker Mountains to the South. The mountains had half-blended into the hazy sky from this distance, but they were still very beautiful. Now he sat in the room's only chair with his back to that view. He pulled at his shirt collar with one clammy finger and straightened his oiled black hair again. When were they going to bring him some damned water? His throat was as dry as sand. He was going to file a formal complaint against Central Command when all this was over. Somebody today had made a big mistake in bringing him here like a common thief. Who the hell did they think they were? The Security Forces had gone too far this time.

The questions had continued for hours. Who was controlling the net-feed droids? Who had given authorisation for live broadcasts of a battlefield situation? How had Riser Trent regained power in the basement of the Mekinet News building? Where was Riser Trent? Who the hell was Riser Trent? Ario was beginning to regret ever meeting the man. Trent was just a low-life hacker, good for dirty jobs but not much else. He had been more trouble than he was worth, in every respect.

The room was quiet now. Ario had been alone with his thoughts for the last ten minutes. It was a relief that was short lived. As though summoned by his thoughts, the door opened and two security guards marched in, one taking position on each side of the door. Ario wasn't sure whether the guards were meant to protect the Admiral from him or the other way around. Gail Thompson strode between the guards with a look of iron. This was the woman who had battered his mind with demands and questions for most of the fading day. He had hoped that the setting sun would bring an end to her aggressive questioning, but it didn't look like that was going to be the case.

'Who is Riser Trent?' she said.

Ario squirmed with indignation. 'I already told you!' His patience had run out long ago. 'Either press charges or release me. I have done nothing wrong. I am the CEO of Mekinet News, not some no-life you can intimidate and harass.'

Gail Thompson stared back at him as though he hadn't spoken. Her ice-blue eyes pinned him to his seat like a struggling moth. She was a powerful woman, he had to admit. In other circumstances... he... no! The long day was confusing his mind.

'Who is Riser Trent?'

Ario's tanned face failed to hide his anger. Thick creases covered his forehead. He forced himself to sit still and say nothing.

'Let me make this simple for you, Mr Neech. A member of your staff has spent the best part of the day causing heavy casualties for the Security Forces. He has illegally broadcast live transmissions of a combat mission. He has hacked into our secure communication channels, and he has now stolen a satellite-grid controller.'

Ario blustered. His small hands gripped the chair as though he expected it might pitch him onto the floor at any moment. 'He what?'

'We have just received a transmission that if we do not pull back our forces from the Mekinet News building, Trent will launch a sat-strike on Cinnamon City.'

Ario's face grew darker by the minute. He balled his fists in front of him in useless anguish.

'As you said, Mr Neech. You are the CEO of Mekinet News. You have shown today your complete lack of ability to fulfil that demanding role.'

'You-'

'You claim that Riser Trent is a news reporter and a technician, and yet, he has shown himself to be a hacker, a criminal, and a terrorist. A terrorist employed by you.'

'I -'

'Believe me, Mr Neech, the Council of Lords agrees with me when I say that you are a liability, an incompetent CEO, and a danger to the security of the Orange Zone. We have already shut down all power to the Mekinet News building. It's now time that the company itself was shut down.'

'You can't do that!'

'As of now, you are relieved of duty. Your successor will be appointed by myself-'

'This is an outrage!' Ario was on his feet in an instant, his face raging with anger. He was a powerful man in his own right, not used to such ill treatment. 'Do you know who I am? You cannot treat me like this. You have no right!'

Gail's stoney expression did not change. 'Mekinet News will be shut down for six months, pending an investigation into its staff and procedures. On completion of the investigation, the new CEO will be appointed. You will not be permitted access to the Mekinet News building or any of its other offices. Your security authorisation has already been revoked.'

'You bitch!' Ario took two steps towards her, fists balled and ready.

Thompson stood staring at him as though he was no more than a fly that she might swat away.

'I'll fight you all the way on this, Thompson. Maybe you can shut down Mekinet News, maybe you can't. You can't shut down Net3, Ryan News, CX Live. There are over twenty news networks in this city and I know the CEOs of all of them. You can't treat me like this and expect to get away with it. The press has its own powers too you know, the power of free speech being one of them. All the news networks will stand against you.' Ario's words calmed him. The sound of his own voice brought back a degree of control to his ragged thoughts. He remembered that he did indeed have many powerful friends in the news networks, and in Central Command as well. Some of the commanders could speak on his behalf too. The bitch standing in front of him may think that she had all the answers, but she certainly did not. He was living proof of that. 'You won't shut me down, Thompson. I promise you that.'

Gail turned to the guards standing by the door and nodded. Brinkman and Walker wore matching blank expressions. Walker was taller, with a nose that had been broken more times than anyone could count. Brinkman was wide shouldered and carried a scar across his left cheek.

Ario watched with concern, wondering what she intended, but he was relieved when the guards opened the door and stepped outside, closing it behind them. His relief was short lived when Thompson turned and back handed him across the face. Ario fell crashing to the floor, tumbling sideways over the chair. His head spun. By the time it cleared she was on him again, her fists raining down on his face with wide sweeping arcs. She punched him repeatedly, first around the side of the head, rocking his head back, and then full in the face. She smashed his spectacles and broke his short pug-nose. Blood streamed down his expensive shirt. Ario covered his face with his hands, trying to defend himself from any more blows. He let out a gurgling groan as blood trickled from his nose and mouth. He had never been a fighter. He was a man of business and fine clothes. He didn't know how to deal with such personal violence.

'Let me make one thing very clear to you, Mr Neech. I can shut you down and I just did.' Pulling her impact pistol from its holster, Gail fired twice into Ario's face. His teeth scattered across the floor as blood spilled from the back of his head.

Opening the office door, Gail was calm and collected once more. 'Bag him up. Take him to the Mekinet News building and dump him on the lower levels. Make sure nobody sees you.'

The guards nodded and walked back into the office, a black body bag already in their hands.

'What about his daughter?' Brinkman said.

'His daughter?'

'Rachel Henson. She's a major based at Beacon Station. Won't she ask questions?'

'I know Henson,' Gail said. She glared at Neech's dead body as they stuffed it into the bag. 'Even in death, you cause me trouble. I should have known you wouldn't be so easy to get rid of. I hope you rot in hell.'

Walker and Brinkman zipped up the bag and dragged it out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Gail balled her fists, 'Rachel, bloody Henson. I will deal with you next.'

Recall

A dozen black-clad soldiers ran back and forth in the corridor, playing football with a used gas canister. The makeshift ball skittered across the stone floor with an awful scraping noise.

'Have you really got nothing better to do?' Rachel said.

The men laughed and continued with their game. Rachel let it pass. At least it helped them release the tension of their recent fighting.

She continued her inspection of the building. Taking the compound had been swift. The Kamari numbers had been almost disappointing. There was still some confusion as to whether their main force had already pulled out of the compound or whether it had never been there at all. Had the Kamari set up some kind of elaborate trick to lure the Security Forces into Havers Compound? Rachel had been searching for hidden traps or explosives but so far she hadn't found any sign of either. She couldn't feel anything obviously wrong. Her intuition was normally good at warning her when something wasn't right. She decided to remain vigilant. Maybe her intuition could still be wrong.

The Bull Rangers were another mystery. All across the compound, they stood motionless, some leaning against walls, others flat on their backs or in crumpled heaps. They were undamaged except for a single mark on the side of their heads. Rachel didn't know of any weapons that worked that way. There were no burn marks and the armour had not been punctured. It made no sense at all. She wanted to ask Nick what it meant. He had brought them here. He would have more information about how they worked than she had. There were also some strange reports that one Bull Ranger was still patrolling the compound, but instead of targeting the Kamari, it was searching for net-feed droids, destroying them one by one. The reports said that it was completely ignoring any people around it. Something very strange was going on in Havers Compound - that much was certain. Many questions remained unanswered.

Rachel strode through the rubble-strewn corridors, keeping her eyes open for any signs of movement. She felt the collar of her jacket vibrate, and she reached up to tap it with her hand.

'Major Henson.'

Rachel recognised the voice. 'Commander Harris, I'm on combat right now. Can I get back to you later?'

'I need to talk to you now, Henson.'

'Okay, go ahead.' Rachel checked over her shoulder to make sure there were no Kamari soldiers nearby.

'Rachel, I'm not calling on my own behalf, what I have to say comes from Admiral Thompson.'

Rachel's heart sank. She already knew what it would be about, but she clung onto the small hope that she might be wrong. For now, she would play ignorant until she had more information. 'What does she want?' she said.

'Those net-feed droids that have been swarming around Havers Compound, they've been broadcasting live news feeds on Mekinet News.'

Rachel held her impact pistol in a tight grip. It was what she had been dreading.

'Thompson wants you off the mission,' Harris said.

'Why? I can't pull out now, I'm already in Havers Compound. I'm in a combat situation and my men need me. I can't just walk out because Gail Thompson has some crazy ideas in her head.'

'It's not a request Rachel. It's an order.'

Rachel stared at the compound's crumbling grey walls and tried to slow her breathing. 'I have nothing to do with this,' she said.

'I know you don't, Rachel. If it was down to me, I'd leave you out there and deal with it later, but it's not my choice to make. Look at it from her point of view, Rachel. Ario Neech is your father. You arrive on a combat mission, then your father's news network gets the story right from the start. It looks like the droids travelled up from Shinara. They had to know in advance what was going to happen. There is no way they could just be there by coincidence. Somebody told Mekinet News that there was going to be a mission at Havers Compound. It doesn't look good, however you look at it.'

'I had nothing to do with that. I had no idea these net-feed droids were coming here.'

'I'm not accusing you of anything, Rachel. I believe you, but this is not about me. Thompson is ordering you to return to Central Command.'

'Fine. I'll return as soon as we've cleared the building.'

'The order is for you to return immediately.'

'What is wrong with her?'

'You'll have to ask her that yourself. This is just how it is. We both have a job to do. Do you want me to tell Commander Chambers you've been recalled?'

'Why? I'll tell him myself. He's my commanding officer.'

'Okay. You tell him. I just thought...'

'The past is done. Nick is my commanding officer, that's all there is to it.'

'Okay. I'll tell Thompson you're on your way.'

The comms link disconnected.

Rachel let out a long sigh. Gail Thompson was the bane of her life. Why couldn't the woman leave her alone? Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft shuffling noise to her right. When she turned, she found a Kamari soldier sneaking up behind her with a knife.

Leaping towards him, she threw a high kick at his head. The soldier tried to thrust his knife into her torso, but Rachel's kick caught him across the arm as he raised it. The knife flew out of his hand, bouncing off the opposite wall and landing on the floor at his feet. He stumbled backwards, falling against the wall before recovering his balance. His eyes flashed with anger. Lunging forwards, he tried to grab her neck, but she turned sideways and pulled his head down onto her rising knee. The two collided with a loud smack, sending blood spraying across the floor. Rachel held his head in position, slamming her knee into his face once more. She felt his body go limp in her arms, but before she let him fall, she yanked his neck upwards, and forced his head down. When she felt his neck snap, she let his body fall onto the floor.

She stepped over the body and strode down the corridor, muttering curses under her breath. She felt sorry for the soldier. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She couldn't get Gail Thompson out of her damned head.

It took Rachel ten minutes to find Nick. He kept moving from his previous reported position. When she finally tracked him down, she strode towards him, trying to control the anger that stained her thoughts. The sound of laughing soldiers in the adjoining room clashed with her troubled mood.

Nick climbed across an overturned table and approached her across the rubble-strewn floor. He looked apprehensive, though he had no reason to be. She had a strong sense of intuition, and at times, she could almost read Nick's thoughts without looking at him. Right now, she knew that he was worried, but underneath, there was a deep sense of despair inside him. She wondered what would happen to him if he didn't straighten himself out.

Rachel nodded towards him as he approached, 'Any news?' she said.

'Nothing new.' He rubbed a hand through the thin stubble that had grown across his chin. His eyes were full of questions, but he didn't ask any of them.

Rachel stood facing him, 'Thompson has ordered me back to Central Command.'

'Because of the droids?' Nick said. There was a note of surprise in his voice.

'Yes, because of my father. Thompson thinks I have something to do with how Mekinet News found out we would be here.'

'That's the stupidest thing I've heard for a long time,' Nick said, 'and I've heard a lot of dumb things coming from her mouth.'

'Thompson has never liked me. I've been a major for seven years, while others have made commander in three. She must know I had no idea that the droids were going to be here. My father would never knowingly put my life at risk. You know he wouldn't. She really hasn't thought it through. I don't think she cares too much about the facts. She just wants someone to blame whenever anything goes wrong.'

Nick frowned. His head was a thundercloud of thoughts to Rachel. It made her want to pull away from him, to distance herself from the chaos inside him. She didn't like the way her own thoughts resonated when she was around him. It was like standing next to a massive church bell, listening to its tireless toll as it swung back and forth forever, tormented by some unseen rope.

'Did your father know you were on this mission?' Nick said.

'No, of course not. That's classified information. He doesn't even know I was transferred to Beacon Station. He thinks I'm still at Central Command. He doesn't like me working on the outlying stations. He's said it many times. He thinks they are too dangerous for his only daughter. He still doesn't understand that I can take care of myself.'

'Every father wants to protect their daughter,' Nick said from behind dark sunken eyes. 'It's only because he loves you. I'm sure he wouldn't hurt you for anything. But if he thinks you are not here, then maybe he wouldn't care so much about the rest of us. Let's face it, I was never on his list of favourites. One less commander might improve your chances of promotion anyway.'

Rachel gave Nick a warning look, 'My father's not a monster. He worked hard to get where he is. There's nothing wrong with being successful. You didn't make much of an effort to know him when you had the chance.'

'He must have known what would happen if he sent net-feed droids into a combat zone. He doesn't care about the consequences, so long as it makes for a good story.'

'I don't think it was him,' Rachel said.

'Who else could it be? Who else has the power to authorise something like that?'

Rachel shook her head, 'I don't know, but I'm going to find out.' She looked Nick in the eyes, then turned and walked away. She could feel dark hands closing in on Nick from all sides. There was nothing she could do about it. He carried his fate in his own hands. 'Be careful, Nick,' she said under her breath.

Nick called after her, 'Rachel, You're not going now are you, in the middle of the mission?'

'I have no choice.'

Nick's face twisted in anguish, deep shadowed lines covering his forehead. The room seemed to dim around him. 'Can't you at least wait until we've cleared the building?'

'Thompson wants me back immediately.'

'She doesn't fucking care does she? She doesn't care about any of us. We're all just pawns in some stupid game that she plays from her nice little plush office.'

Shots rang out in the adjacent room. Soldiers shouted something, but their words were drowned out by gunfire. Renewed fighting had broken out. Nick glanced towards the noise, then back at Rachel. He looked like a trapped animal. She couldn't bear it when he got like this.

'Go if you must,' he said. 'Edwards is dead. It looks like the Beacon Attack force should be called the Nick Chambers Attack Force.'

'That isn't fair. You know I have no choice. I'm not leaving you alone. Commander Rodnig is here and he brought plenty of reinforcements. I'd be staying too if it wasn't for Thompson's orders. If you want to be angry with someone, be angry with her.'

The sounds of fighting grew louder behind them, two short blasts shaking the ground. Smoke drifted down the corridor and formed pools across the ceiling. Nick pulled Rachel away from the doorway. She tugged her arm free of him and stepped back, just as a member of the Security Forces stumbled between them. Flames roared across his padded jacket, and his eyes blistered in the heat of the flames. A broken cry of pain escaped his lips as he fell, body slapping against the concrete floor. It was too late to do anything for him.

Rachel turned her eyes away from the gruesome sight. 'I'm going,' she said. 'Talk to Rodnig. Don't do everything on your own.' She turned and walked away, leaving Nick with his own anguish. She quickened her pace as the rooms behind her resonated with increasing gunfire.

Satellite-grid Controller

Nick strode through Havers Compound, carrying anger like a heavy stone around his neck. He had just fought his way out of an intense gun battle, and was running low on ammunition. It was lucky that more Security Forces had turned up before he had been overpowered. Too often his fate had rested on luck. He couldn't shake off the feeling that events were spiralling out of control, that no matter what decisions he made, or what actions he took, some unseen force was pulling him towards a known end state. He didn't want to think about what that end state might be.

Edwards was dead, Rachel had been recalled to Central Command. Out of the three Crocs that made up the Beacon Attack Force, one had been destroyed, and two were so damaged that they no longer served any useful purpose. The remaining members of all three crews were spread out across Havers Compound with the other reinforcements. The situation was out of control. Thompson had failed to warn him that the Kamari had access to a satellite platform. She had recalled his key remaining officer, knowing that Edwards was already dead. She hadn't told him that reinforcements were on their way, and she hadn't ordered the other commanders to coordinate their efforts with his, even though he was the mission controller for the Beacon Attack Force. It wasn't only Rachel that Thompson didn't like. She had never liked Nick either. He didn't know whether she didn't like him because of his connection with Rachel, or if she didn't like Rachel because of her connection with Nick, but either way, it left them both in an awkward position. Having such a poor working relationship with the only admiral at Central Command meant that neither of them was ever likely to be promoted or to be transferred to a less desolate location.

There had to be something that he could do. Nick reached for his collar and tried to open a comms link to Admiral Gail Thompson at Central Command. There was no response, but his collar vibrated with an incoming call on a different channel.

'This is Commander Harris. I need to talk to you.'

'Harris? Where are you? I've been trying to get through to Admiral Thompson but she's not picking up.'

'She's not in the best of moods right now.'

'So I heard. She recalled Henson to Central Command. I don't know what the hell she thinks we are doing out here, but her actions are not helping at all.'

Harris grunted into the comms link, 'Thompson thinks that Henson has something to do with the Mekinet news droids.'

'That's crazy.'

'I know it is. I've vouched for Rachel on more than one occasion, but when Thompson is in a shitty mood she won't listen to me or anyone else.'

'Why do you think she's behaving like this?'

'I gave up trying to understand my superiors years ago. I just carry out the orders I'm given. It works out better for everyone that way.'

'I wish I shared your sense of optimism.'

Harris laughed. 'Listen, I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, Nick, but there's something I need to tell you.'

Nick felt that unseen force working its magic again. Whatever Harris was about to say was part of it, he knew it.

'What is it?' Nick said.

'There's something odd going on at Havers Compound.'

'That's not news to me.'

'Well, this is different. I've been following the situation from here, and Thompson has been on my case about it too. Our own satellite platforms opened fire on your RS6 units.'

'I noticed. The mission was fucked from the very start. The Kamari opened fire on us while we were scanning the compound. Edwards is dead. All the Crocs are out of action because of it. Didn't anybody notice that the Kamari had taken over a fucking satellite platform? What happened to our security systems? This kind of thing should never happen.'

'It's bad. We don't know how it happened. We're still trying to work that out. There were no alerts triggered and the security constraints were all active. It might be a while before we figure this one out.'

'It's worse than bad, Jake. Too many things make no sense. There's something else going on here.'

'I know you've got it rough out there. I've been trying to help in the background. It was me that sent the backup units to Havers Compound. I suggested it three times to Thompson before she conceded. She said we didn't have any spare units. I don't see how that can be true. I know what it's like being left out in the cold. I've been there too many times myself. When I finally got her agreement, she seemed pissed off with me. We'll get to the bottom of this, Nick. We'll figure it out. It's just going to take some time.'

'Thanks Jake. I appreciate it. It's good to know that the commanders have got each other's back.'

'No problem.'

'So what's the bad news you wanted to tell me?'

'The Kamari no longer have control of the satellite platform.'

'Isn't that good news?'

'You would think so, wouldn't you, but no. Now some news hack called Riser Trent has taken control of it. He's the clown controlling all those net-feed droids that are whizzing around your head.'

'I thought that was Ario Neech? Why does Thompson accuse Rachel of being involved, if she already knows this other guy is controlling the net-feed droids?'

'I don't know. Thompson told me Trent is involved, but she also said that Neech is responsible for all this, and she blames Rachel too. She's pissed off about a lot of things.'

'How did Trent bypass our security? Can anyone just take control of a satellite platform these days? What is Trent doing with the satellite-grid controller anyway? You said he's just some kind of reporter? Why would he want to mess around with something as dangerous as a satellite platform? He must know we'll put him away forever for this.'

'I don't know what he's thinking, but we need to take the threat seriously. He's threatened to use the satellite platform against Central Command and Cinnamon City.'

'He must be bluffing. Why the hell would he do that?'

'I have to admit, his threats seem random and unfocussed to me. He could be playing a game with us all, but we have to believe that he might do it. If we ignore his threat and he carries it out, the consequences would be unthinkable. I don't think he's all there in the head.'

'That's all we need.'

'We think the satellite-grid controller is somewhere in Havers Compound. It can be controlled remotely. That's what Trent is doing. It may be the weak point in our security. If you can find the physical device and shut it down, then nobody will be able to take control of the satellite platform anymore. Thompson wants the satellite-grid controller kept in one piece, but it's easy for her to say that, it's not so easy for you to do it. I'd say destroy it if you need to. Don't put your life at risk to capture the device in one piece. If it gets damaged, just tell her it was an accident. Whatever happens, we can't allow this nut to use a satellite platform against Cinnamon City. The repercussions would be horrendous for all of us. He doesn't even know how to use the targeting systems. If he tries to use the satellite platform without proper training, he could hit anything.'

'The Kamari seemed to manage the targeting system just fine. A little too well in my opinion.'

'You've got to shut it down, Nick.'

'Okay, I got it. I'll make it my first priority. I'll find this damn thing if it's the last thing I do.'

'Thanks. I'll let Thompson know you're on it.'

'Harris, can you do something for me in return?'

'Sure. What is it?'

'When Rachel comes back, keep an eye on Thompson for me. I don't know what she has against Rachel, but I just want to make sure she gets a fair deal. I think you know what I mean.'

'I know what you mean. I'll do what I can, but I've got to go to the Mekinet News building for a while. The Guilds are protesting again and they always seem to wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is the worst place for a protest and the timing is dreadful.'

'Thanks, Harris.'

'Good luck.'

'You too.'

Clear the Streets

Commander Jake Harris stood on the corner of the street, just outside the Mekinet News building. His jacket was wet from the relentless rain but his grey eyes shone with intensity.

'I want everybody out of here in twenty minutes,' he said.

Major Ruffle was standing in the lobby, sheltering from the rain and pacing over crushed glass. 'It's not possible Commander. It took over an hour to descend half way down. It will take longer to come back out again. Several of the men are lost. It's not a direct exit line. They are having to guide each other out, level by level.'

'All the same. I want them out in twenty minutes. We don't have any more time.'

The major shook his head, but he got onto his comms link and started calling out orders to the men below.

Commander Harris looked across the street. There was a crowd building, men and women with bright red Holocubes floating above their heads. Slogans scrolled around the cubes, visible on all sides.

NO TAX BEFORE FREE ELECTIONS.

WHERE ARE THE COUNCIL OF LORDS?

NO RULE WITHOUT ACCOUNTABILITY.

Major Redmond was standing near the side of the road preparing a line of Security Forces between the protesters and the Mekinet News building.

'What is all that?' Harris said.

'No idea Commander. Looks like there are some Guilds people amongst them. Guess they are complaining about taxes again.'

'Why are they here?'

'I don't know. I don't think it is anything to do with our mission.'

'Just the wrong place at the wrong time, huh?'

Major Redmond shrugged his shoulders, 'I've been in the wrong place at the wrong time for the last three years.'

Harris laughed, 'Yes, I know what you mean.'

A blue light flashed on the lapel of Harris' jacket. He lifted his ear piece and tucked it into his ear, 'Yes Admiral, they are pulling out now.'

Gail Thompson's voice was just audible through the crackly comms link. The rain drumming on his jacket didn't help. Harris stepped into the shelter of the lobby where it was a little more quiet.

'I want everyone out of there now,' she said. 'Clear a perimeter around the building, at least twenty metres on each side.'

'Twenty metres? What is the nature of the threat?'

'I'll ask the questions Commander.'

'It would be a lot easier to carry out your orders if I knew what you were trying to achieve.'

'What I'm trying to achieve is to get everybody out of the Mekinet news building right now and to clear a perimeter. That is all you need to know. Is that understood Commander?'

'Understood.' Thompson could be a real bitch at times.

She terminated the comms link on her end. Harris was not in the least bit disappointed. He stepped out into the rain again, glad of the fresh wind and rain that cleansed his face.

'Redmond.'

Major Redmond stopped talking to his line of Security Forces and approached Harris, 'Yes Commander?'

'We need to push everyone back twenty metres from the building on all sides.'

'I don't have enough men for a perimeter that wide.'

'Well, do what you can. I'll get another unit down here.'

'Any particular reason? We have a line already. Nobody can enter the building.'

'Orders from the Admiral.'

'Okay,' Redmond's face sagged.

The crowd was gathering closer and it didn't look like they were in the mood for cooperation. He stepped over to his men and shouted at them through the rain. After a few moments, they began to walk slowly towards the crowd in a straight line. Redmond stepped over to an equipment shuttle that was parked at the side of the street. He opened the back doors and rummaged in the back of it, before pulling out a voice-amp the size of a lollipop. He held it up in front of his mouth and said something into the rain but nobody could hear him. He shook the voice-amp and slapped it against his leg before trying again. This time his voice bellowed across the street like a pronouncement from God.

'This is a restricted area. Admiral Gail Thompson has ordered a clear perimeter of twenty metres around the Mekinet News building. Move back now.'

'Thompson serves only the Council Of Lords!' a voice cried out from the crowd.

'What about the people?' another voice shouted back.

Redmond glanced back towards Harris and shook his head. He raised the voice-amp again, 'This is a restricted area. Move back and disperse immediately.'

Commander Harris felt the air change. He had that feeling that he got once in a while, just before everything went to shit. He ran towards the line of advancing men. The crowd broke just at that moment, pouring forwards like an angry mob. The Security Forces raised their arms up in a line, elbows facing out and surged towards the oncoming crowd. In the middle of the rain-soaked street, they clashed like waves hitting a rocky shore. Shouts rang out into the night. Fat businessmen struggled with red cheeks as the Security Forces shoved them back. Young women in gloves and boots shouted expletives that made Harris blush on behalf of his men. Young men with glints in their eyes swung punches. All at once, the wave broke into chaotic surges and torrents. Fists struck faces. Batons struck heads and shoulders. Men and women grappled each other and tumbled to the ground.

Commander Harris locked eyes with a young man who had just flattened a member of the Security Forces. The man charged towards him in a frenzy, eyes wide and excited. He ran forwards, raising his fist high behind him in threat. Harris swung a high kick and caught him full on the chin, sending him tumbling forwards onto the ground. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Harris straightened his jacket and tapped his comms link. 'This is Commander Jake Harris, securing the Mekinet News building. We need another unit down here. We seem to have strayed into some angry protest.'

A woman's voice came back from the Central Command control room. 'We are short on units at the moment. What is the severity of your situation?'

'We need a unit now.'

The woman mumbled something away from the comms link and then came back loud and clear. Okay. We're sending a backup unit now. They should be with you in... six minutes.

'Thanks, control.' Harris shut down the link. Now he just had to work out what to do for the next six minutes.

Redmond stumbled back with blood on his lip. He made a grunting noise and ran back into the fracas. Harris pulled out his stun baton and followed him.

The Lookout Balcony

Gail tapped the collar of her jacket and closed the comms link. She didn't feel the need to tell Harris the nature of the threat. If he found out that there was a possibility of a satellite strike at his current position, he might change his mind about doing his duty. She needed the building cleared, and the less Harris knew about why, the quicker it would be done. A sharp wind chilled her face as she held onto the thin glass railing that ran the length of the balustrade. This high up, a strong gust of wind could easily send her plummeting eight hundred metres to the Grand Plaza below. The White Spear's Lookout Balcony gave her unparalleled views across Cinnamon City.

Gail enjoyed the breeze. She could look down on most of Central Command from the balcony. Six Black Towers formed a circle around the White Spear. To the South-East, the imposing black presence of Tower Four rose up as high as Gail's lookout balcony. Its blacked-out windows reflected the fading sun, casting an orange glow across its western face. Gun emplacements sat on either side of the tower and a series of small landing pads occupied most of its flat roof. Henry Willow's quarters were in Tower Four. She hadn't heard from him after his incompetent mishandling of the Guilds. She should never have listened to him and his foolish plans. He was only looking for ways to raise his own profile. She knew that, but she had thought that he would be able to handle a simple meeting with the Guilds. Instead, he had caused a political incident and left her with the consequences. She had already heard reports of protesters on the streets and public order offences. She would track down Willow eventually. Wherever he was hiding, his time was running out.

The wind caught her hair. She turned her back to the wind and shook her head, forcing the wayward strands back into place. To the South-West, she could see Tower Five standing proud. It was almost identical to the other black towers, except that instead of landing pads, its roof was covered with communications equipment and escape capsules. It's lower levels contained food synthesis laboratories. Central Command had been synthesising its own food for many years. Even with the recent improvements, the consensus was that the taste was always wrong and the textures didn't feel authentic in the mouth. The processing stages required to synthesise food were also expensive and long winded. Nobody would choose to eat synthetic food if a real alternative existed. Some cafes had taken to offering synthetic versions of extinct species of fish, but not many people would pay the high price. Those that did, seldom wanted to try the food again. As a solution to fine dining, it had little hope, but as a means to survive under siege, synthetic food was quite adequate. There had only ever been one siege attempt on Central Command, as far as Gail could remember, and it had been over a hundred years ago. She couldn't remember who it was that had tried such a foolish attack. Even back then, the Black Towers had held enough stored food supplies to make a siege pointless, even without synthetic food labs.

Gail tightened her jacket tight to guard against the cold air that gusted around her. Beyond the roof of Tower Five, she could see Mech factories scattered across the Grand Plaza. Small white buildings sat with rounded roofs, each connected to several others through a network of thin transparent tubes. After the Mech factories, the Business District began, and there in the distance, she could see the Mekinet News building. It looked so small from where she was standing, but she knew that it was almost half the height of one of the Black Towers. The distinctive red Mekinet News logo blinked above it. A shining M emblazoned across the sky.

Somewhere down in the basement levels, Riser Trent would be sitting in the dark. She wondered whether he had any idea what he was involved in. Some people were always in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been stunned by the reports of his coded threats. Did he really think he could threaten Central Command like that? He had threatened to launch a satellite strike on the Mekinet News building. She knew it was a bluff just to make her withdraw the Security Forces, but could she really take the risk of ignoring him? If he did somehow manage to strike in the heart of Cinnamon City, the Lords would be outraged. She didn't want to be on the wrong end of their wrath if everything went wrong.

Gail shook her head. For now, she would play along with Trent's little game. He was trapped. He had no way out. It was only a matter of time before she would have a chance to storm the building again. As soon as she confirmed that the satellite-grid controller was not in his hands, she would have Commander Harris flood the building with gas.

A crackling noise above her head made Gail look up. Two hundred metres above, the Dome Shield spread out from the White Spear's tip, extending to the horizon in all directions. This close up, the Dome Shield's usual transparent nature took on new qualities. Strange patterns played across its surface as though tiny wriggling creatures lived inside it. It was a preposterous idea. Gail didn't know anything about what the Dome Shield was made of or how it worked. Nobody did except the Lords. It had been there for centuries before she was even born. It had been present for so long that nobody questioned its existence. That was true of so many things. She thought the same thing about the White Spear too. She had lived inside the building for several years and yet she never felt like she really knew the building at all. It belonged to the Lords, and they liked to keep it that way.

Whenever Gail had asked the Lords questions, they had brushed them aside as though she was nothing more than a foolish child. Gail hated talking to the Lords. They had no respect for her position at all. Most of the time they were absent. If only they would remain permanently absent, things might be a lot easier for her to do her job. On the rare occasions that one of the Lords visited the White Spear, they never bothered to meet her unless she managed to find them before they had gone again.

A shiver ran down her spine. It was getting cold again. She turned to go back through the armour plated doors that led into the White Spear, but something caught her eye. Glancing down, she noticed an old plaque on the low balustrade of the balcony. She couldn't remember having seen it before. Kneeling in front of it, she wiped away what looked like decades of dry dirt. The plaque was weather worn and faded. She had to strain her eyes and retrace the words more than once, but eventually she managed to read it.

In remembrance of the Sand-Lord

David Wembern,
honoured member of the Council Of Lords,
guardian of the people,
and father of the Orange Zone.

All those who live beneath the Dome Shield
shall forever owe their lives to him.

May God take him into his heart.

Gail rose to her feet and frowned. She had never heard the name Wembern before. There was so much that the Lords had not told her. She wondered whether there would ever be an end to their secrets. A low buzz from her collar indicated an incoming comms call. Gail took one more look at the plaque, then turned and strode back inside the White Spear.

The Gateways

There had been no sign of Kamari soldiers in Havers Compound for over twenty minutes. Rumours were spreading that the mission was going to be shut down. Many of the Security Forces were beginning to make their way back to their transports, out onto the muddy fields.

A shimmering motion in the air was their only warning. A cloaked gateway wobbled into existence, a watery torus floating two feet above the ground. As it stabilised, a clear opening formed, providing a window onto another place entirely. Soldiers who had previously been lolling against packing boxes or taking the time for a cigarette, now jumped to their feet and grabbed their weapons.

Such gateways were not unheard of, but their existence was thought to be more of a pen and paper exercise than an actual physical reality. Nobody was meant to have built such a thing outside of a laboratory. Gateways enabled people to pass to and from a completely sealed space such as an underground bunker, but the technology required was immense. Cloaking a gateway was even more difficult. Nick wondered how long the gateway had been open before they had uncloaked it. No doubt the Kamari had been watching and waiting for the best moment to uncloak and attack.

The nearest soldiers fired at the gateway as soon as it appeared. They reacted on instinct and fear rather than any hope of hitting something. The bullets disappeared into the shimmering air with no effect. When three small black spheres emerged from the gateway and floated out into the room, the soldiers had no doubts about what they were looking at, but it was too late. The explosions ripped through the room before they could run. Bodies, furniture and debris were flung against the outer walls in a bright white flash. When the Kamari forces streamed out en-massé, there was nothing to meet them but blood and smoke.

All over the compound renewed fighting broke out. Nobody was quite sure where the Kamari had come from. Some said that the soldiers appeared from nowhere. Others spoke of hidden doors or floating weapons. One thing was for sure, the battle of Havers Compound was far from over. The Kamari had returned. The sound of gunfire filled the air. Explosions shook the ground. Everywhere men ran and fought, some with guns, some with fists and knives. Frantic fighting could be heard from all sides. The fighting was at its most fierce on the west side of the compound.

The Kamari pushed the Security Forces back to the edges of the compound, forcing them out onto the dark bloody fields outside. They came in great numbers. They poured out of Havers Compound like a colony of ants, pushing the Security Forces along with them in a tide of destruction. Plasma grenades flashed in the darkness. Men fell. Shouts filled the air. Armoured vehicles blasted each other with bright red proton fire. The battleground was ablaze once more.

Riser couldn't believe it. His two hundred and fifty strong swarm of net-feed droids had been cut back to a mere twenty-three. Even the few droids that were remaining were running low on power. Since his little satellite-grid controller stunt the Kamari had joined in the latest fad of shooting down net-feed droids. Worst of all, there was a Bull Ranger running around blasting the droids out of the air. Its efficiency was unsettling. The breadth of sensations pouring into Riser's mind through the sensor cap had thinned to a trickle compared to the hurricane of information that it had once been. It was a sad loss of sensation. Riser had already tried to release another pod of a further two hundred and fifty net-feed droids from the Mekinet News droid hangar in Shinara but Ario had shut him out. The hangar was locked down and off limits as far as Riser was concerned.

The orange warning lights blinking in his mind informed Riser that his remaining droids would run out of power within three hours. They were not intended for such long term use. They were not intended for this kind of use at all. He considered calling Neech again and demanding another pod from the hangar, but he didn't think the conversation would go very well. His working relationship with Neech was probably now completely fucked. There was nothing he could do about that.

It was getting cold in the basement. Riser thought he'd better check what the dick heads with the shoulder lamps were doing. Flicking through the banks of internal monitors, he searched the inside of the Mekinet News building.

It looked like Thompson had taken his threat seriously. She didn't know that he hadn't yet managed to break the satellite-grid controller's access codes, and she never would if Riser could help it. She'd have to assume that he was willing and capable of blasting the whole building down to a street-level stump. As fun as it would be, Riser had no intention of launching a satellite strike on his own building. The Security Forces were dumb sometimes. He didn't have to challenge his imagination too much to come up with lies to confuse them with. The Security Forces believed whatever crap he told them. They had pulled back. A disgruntled crowd remained at the front of the building, soldiers milling amongst them and more people hanging around across the street. There were two or three soldiers still inside the building, but they were at least trying to find their way back out. It was entertaining watching the fools walking in circles, like mice in a maze, making the same mistakes over and over again.

A green light blinked in Riser's mind, overlaying the internal camera's image of a lost wandering soldier. It was another request from Damen, no doubt.

Riser opened a channel onto the PA system in the basement.

'Yes, Damen? What is it now?'

'I want an RS12.'

'What the fuck do you want one of those for?'

'I can sell it.'

'You won't need it, believe me. Once they pay up, we'll have all the credits we'll ever need.'

'You could still ask for one.'

'Central Command are stupid, Damen, but they aren't that stupid. They won't give us more obscenely expensive military hardware to stop us from using our existing stolen military hardware.'

Damen took a while to respond. 'OK. It was just a thought.' He was silent for a while. He must have been considering how the denial of an RS12 affected his current wish list. He'd already requested more things than Riser could even remember.

'A Juxter K11, then. That's not military.'

Riser sighed, 'Fine. I'll add it to the list. One Juxter K11 trailer shuttle. That is unless you need three of them?'

'No. Just one.'

'Okay, I'm adding it to the list. I'm going to send it now before it gets even more ridiculous.'

'But I might think of some more things that I need.'

'It's only a matter of time before Central Command realise that I can't control the satellite-grid controller at all, and when they do, we need to be as far away from Cinnamon City as possible, not sitting here writing lists that they can storm in and shove up our arses!'

'Hmmm. I think I'll go back to reading my gun catalogue then.' Damen clicked off the comms link.

Time to Exit

Rachel headed away from the sounds of fighting even though it was against her natural instinct to do so. She jogged towards the east side of the compound. It was deserted in comparison to the mayhem breaking out to the West. The weight of her equipment pack pulled at her shoulder as she ran past the bodies of fallen soldiers from both sides. She couldn't help feeling angry about how Gail Thompson had recalled her to Central Command. Rachel had never liked Thompson, and the feeling was apparently mutual.

As she moved deeper into the compound, searching for an exit, she noticed rooms that had not been involved in the fighting. The pristine white walls and large glass partitions were in sharp contrast to the rest of the battle-damaged compound. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of technicians packing up equipment, getting ready to move out. There were no Kamari soldiers here so she left the technicians to continue their work. They didn't look like the fighting kind. Most of them ignored her too. Some scurried away like mice when they heard her coming.

As she walked, she glanced into the rooms that lined the corridor. Most were laboratories of some kind, filled with equipment and consoles. Intrigued by what looked like someone lying on a metal-framed bed, Rachel paused in a laboratory doorway. She knew that she didn't have much time, but something pulled at her to take a closer look. There was nobody else in sight so she slipped into the room with her impact pistol held loose in one hand.

The displays next to the bed showed a heart beat even though the figure on the bed was covered with a white sheet. It seemed an odd way to treat a living patient. Rachel raised her pistol in case there was a technician hiding under the sheet. She didn't think it was likely. She pulled back the sheet and was surprised to find a young boy lying on the bed. His thin sandy hair was arranged into a neat parting as though he had been groomed for his own funeral, but the bedside console displayed a strong and steady heartbeat. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with gentle breathing.

Rachel brushed a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting but it certainly wasn't this. What was the boy doing here? Was he sick? Why had the technicians covered him with a sheet? She thought that one of them must be coming to see to the boy sooner or later. Another time she would have stayed to investigate further, but she had her orders. She had to go.

She was about to turn and leave, when she noticed something disturbing. There was a thick cable hanging under the bed. She had assumed that it was attached to the console but it seemed to be tucked under the boy's pillow. Stepping around to the back of the bed, Rachel gasped. The whole back of the boy's head was missing, replaced by a thick black metallic casing. It wasn't a sensor cap. It was built directly into the boy's head. The thick cable was plugged into the base of his neck. Rachel pointed her impact pistol at the aberration and shuddered. She stood there for a long moment, thoughts whirring behind a face full of concerns. What had they done to him? It was an abomination. The impact pistol trembled in her hand. The seconds passed by as she struggled to understand what she was looking at.

The boy opened his eyes. Rachel jumped and almost fired by accident. His eyes watched her without expression, a thin smile forming on his lips. Rachel shivered. She lowered her hand and strode out of the room. There was nothing she could do for the boy. She kept telling herself that as she strode through the compound fighting the anger within herself. There was nothing she could do!

A hundred metres further down the corridor, a cool breeze guided her towards a collapsed wall that led out onto the open fields beyond. She was surprised to see how dark it had become outside. She'd been in the compound all day. Thin streaks of rain fell from a starless sky. She tried not to think about what she had seen in the labs, but the appalling sight of the cable attached to the boy's head replayed over and over in her mind. This was no ordinary building. Whatever kind of research the Kamari were doing here, Rachel was sure she wouldn't like it.

Once she was standing back on the wet battlefield, she made her way to the nearest abandoned vehicle and climbed inside. It was a Nimbus jump-pad, capable of low level flight, and it was just what she had been looking for. The jump-pad hovered just above the ground, using small manoeuvring jets to maintain its position until she managed to steer it away from the buildings. It wobbled across the uneven terrain, firing stabiliser jets on both sides. The fields were mostly clear at this end of the compound but she could still hear fighting to the West. Intermittent white flashes punctuated the sky behind her.

She hoped that Nick was okay. Steering around a lone tree, she crossed high mud banks, and quickly approached the river. She increased the thrust, powering up the main drive until the jump-pad began rising up above the treetops. It felt good to be so high, putting some distance between herself and the unsettling sights of Havers Compound.

Once she was clear of the trees, Rachel entered coordinates for Cinnamon City, some distance to the North-East. The flight path took her parallel to Wyser River. She noticed the broken shells of net-feed droids littering the muddy ground as she sped away from the battlefield.

She had deliberately chosen a vehicle that wasn't a walker. Walkers hated mud. After heavy rain and so much fighting, the battlefield had turned into a quagmire. The journey would have been so difficult on a Roach. The jump-pad would make much better progress over long distances. Even with a rack of blinding white lights on the front, she could only see a few metres ahead in the darkness. The rain was growing worse by the minute. Gusting winds shunted the jump-pad back and forth as though it was riding on the waves of the sky.

Rachel relied on the autopilot to keep her away from tall trees and any other mishaps. The dark sky embraced her and the trees flowed beneath the jump-pad like an ocean of branches. She rubbed one hand across her face and tried to relax. She was getting tired and it wasn't long before her mind started to wander.

She thought about Lisa back at her apartment. Annie would be looking after her, she knew that, but she didn't know how long it would be before she could go home again. It didn't feel safe leaving Lisa in the apartment. She couldn't say why, exactly. It troubled her that the apartment block was so close to the Mekinet News building. All the talk about net-feed droids at Havers Compound was already making Rachel feel uneasy. Thompson was trying to lay the blame on her father. Rachel wasn't sure how things were going to pan out. She couldn't let Lisa get caught up in any of that. Maybe it would be better if Lisa went to her grandfather's house for a few days. There were people there who could look after her for a while. Annie would be there too. At least she would be out of the city for a while.

Rachel tried to distract herself with thoughts of how Lisa would enjoy her upcoming birthday. It was hard to be cheerful in the driving rain of such a bleak night. She felt angry with Thompson for putting her in this situation. She felt angry about so many things.

Responsibilities

Nick checked his battlefield controller. The hand-held console showed various inaccurate maps and brightly coloured illustrations of what total chaos war really was. He tapped in a few orders, just to show that he was still alive, but it was difficult to keep track of the eight thousand Security Forces that had arrived a few hours ago and proceeded to fuck everything up. There were twenty-three unit leaders, fourteen majors and eight commanders on the battlefield somewhere. Not one of them had contacted Nick, the mission controller, or bothered to coordinate their own misconstrued plans with his. Thompson hadn't even notified him that they were coming. He would make all this abundantly clear in his debriefing when the mission was over. Despite the complete lack of communication, he was still glad that reinforcements had arrived. Without them he would have been powerless against the Kamari forces that had suddenly appeared on the west side of Havers Compound.

Nick leant against a crumbling stone wall. Strangle-weed had dug itself into several deep cracks, spreading across much of the exposed surface. It was typical of the interior of Havers Compound. It had a disparate mix of old decaying infrastructure interspersed with sections that had been recently refurbished. He wondered why the Kamari had only altered certain parts of the compound. Perhaps they hadn't yet had time to complete their work?

Rolling his head from side to side, he tried to relieve the tightness in his shoulders. He couldn't seem to shake it off. It had been a long day. He found it difficult to concentrate. He felt bad about letting Thompson recall Rachel in the middle of the mission, but what else could he have done? Thompson was the Admiral. Nick could not oppose her orders, however foolish they may be. Nick found himself worrying about Rachel more than ever. They weren't together anymore. She wasn't his responsibility, but she was still the mother of his child. He still loved her. It felt strange saying that, even to himself. He hadn't admitted it for a long time. Once the thought had brought him pleasure, now it only brought him pain. The regrets piled up as the years went by. Some days he found it hard not to hate himself. On those days he thought about Lisa. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He didn't see his daughter as often as he wanted to. It had been difficult since Rachel had broken up with him. His duties as a commander had all too often taken precedence over his duties as a father. Rachel had not been slow to point out his failings. It wasn't easy at times. He still remembered Lisa's smiling face, and how happy she had been when he had taken her to the park. How long had it been? Three weeks? Four? Weeks passed, months came and went. He was determined to be a better father somehow. He would take some time off, when he could. He wanted to spend more time with his daughter. It wasn't going to be easy but he had to start somewhere. He had to find a way.

Nick struggled with his conscience. He loved his daughter but he couldn't let himself get too caught up in his own problems right now. As always, his duties as a commander had to come first. He was the mission controller. A lot of men's lives still depended on him. He had to keep a clear head for their sake if not his own.

The satellite-grid controller had to be here somewhere. If he could only disable it before anyone else could use it, things might get a lot simpler for everyone.

Dust trickled down from a crack in the ceiling. Nick pulled a synthetic snack bar from his pocket and chewed on the end of it. He had to concentrate on what was going on around him. The battle was still evolving. Having more than one Commander sharing responsibility for the day's events certainly wouldn't harm his future career options. He had no intention of becoming the only scapegoat for this debacle. He had done what he thought was right based upon the information that he had been given. He could not be held responsible for the satellite strike. All the satellite-grid controllers were meant to be held in secure facilities at Central Command. He had no idea how the Kamari had got their hands on one, and he didn't much care. All that would come out in the enquiries later.

Riser Trent was another matter altogether. His damned flying drones had ruined the mission from the outset. Now he had the satellite-grid controller as well? How was that even possible? Something had gone badly wrong somewhere. Nick tried to steady his racing mind. This was where he was. He couldn't change what had already happened. He had to start from now and turn this mission around. Maybe the other Commanders were doing better than he thought? There was some level of organisation visible on Nick's small cluttered console. It was just so difficult to see what was really going on. It was Admiral Gail Thompson who had the job of coordinating all the separate units that she had sent to Havers Compound. Nick wasn't going to accept responsibility for that. She hadn't even informed him that they were coming.

Nick tossed his console onto the ground. It wasn't helping. He had too many other things to think about. He dug deep and set off in search of the satellite-grid controller. Since the Kamari were moving large numbers of troops to the West, maybe they knew something that Nick didn't? That wouldn't be difficult, he had to admit. He drew his impact pistol and followed the exodus at a safe distance, keeping his eyes open for any more damned surprises.

Pulling Out

Walstone Forest hung over the edge of the battlefield like a shadow of impending death. The rain formed thin grey lines across a black sky and the trees were barely visible in the darkness between flashes of gunfire and plasma grenades. Muddy fields separated the forest from Havers Compound. Damaged vehicles lay abandoned and broken, and blood had mingled with the mud, leaving crimson puddles across the ground.

The rain fell. Darkness closed in, but the battle of Havers Compound raged on. Security forces came running out of the compound. Explosions ripped through the shattered white stone buildings behind them. Men fell or were thrown into the air in a hail of fire and smoke. An intense fire fight roared across the western side of the building. Voices called out into the night as the Security Forces regrouped on the open fields. They gathered around vehicles that approached from other parts of the battlefield and mounted a consolidated defence beneath a dark and foreboding sky. The Security Forces fought back with everything they had. The air was filled with orange tracer lines as projectiles, sped back and forth between opposing forces.

The Kamari were visible now, hundreds of them pouring onto the fields. They wore white padded combat suits and blue berets as they surged out of Havers Compound like a rising tide, pushing the Security Forces along with them. Those closest to the compound struggled in hand to hand combat with fists and knives. Others cut them down with impact fire from all sides. The Kamari put up a fierce barrage of hostile fire that continued to force the Security Forces back across the fields. Heavy weapons exploded at intervals. Hand-held proton cannons obliterated men, walls and vehicles, wherever they were pointed. The Kamari's floating black spheres appeared from several portals along the edge of the compound. They drifted onto the crowded battleground before exploding. Men cried out as bright flashes lit up the sky behind them and shock waves shook the ground.

Commander Rodnig stood behind a temporary shield wall. It was made from broken vehicles and debris that had been piled up to form a rudimentary barrier. His hand-held proton cannon was running low on power, but still he blazed its twin red beams across the Kamari soldiers in rapid burst mode. The beams sliced through flesh with ease, severing arms and legs, and bisecting men at the waist, cauterising the wounds as they fell. It was a horrible way to die. There was no glory in death.

Rodnig deactivated the beam only when he saw Commander Chambers sprinting out from a hole in the compound wall. 'Give him covering fire,' he called out to the men around him. 'Clear a route for Commander Chambers.' Rodnig pointed at Nick as he ran towards them.

Renewed gunfire filled the night. Chambers didn't take long to reach them. His eyes shone as he took the last few steps and jumped behind the shield wall.

'You run well,' Rodnig said.

Nick took a few breaths before answering, 'It's amazing what the sound of so many guns can do for your agility and speed.'

'Are you injured?' Rodnig said.

'No, I'm fine. No thanks to the Kamari. Welcome to Havers Compound. Isn't it beautiful? Gail sent me here with just three Crocs. Can you fucking believe that?'

'I can believe a lot of things.'

'It's good to finally have some backup but we need to get these men out of here. It's too exposed.'

Rodnig nodded. He looked back at the forest behind him, 'We don't have many options, Nick.'

Nick stared at the chaos unfolding around the edge of Havers Compound and shook his head, 'We have to pull back into Walstone Forest.'

'It's no good,' Rodnig said.

'There are no good options here. If we stay out in the open, the Kamari will carve us up. Their numbers are too great. We have to get some cover.'

Rodnig didn't look happy. 'It could be an ambush,' he said. 'How do we know that they don't have even more soldiers waiting for us in the forest?'

'We don't, but if they do, we'll have a far better chance of fighting them amongst the cover of the trees than standing out here.'

'Okay,' Rodnig said. 'I guess you're right. This is a shitty place to fight. We have to do something. I still don't like it though, Nick.'

'Give the order,' Nick said. 'These are your units. I'll go on ahead.'

'Where are you going?'

'I'll catch up with you later. There's something I need to do.'

'Stay safe. We've lost enough good men today already.'

Nick nodded and slapped a hand on Rodnig's shoulder, 'You too.'

Rodnig pulled his collar close to his mouth and started shouting orders into his comms unit. It took several attempts to get through. He sent one of the men as a runner on a Roach to make sure that the message had been received.

Gradually, the Security Forces started pulling back towards the forest. Nick didn't wait for them. He nodded to Rodnig and ran towards the forest.

Walstone Forest

Roy led his sons, Isor and Jacob, deep into Walstone Forest. They headed towards the main Kamari encampment with slow deliberate steps. Roy kept his head down as he walked, his eyes squinting into the rain. He held one hand high to shield his eyes from the falling rain. It was a cold night. His fingers felt frozen to the core. In his younger days such conditions wouldn't have bothered him at all. Clenching his fingers, he took long strides and watched his breath steaming in the cool night air.

There had been a few problems, but for the most part, his plans were coming to fruition. The fool Security Forces were running straight into his trap. It was so easy to run rings around their commanders, jamming their communications and sending false messages of their own. The Security Forces hadn't even worked out that two of their runners were Kamari informers. They would soon discover the gravity of yet another mistake that they had made today. Their first mistake had been attacking Havers Compound.

Roy pulled his beret tight against his head until short tufts of thin grey hair protruded from both sides. The loss of the satellite-grid controller had been an annoyance that he could have done without. His only comfort was that he knew Trent had no chance of using it. Isor had reprogrammed the controller. Nobody outside of the Kamari would be able to crack it. Isor had spent months examining the controller's schematics, even before the Kamari had secured possession of it. He had modified its systems in several ways. First, he had installed additional security to prevent Central Command from using their own systems. He had then concentrated on upgrading the targeting algorithms, making it possible to launch strikes that were far more accurate than any that the Security Forces had ever managed to achieve. When Roy had launched his attack on the Beacon Attack Force, the initial strikes had been bang on target. The Security Forces had been immediately scattered and broken.

Roy frowned into the rain. What bothered him the most was that while Trent had possession of the controller, Roy wouldn't be able to order any more satellite strikes himself. He couldn't believe the controller had been stolen. Some of the science-grade technicians had no sense at all. How could they let the net-feed droids get so close to the controller. Roy found himself missing the satellite-grid controller more than he cared to admit. The Security Forces, bunched together as they were, would have made excellent target practice.

A strong wind drove the rain into his face. His personal force field was designed to block hard projectiles, not wind and rain. He had to shake off his beret from time to time to stop water from accumulating on the rim and running into his eyes. The thought amused him. Technology had its uses, up to a point. Roy ignored the miserable weather and strode on towards the main camp.

Jacob followed a few paces behind, lost in his thoughts. He puffed on a cigarette, looking as though he wanted to stray into some fighting just to release the tension. He had always been headstrong. If there was any more fighting, he would be the first to get involved in it. Isor was a little more considered in his actions, but he too had an eagerness for conflict that Roy couldn't quite understand. Isor walked in front. He looked down at his hand scanner and mumbled something that was lost in the wind and rain. His face looked pale but his eyes were alert.

Roy kept his thoughts to himself. He wondered what his sons were thinking. He knew that they talked about things without him, whenever they got the chance. What secrets did they keep between them? They were both intelligent. They listened to his orders, but he knew that they each had thoughts and plans of their own.

Tall trees spread their branches high into the dark sky above. The forest's sweet, earthy scents mingled with a hint of distant smoke. Roy, Jacob, and Isor made their way through the forest, their feet rustling through the fallen leaves. Roy checked the distance to the main camp, looking for features that he recognised from his previous visits. Up ahead, a wide old trunk was split down the middle, sagging to one side. It had been that way for many years. He knew that it marked a fork in the path ahead. He was about to call ahead to Isor when he noticed that his son had already turned the right way. His sons knew the forest as well as he did. They had spent much of their youth living among the trees.

Isor passed the old split trunk and headed deeper into the dense trees and overhanging branches. The trail was carpeted with leaves. At the next clearing, he paused and raised a hand to halt the others. Jacob was about to say something but Isor motioned for him to be silent. Roy tilted his head, listening. The three of them stood motionless, listening to the rain pattering on the leaf-covered ground. Moments later, a shrub exploded just ahead of them. A member of the Security Forces staggered out from behind it, and collapsed face first on the ground. Smoke rose from his torn, bloodstained jacket. He reached out with one hand, dragging himself half a pace along the ground and then lay still.

'Was that you?' Roy said.

Isor shook his head. Jacob scanned his eyes across the surrounding trees then shrugged and flicked his cigarette onto the ground.

Roy stared at the dark trees ahead, listening. The only sounds came from fighting far away. Whoever the soldier had been, he was dead now. Whoever had killed him had moved on, or maybe they hadn't wanted to show themselves, for whatever reason. Either way, it didn't matter now.

Roy stepped over the body and strode ahead. 'Let's go,' he said. It really was an appalling night to be out for a walk.

The three men pushed westwards in silence, making their way through the wet undergrowth. Driving rain fell on the dense trees around them as they headed deeper into the forest.

Lisa

Lisa stood next to the bed in her night dress. Her thin arms clutched Puggles, a small cloth donkey with one eye.

'What's wrong, honey? Can't you sleep?' Annie said, sitting up in bed.

Lisa shook her head, sandy blonde hair hanging in curls a hand's length below her shoulders. She clutched Puggles tight and pulled back the bed sheets, climbing into bed beside her nanny.

Annie placed an arm around the girl and stared up at the shadows playing across the ceiling. She tried not to show her concern. 'Everything's okay, Lisa. Try to get some sleep.'

Outside, eight floors below, Annie could hear heated voices through an open window. Earlier she had peered out of the window and been surprised to see fifty armed soldiers thronging the building across the street. Rachel hadn't said anything about a mission in Cinnamon City.

Annie slowed her breathing. Her heart was beating too fast. She didn't want to upset Lisa. She was an adult and adults always knew what to do, didn't they?

Yellow light shone across the bed sheets. When she looked down, the light went out.

'Was that you, Lisa?'

Lisa smiled and shook her head.

'Do you have a torch under the covers?'

'No, silly.'

Annie lifted the bed sheets and looked underneath. Lisa's thin legs extended just beyond the hem of her night dress. She held Puggles in her arms. There was no sign of any torch. Annie pulled the bed sheet back into place. Sometimes strange things happened around Lisa. She tried not to think about it too much.

'Annie...'

'Yes, honey.'

'Mommy will come to my birthday party, won't she?'

'Yes, of course she will.'

'Promise?'

'I hope she will Lisa. She had to work for your last birthday, but I'm sure she'll be able to come this time. She has a difficult job, that's all. Sometimes Central Command need your mommy at short notice.'

Lisa frowned, 'Will daddy come?'

'I don't know, honey. You'll have to ask your mummy about that one.'

'He's making me a flower.'

'That's nice dear.'

'I want daddy to come.'

'I know, honey. We'll see what we can do.'

The bedroom's thick blinds couldn't block the Security Forces' bright lights. Rain drummed against the windows with a persistent rhythm. Annie strained to listen to the events below and tried to guess what was happening. She wanted to get up and peer out of the window again, but it would only make Lisa worry even more. Maybe she should try to sleep again? She just wished that she could get through to Rachel on the comms unit. Jane from the apartment next door had said that all communication channels had been shut down as part of a combat operation that was in progress at the Mekinet News building. Jane always seemed to know what was going on, even though Annie was the one with friends in the Security Forces.

Annie listened to the rain and watched the shapes dancing across her ceiling. There was little else she could do.

Coming Home

Cinnamon City appeared on the horizon. The White Spear of Central Command pierced the clouds. The six black towers that encircled it were only two-thirds of the White Spear's height and yet they were all so dominant upon the skyline. Central Command was still far away. Rachel wanted to see Lisa before she reported to Admiral Gail Thompson. She had a feeling that she might not get a chance to speak to her daughter for a while afterwards.

As she approached the south side of the city, its jumbled mismatch of merchant quarters and multicoloured box cabins lit up the sky with a thousand tiny lights. She looked down on the rooftops as the Jump-Pad flew overhead. It hadn't been a comfortable flight. Her head was aching, and she felt cold through to the bone. The heating system didn't work. The Nimbus jump-pad was full of bullet holes. She hadn't noticed them at first, but now the wind blew straight through the thin outer armour, and rain dripped down from the ceiling above. Whoever had used it last must have taken a lot of hostile fire. Rachel just hoped that she reached her destination before she froze to death.

This close to Cinnamon City, the roads were no longer deserted. Five lanes of traffic poured in both directions on the Laker Highway below. Its yellow, overhanging street lights formed neat rows that curved towards the South side of the city. Buildings sprung up on both sides of the road, holographic signs blinking with glaring advertisements. The Jump-Pad flew high over the slick wet roads and sped on towards junction 308.

Rachel tried to call her father but there was no response. She had no doubt that he could take care of himself. His zest for business was only second to his power of self preservation. If there was trouble in the city, her father would be the one on top of the situation. It wasn't unusual for him to be away from home. She had already decided to send Lisa and Annie to her father's house. It would be safe there, on the outskirts of the city, far away from Trent and anything that he was planning.

The Jump-Pad turned above junction 308 and flew over the rolling lanes of traffic. It shook and rattled as its small engines struggled against headwinds and swirling rain. Rachel pushed on towards Bennet Hill. In the distance, she could just make out the distinctive Mekinet News building, its huge, red logo emblazoned across the night sky. Her apartment was just across the street from it. Lisa would be there with Annie right now. Rachel checked how long she had been flying. Gail Thompson would be waiting for her. She would just have to wait a little longer.

Unexpected Visitors

The silent black shuttle car slid up to the side of the house. It powered down its engines until it perched on its soft, buffered feet. The rear hatch popped open and Timothy Raisson climbed out onto the crunchy gravel of the driveway. His designer suit was a perfect fit for his well-toned body. As he smiled, breathing in the fresh night air, he didn't look at all out of place next to such an impressive mansion.

The big white house towered above him, wooden shutters framing the upstairs windows. Raisson wasted no time. He jogged through heavy rain towards the side of the house and approached the back door. An overhanging ledge provided shelter from the rain, allowing him to wipe a few small water droplets from his expensive suit using a white handkerchief that he pulled from his pocket. Once his suit was dry, he wiped his feet carefully on the doormat and glanced at a small illuminated window beside the door. There were no obvious shadows to indicate that anyone was inside, so he turned the door handle and pulled it towards him. The door wasn't locked. It swung open revealing an empty boot room inside. Houses with domestic staff often had poor security. People always thought they were safe as long as someone else was around. Raisson shook his head and smiled.

Stepping inside, he passed through the boot room and walked down a narrow hallway that led to a vast hall beyond. Raisson lifted his head, taking a moment to appreciate the full splendour of a wide spiral staircase that led to the upper landing. The owner was clearly a man of exquisite taste. The house was silent except for the sounds of cooking at the far end of the hallway. The kitchen was at least fifty metres away but the aromas of fresh home cooking were still strong and clear. This was a house that didn't have a food synthesizer. The owner clearly had the wealth and influence to obtain fresh produce on demand.

Raisson tilted his head to one side. The hall's wood-panelled walls were hung with an array of fine portrait paintings. On another day he might have paused to admire them one-by-one, but not today. Crossing the hall, he climbed the wide, curving staircase that led to the upper landing. Each step was deep enough for the longest of feet and covered in a thick red carpet that felt soft beneath his feet.

At the top of the stairs, he paused, then walked towards the nearest door. When he peered inside, he found that it was a lavatory. He took the opportunity to relieve himself. The cold rain had that affect on him sometimes. He urinated against the side of the bowl to ensure there were no splashing sounds, then left the toilet unflushed. Feeling much relieved, he washed his hands in the small washbasin behind the door and returned to the landing outside.

A small round window at the end of the upper landing flashed with lightning. A moment later, thunder rumbled through the house. It was a glorious night to attend to business.

Raisson walked along the landing until he came to the next door. He tried the handle but it was locked. Shunting it inwards with one short barge of his shoulder, he split the door frame with the minimum of noise and let the door swing open. The hinge creaked until he stopped the door's motion with one hand.

Inside, he found a spacious room with a wide mahogany bureau occupying the middle of the floor. It looked like an office, the kind of office that an important gentleman might have. The furniture was expensive. The carpet was thick and plush. Raisson stepped over to the bureau and examined the drawers, forcing them open when necessary using a thin strip of metal that he pulled from his pocket. He rummaged through the drawers, pulling out any documents and giving them a cursory glance before tossing them onto the floor. Turning his head, he noticed a set of bookshelves against the wall. He wasted no time in examining each book, flicking through the pages before tipping the book onto the carpet alongside the growing heap of paper behind him.

'What are you doing?' It was a woman's voice, surprised and concerned.

Raisson turned to face the woman with a smile. 'And you might be?'

'I'm the housekeeper. Does Mr Neech know you're here?' The plump old woman looked at the splintered door frame with fresh concern, then glanced down at the pile of paper and books on the floor. She decided not to wait for an answer and sped out of the room, faster than Raisson had expected. He darted across the room and ran out onto the landing behind her.

The old woman was already halfway down the staircase, trotting along in a wide arc towards the front hallway. Raisson pulled a silenced stun gun from his pocket and fired it across the intervening space. Twin darts embedded themselves in the housekeeper's back. She lost her footing as her muscles went into spasm. Raisson watched as her legs buckled and she collapsed onto her stomach. Her body undulated down the stairs until her head smashed into a marble post at the bottom. Her blood was only just visible on the thick red carpet, a darker hue of scarlet seeping outwards from a wound on her head.

Nodding to himself, Raisson placed the gun back in his pocket and walked back to the office.

Grandfather's House

'What's going on, Rachel? Why are there so many soldiers outside?'

Annie's words hung in the air as Rachel sped past her and lifted her sleepy daughter into her arms. She was getting heavy for a six year old, but not yet too heavy to hug.

'Mommy!'

'Hello, you. Are you okay?'

'Yes, mommy. Annie let me stay in her bed. It's lumpy.'

'Well, I'm sure you don't mind a few lumps,' Rachel lifted Lisa onto her hip and turned to face Annie who was looking through the steamed-up window down at the street below.

'I didn't know you were coming,' Annie said.

'Sorry, Annie. I would have told you sooner if I'd known what I was doing. Work has been difficult, as usual. I just decided at the last minute.'

'What's happening out there? Is it something to do with the protesters? There was a crowd outside the Mekinet News building making a lot of noise a little while ago. They were causing a lot of trouble. I think they've moved on now.'

Rachel shook her head. She scrunched up her face and gestured that she didn't want to talk about it in front of Lisa.

Annie nodded, but her eyes said that she wanted to know more.

Lisa twisted her Rachel's arms. 'Are those men your friends, mommy?'

'Kind of. The ones in uniform work for the same organisation that I do. I need you to do something for me, Lisa, okay?'

Lisa curled her sandy hair around her finger in contemplation.

'I need you to go and get dressed. We're going on a trip.'

Annie raised an eyebrow and checked her watch. It was close to eleven o'clock. Rain drummed against the window with renewed vigour. It was raining so hard that they would get soaked as soon as they left the apartment.

'Run along now,' Rachel said. 'Get some of your toys. We'll be staying at grandpa's for a couple of days.'

'Are the men coming too?'

'No, honey. Just you and Annie.'

'Are you coming, mommy?'

'Soon, dear. I have to do something first.'

Lisa started to cry.

'Annie, can you get her ready please. We're leaving in five minutes.'

Rachel passed the sobbing girl into Annie's outstretched arms. Lisa hugged her tight as the two of them went into the next room. Lisa got on well with Annie. Rachel was thankful for that. She couldn't be around much herself these days. Poor Lisa had to manage with nannies and grandparents far too often. At least she was loved. She knew that. Didn't she?

Raised voices argued in the streets below. Peering through the window, Rachel could just make out a man waving his arms in frustration. He was trying to get into the Mekinet News building but the soldiers wouldn't let him in. All the windows were dark. It looked like the Security Forces had cut off the power. Rachel wondered what was going on. What was Thompson doing to her father's office building? Shutting down the power seemed like an overreaction if she just wanted to deal with a few delinquent droids.

Annie came back into the room wearing a thick red coat that was unbuttoned to the waist. She carried a yellow rucksack in her left hand.

Lisa followed in a thick coat of her own, more blue than grey. She was carrying a tiny blue crystal that glittered as she turned it in her hand. Her moist eyes admired it with glee. Remembering something important, she said, 'Puggles is coming too!'

Rachel looked at Annie with puzzlement.

'Puggles,' Annie said, as though that was all the explanation that was necessary.

Rachel watched her daughter skip across to the bed and lift up what looked like a cloth doll with long ears.

Lisa held it up for her mum to see and said, 'Puggles!'

'Oh, Puggles,' Rachel said. 'What happened to his eye?'

'It fell off.'

'Oh dear. Is it a boy? It has a funny looking face.'

'Nooooooo. Donkey!'

'Oh.'

Lisa pushed Puggles inside her coat and stood with her arms by her side, 'Will grandpa be in bed?'

Annie laughed. Rachel smiled and guided them both towards the door.

'I don't know, honey. He might be. I called earlier and he wasn't there. He might be working late.'

'He might be working very late indeed,' Lisa said. She jumped on the spot, and lifted both hands up to her face, making spectacles with her fingers by curling them into circles.

'Come on,' Annie said. She led Lisa out into the hallway, holding her hand so that she wouldn't run near the stairs.

Puggles was back in Lisa's hand as they made their way down in the lift. The yellow lights rolled from six, to five, then all the way down to G for the ground floor. A happy ping announced the opening of the doors as it reached the lobby. The desk clerk was arguing with somebody on the phone, but he managed a half-civil nod as they passed by.

'Annie, take my shuttle.' Rachel said. 'It's in the basement parking bay. Press the button on the door frame over there to open the front bay. It will close again automatically after you've driven out.'

'Where am I going?' Annie said.

'Take Lisa to her grandfather's house. You know the way. We went there last month, remember?'

'Solomans Road?'

Rachel nodded, 'These are the access codes for the shuttle, and these are the access codes for the house. Let yourself in and use the guest rooms in the East wing.'

'What if your father is there? Will he be expecting me?'

'No, but it doesn't matter. Just tell him I sent you and I'll be over later to explain. He won't turn away his favourite granddaughter.'

'Where are you going?' Annie said.

'I've been recalled to Central Command. Gail Thompson wants to see me.'

'There's something you're not telling me.'

Rachel shook her head.

Lisa was looking at her with a frown upon her face. Her eyes seemed to shine yellow, reflecting the lights overhead. Rachel told herself it was just a trick of the light. Lisa had the strangest expressions sometimes.

'I'll come and see you soon, okay. Go with Aunty Annie.'

'Goodnight, mommy,' Lisa reached up on her tip toes for a kiss. Rachel bent down and hugged her before hurrying them on their way.

As they left, Rachel whispered to Annie, 'Don't come back to Cinnamon City until I call to say it's safe.'

Annie looked at her with concern, but said nothing.

The Walstone Report

There was nothing of use in the office. Raisson glanced out of the window to check that nobody was going to disturb him again. The driveway was empty apart from his own shuttle parked beside a hedge. Satisfied that he was now alone, he turned and continued searching the other rooms.

There were four double bedrooms and a second bathroom, then a small study. He paused in the study long enough to find a cabinet built into the wall. The drawers were locked, but the cabinet was made from thin wood that was more ornate than strong. It looked like an expensive piece of furniture that had been built by a master craftsman.

Raisson smashed the front of the cabinet with the heel of his shoe. He kicked it twice and it broke easily. The bottom drawer collapsed and the one above sagged down at an angle. Tugging the lower drawer open, he found a small box of papers inside. The papers had been separated into cardboard folders and labeled with small black tags. Raisson hummed a cheerful tune as he flicked through the folders one-by-one. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for.

The Walstone Report was only a few pages long. It had not yet been aired in the media, and now it never would be. The report described alleged meetings between Admiral Gail Thompson and the leaders of the Kamari. It discussed possible negotiations for hostages, and even went so far as to make claims that the Security Forces might be in some way corrupt. It suggested that Central Command might have been involved in arms deals with the Kamari, and that other commercial arrangements were already in place. The report offered little in the way of proof. Some rumours were best cut short before they could be heard by too many ears.

Raisson carried the report onto the landing. He placed it on the carpet and threw several books from the study alongside it. On the stairs below, he could hear the housekeeper groaning. She wouldn't be able to move for a while yet so he ignored her mumbling complaints and pulled a plastic case from his jacket pocket. Opening the case, he examined the six thin tubes inside. Each one was packed full of white powder and marked with a small red dot.

With great care, he took out the first tube and sprinkled its contents over the Walstone Report, making sure to cover all of the pages. He had enjoyed his time in Neech's house but now it was time to leave. Walking briskly, he headed for the office at the end of the landing and poured the second tube over the pile of papers that were scattered across the floor. He sprinkled another tube over the red carpet as he descended the staircase, saving just enough to cover the housekeeper's back as he reached the bottom of the stairs. She tried to grab his ankle as he passed by, but he stamped on her fingers repeatedly with the heel of his shoe. The housekeeper cried out, pulling her ruined hand away from him and started sobbing quietly. Raisson ignored her and headed for the back door.

Once outside the house, he closed the case and slipped it back inside his jacket pocket. He still had three tubes remaining. He could use those another time. There was no sense in wasting such fine materials.

It was still raining outside. Lightning streaked across the gloomy sky as Raisson climbed back into his shuttle and pulled away down the gravel driveway. There were no other shuttles around. Raisson leant back and watched his rear view mirror with interest. He slowed the shuttle at the end of the driveway and waited until he heard a muffled bang and the sound of smashing glass. Through his rear view mirror he could see the first flames flickering from the house's blown-out windows. By the time he reached the junction that led back onto the main road to Cinnamon City, the house was burning brightly on the horizon behind him.

Gail Thompson

Rachel sat in Gail Thompson's office with one boot resting on the knee of her opposite leg. She stared across the desk with a neutral expression and tried to think of nothing at all. She knew that what Thompson was about to say would act as a severe test in anger management, but she also knew that getting angry wasn't going to solve anything. She had to put Lisa first and forget about her own pride. It didn't matter what Thompson was about to say. Rachel had worked long and hard to get where she was in the Security Forces and she wasn't about to throw that away. Maybe one day she would make commander, if she kept her head down and stayed out of trouble. But staying out of trouble was not something that she had ever been very good at, especially when Thompson was around. There was no love lost between the two of them.

'You came back,' Thompson said.

'I didn't have a choice.'

Thompson leant back in her chair, studying Rachel with intelligent eyes. She looked as though she was examining an insect caught beneath bright lights but Rachel had no intention of being another moth on the end of her pin.

'I hear you helped Harris track down a Kamari messenger in the city.'

'He asked me to join his team. I did what I could to help.'

'You identified the Kamari messenger. Is that right?'

'Yes.'

'How did you do that, Rachel?'

'What?'

'How did you recognise the messenger?'

Rachel thought back. She remembered how her mind had opened up, and her thoughts had stretched out into the crowd. She had blocked out everything else around her and found an inner calmness that grew inside her. The messenger had become the focus of her mind even before she had seen him. As soon as he stepped across her field of vision, Rachel had been certain that he was the Kamari messenger. There was no way she could tell Thompson that. Instead, she tried to be casual about it. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself if she could help it.

'I don't know,' Rachel said. 'I think I recognised him from a previous combat operation.'

'That's what Commander Harris told me, only it can't be true.'

'What do you mean? That's what happened.'

'It can't be true because the messenger has never been involved in any combat operations for the Kamari. This was his first job as a messenger for them. There's no way you could have recognised him as you claim you did.'

'Maybe he's lying?'

'Maybe you are lying. The messenger is not.'

Rachel held on to her anger. This was how Thompson always behaved. She pushed and provoked, hoping to get a reaction. Rachel would hold her tongue and ignore her insults. 'I'm not lying,' she said. 'I have no reason to lie.'

Thompson looked disinterested. It wasn't the response she wanted to hear. Her mind had already moved on. 'There's something wrong with you, isn't there Rachel?'

Rachel said nothing.

'Have you heard what the other commanders say about you?'

Rachel frowned. 'No. I haven't. I don't listen to gossip.'

'They say that there's something strange about you. They say that you make them feel uneasy when they talk to you, and that sometimes you know things that you couldn't possibly know.'

'Nobody has spoken to me. I get on well with all the commanders.'

'Maybe they don't feel comfortable talking to someone who recognises people that they have never seen before. Maybe they don't want to be in the same room as a woman who can break a man's arm with her mind.'

'I didn't break it. I explained all that in my report. It wasn't his arm, it was his wrist. He must have broken it when he fell earlier. Maybe he didn't realise he was injured until he tried to fire his impact pistol at me.'

'That's not how the messenger tells it.'

Rachel shrugged. 'Maybe he doesn't remember clearly. It all happened so fast.'

Thompson shook her head, a look of mock pity crossing her face. 'It's not the first time I've had these kind of reports about you.'

'People see what they want to see.'

'I think you know what this is all about, Rachel. You are different aren't you? What is it? What is wrong with you? Is there some sickness in your mind?'

'I'm just a soldier, no different from anyone else.'

Thompson stared at Rachel for a long time. Rachel stared back. The silence dragged on in the claustrophobic room as the walls seemed to close in around them.

It was Thompson who looked away first. She fidgeted with a pencil between her fingers and tapped it on the desk. 'You know why I recalled you, of course.'

'No.'

'You are close to your father, aren't you?'

Rachel folded her arms, 'I have nothing to do with Mekinet News. You know that. We've had this conversation before.'

'But your father is the CEO.'

'I don't work for him. I work for Central Command.'

Thompson smiled, resting her hands on the desk between them. She played her fingers across its surface. With her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, her muscular forearms displayed a healthy network of veins. She was a tough woman in many respects. There was no denying that.

'How does your father feel about it? Does he like his favourite daughter working for Central Command?'

'He only has one daughter. There is no favourite. He wants me to work for his own company, like any father would, but he understands my reasons for wanting to live my own life, in my own way.'

'I'll bet he asks a lot of questions, doesn't he?'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Having a daughter who is privy to such classified information must be a great asset for a man who runs the most powerful news network in Cinnamon City.'

'He doesn't ask questions. I wouldn't answer them. I am an officer of Central Command. Classified information stays classified.'

Thompson shrugged, crossing her fingers in front of her, 'An officer? Oh that's right, you made major in seven years. An impressive rise through the ranks, don't you think?' Her fake smile said it was no achievement at all.

'I perform to the best of my abilities. My rank is not in my hands.'

'Let me put something to you. Tell me what you think. Mekinet News sends a swarm of very expensive net-feed droids to Havers Compound, an abandoned building to the South. Havers Compound has been home to crows and little else for many years, lost amongst fields of wheat and maize, it's not the most news worthy location in the Orange Zone. Probably the only person to visit the compound in the last few years was the CEO's daughter, who was sent there a few minutes earlier as part of a classified operation. Does that sound like a coincidence to you?'

'Not coincidence. I don't know what it is, but it's nothing to do with me.'

'Maybe we should ask your father?'

'Go ahead. I'm sure he has nothing to hide. I can't believe he has anything to do with this either. Maybe you should do some investigation. You might find some actual facts.'

Thompson laughed. 'Facts? I see you have spirit, Henson. You talk back. I like that. How do you know Riser Trent?'

'Who?'

'Riser Trent. You know him, don't you?'

'No. I have no idea who you're talking about.'

'He's a news hack that works for your father. He has some very special skills that we are only just beginning to understand.'

'My father has hundreds of employees. He doesn't introduce any of them to me. He keeps me out of it. He always has.'

'How convenient. He's just a sweet, caring man, is that it?'

'What do you want to know, Thompson? Just asks your questions.'

Thompson's eyes flashed with anger. She rose from her seat and stepped around to the side of the desk, backhanding Rachel across the face. Rachel's head whipped back, but she held Thompson's eyes with an ice-cold stare. She sat perfectly still, controlling her breathing. She had expected this. She knew Thompson would try to provoke her. She wasn't going to bite back.

'Do you think I'm stupid?' Thompson said. 'I know you, your father and this Trent are working together. Even this fake hostage taking is all part of your plan isn't it?'

'What hostage taking? I don't know what you are talking about.'

'Trent has taken your father hostage - or so he says. I don't believe any of it. He is just trying to extort credits from us. He may be threatening to kill your father, but I know that it's all just part of your little three-way game, isn't it, Henson?'

'What are you talking about? There is no game. If Trent said he has my father then we have to get him out of there. Where is he?'

'Trent is in the basement of the Mekinet News building. I presume your father is with him. Are you lovers, you and Trent? What is your connection?'

Rachel got to her feet and faced Thompson. 'I've never heard that name before. My private life is none of your damned business. If my father is being held hostage, then we have to get him out of there, right now.'

'No. We don't have to do that at all. I'm the one giving orders around here and you'll do what I tell you. Your treachery hasn't gone unnoticed, Henson. It will be punished. I'm putting you in the detention cells until you have answered all of my questions to my full satisfaction. Don't expect to be out of there in less than a month. These are very serious charges that you face.'

'What charges? What about my father? You said his life was in danger. We have to help him.'

'This is Central Command, Henson, not a charity for old burnt out news executives. If he's going to die, let him die. It's not my problem. Why don't you ask your friend Trent about it when you get out next month?'

'He's not going to die, and Trent isn't my friend. It's a shame that I can't make you understand, but your questions are going to have to wait until I get back.'

Rachel pushed passed Thompson and walked towards the door. A moment later, she felt a sudden impact between her shoulder blades and found herself flying across the room on the end of Thompson's boot. Rachel crashed into the door with the side of her head. The force of the impact bent the steel frame and left her slumped on the floor.

'I knew you were a traitor all along,' Thompson said. 'I'll make sure you rot in the detention cells for your part in this.' She turned sideways and swung a boot towards Rachel's head.

Rachel could tell that Thompson was not playing around. She pushed herself off the floor with a rapid press-up movement and caught Thompson's boot between her hands. Lifting the boot up and pulling back at the same time, she sent Thompson stumbling sideways into the wall. By the time Thompson had regained her balance, Rachel was back on her feet. Despite her best efforts to be reasonable she wanted nothing more than to put Thompson on her back.

The door slid open, grating on the bent frame as it rose into the bulkhead above. Brinkman stood in the entrance, wearing a black, unmarked jacket and trousers. He frowned, staring at them both with questions in his eyes. Rachel remembered having seen him somewhere before. She knew that he worked for Thompson, but she couldn't recall what exactly it was that he did for her.

'Kill her,' Thompson said.

Rachel looked at Thompson with surprise, and then at the impact pistol that appeared in Brinkman's hands. It was pointing straight at her head. A flash burst from the nozzle. Rachel whipped her head to one side and the bullet grazed her ear before hitting the wall behind her with a sharp metallic ping.

Grabbing the edge of the desk with both hands, Rachel threw it towards the door. Brinkman tried to fire again, but he had to lower his hands to stop the desk smashing into his legs. He grunted in pain, doubling over onto the top of the desk. Rachel ran forwards and slammed his head repeatedly into the desk. His face bounced off the polished wood three times before his legs went slack. Rachel grabbed him by the neck and threw him back into the corridor.

Thompson stood a short distance away, watching with amusement. Rachel saw flashes of contempt ripple across her face as she approached, but there was something else as well. Rachel felt Thompson's cold thoughts surging out into the room. She wanted Rachel dead. There was no doubt about that, but she was hiding something too, something that she didn't want Rachel to find out about. 'A bloody mind reader can ruin everything. You've got to get rid of her.' Who's words were they? Somebody had said them to Thompson recently. The memories still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. Rachel let her mind flow outwards, seeking the place of silence within herself. She didn't have much time. She could feel Thompson's swirling thoughts swimming amongst chaotic currents of anger and determination. Rachel let herself fall deep into the dark places of Thompson's mind. It was dangerous, but she had no choice. Dark thoughts scattered away from her. Secrets ran in fear. Rachel became aware of an old man's face, tufts of grey hair sticking out from beneath a blue beret. His grey eyes smiled back at her. She knew now that Thompson loved him. His name was Roy. Rachel didn't know who Roy was, but she didn't think that he was any part of Central Command. Something was very wrong here.

Thompson's fist caught Rachel on the side of the head, sending her stumbling into a row of metal cabinets that ran along the side wall. Boxes of memory cubes fell from the top of the cabinets and bounced across the floor. Rachel tried to clear her mind, twisting as Thompson threw several punches into her ribs. The pain was agonising. She would have to concentrate on the fight and consider Thompson's thoughts later. She tried to pull away, but Thompson wrapped her arm around Rachel's neck and gripped so tight that she couldn't breathe. Rachel's throat felt tight, her lungs burning. She could feel heat rising into her face. Adjusting her feet into a better stance, she swung her elbow back into Thompson's stomach. She grunted in response, but didn't release her grip. Rachel swung her elbow again and again, using greater force each time. After the third blow, Thompson yanked her backwards and threw Rachel across the room. She crashed onto her side amongst the memory cubes, gasping for air.

Thompson was stronger than she had imagined. She was coming forwards again, eyes sparkling and eager to fight. Rachel waited, lying on her back. She held her ribs and pretended to be injured while allowing her mind to flow outwards. When Thompson jumped on top of her, Rachel raised both feet with knees bent in front of her chest. She grabbed Thompson by the arms and pulled hard while kicking up into Thompson's hips with as much force as she could muster. Anger rushed through her. A shock wave flew outwards, slamming the cabinets against the wall. Thompson flew across the small office, smashed into the ceiling, then crashed down against the opposite wall. She landed in a crumpled heap on the floor with the cabinets rocking from side to side around her. The memory cubes danced upon the ground and the whole room lurched as though spun in unseen hands.

Rachel tried to calm herself. She pushed out a hand towards the memory cubes and they finally stopped dancing. The cabinets continued shaking until she took a couple of long slow breaths. What had she done?

Rachel rubbed a hand across her stiff neck and climbed back to her feet. Striding over to Thompson's body, she threw a couple kicks into her mid section. 'That's for my father, you bitch.' Stepping over to the office doorway, she threw the broken desk to one side and strode out into the corridor beyond.

Gail lay on the floor until the pain had subsided. After a couple of minutes, she opened her eyes and grimaced.

'That girl knows how to kick,' she said. Rachel Henson was stronger than she remembered, but the fight had been an enjoyable one. Gail climbed to her feet, straightening her back and wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. Her ribs were probably going to be stiff for a day or two. Her back had more knots in it than she needed. Maybe she would get checked over by the medics, when she had more time.

Brinkman was struggling to his feet in the corridor outside. He looked groggy and confused. 'Shall I go after her?' he said.

Thompson shook her head, rubbing her stomach with one hand. 'No. Let her go. This could still work in our favour.'

What to do

Henry left Cafe Lyon with a bad case of indigestion. He blamed his condition on the appalling news feeds more than the synthesized food that he had eaten. He had hoped to stay longer in Cafe Lyon and work out how to deal with the Guilds in his own time, but recent events had forced his hand. He was left with few options and even less time.

Gail Thompson had been buzzing him every hour. The longer he waited, the worse it would be when he finally gave his report. Henry muttered to himself as he ambled slowly along the narrow dusty street, heading back towards Central Command. His rucksack felt heavy on his shoulders. He wondered what troubles he had packed for himself this time.

As he walked, his mind wandered and he remembered his father telling him to chase his troubles away before they could chase him back. He still wasn't sure how to go about it. Events had been moving so quickly lately. A lot of rumours had been circling around Central Command. Many of them related to the unusual behaviour of Major Rachel Henson. Henry had only met her a couple of times, but he always kept an ear open for anything unusual. Some of the things he had heard about Henson were starting to sound very interesting indeed. Henry had some theories of his own, and he hoped that he would be able to put them to the test, but he still hadn't had time to track down where she was.

Henry's network of contacts was extensive. It had taken the best part of twenty years to acquire. His eyes and ears were spread across all parts of the Orange Zone. They didn't miss much, but they hadn't been able to tell him exactly where Henson was. At first he had been told that she was away on a combat operation, but another source had said that she was in the city. They couldn't both be right. If she was in the city then she couldn't be too far away from Central Command. Perhaps he might find her after all.

Henry made his way towards the White Spear to make his dreaded report to Gail Thompson. If there was any opportunity to delay giving Thompson his report about the Guilds, he knew that he would take it.

Unwanted Advice

Rachel walked across the Grand Plaza, heading for the business district and the Mekinet News building. It would be a twenty minute walk from Tower Four. She considered requisitioning a Roach, but she thought that a brisk walk might help her unwind. She needed to get some fresh air and straighten out her thoughts before she reached her destination. Arriving in an angry, aggravated state would not help her father at all. She was furious with Thompson for putting her in this position, and she was upset about the way Thompson had treated her father. Rachel had always known that Thompson could be a real bitch at times, but her complete lack of interest in her father's well-being had been both shocking and disturbing. Thompson had dropped several levels in Rachel's estimation, and after the fight, she was sure that the feeling would be mutual.

Up ahead, Rachel noticed a tall, fat man standing in an alleyway. He moved back into the shadows when he saw her looking at him, but a moment later he popped his head out again. He had a round face and curious eyes. Rachel slowed her pace, checking her impact pistol as she walked. When she was a dozen paces away, the man stepped slowly into the street. He was wearing a garish blue robe with silver patterns around the sleeves and hem. His belly stretched the robe as though he was carrying twins. His expression flickered between a smile and a frown. Rachel let go of her impact pistol and pursed her lips. She had seen this man before. He was one of the diplomats that hung around the White Spear, pretending to be useful. She had never had time for such people, and she was in no mood for his games now.

'Major Henson,' he said, offering a half bow. A large, gold five-pointed star swung from a thick chain around his neck as he lowered his head.

Rachel shook her head and kept walking, 'I don't have time to talk, Willow. I'm on combat duty.'

'Here? In this quiet street?'

'It doesn't matter where. I'm on duty.'

Willow looked confused. Rachel could almost hear his thoughts clicking like the cogs of an old clock. When he followed behind her with quick steps, his smile grew in confidence, though she could not imagine what she had done to encourage him. Diplomats saw open doors where there were only stone walls.

'I assure you, this will only take a minute of your time.'

'I don't have a minute.' Rachel kept walking, as he followed her a few paces behind. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that he was watching her with concern. He raised one hand to his mouth as though uncertain of what to say.

'What is it?' Rachel said, slowing her pace again. She didn't have time for this.

'What do you know about the Sand Lords?'

'What?' Rachel narrowed her eyes. 'Why do you try my patience, Willow? Have you nobody else to haunt?'

'Have you read anything about them?'

'Where is the time to read? I have more important things on my mind.'

Willow walked alongside her, breathing heavily as he tried to keep pace, 'Reading is like breathing. Inhale the words and live a richer life.'

'Very wise,' Rachel said, 'Now get out of my way. I need to be somewhere else.'

'But you know something of them?'

'Who? What business is it of mine. I have a daughter to raise and my duties to attend to. That is enough for me. Wisdom is for the restless, those with too much time at hand.'

'Did you ever meet Lord Colloran Hades? I read that he is a Prophet and a Lord, but he is not a Sand Lord. It is said that he is of clean blood.'

Rachel shook her head. 'This means nothing to me. I haven't met any Lords. I'm stationed at Beacon Station most of the time. We don't get many visitors - except the hostile kind. Why do you waste my time with this?'

'I have read many digital volumes on the history of the Orange Zone. Some are most difficult to obtain.'

'You're reading doesn't concern me,' Rachel increased her pace, but Willow followed close behind her, panting heavily. A thin film of sweat formed across his brow.

'Did you know that some of the Sand Lords were dreamers? They saw visions in their sleep. The digital volumes are incomplete. They are based upon collections of ancient documents, some of which have been lost or damaged. I believe some have been purposefully removed.'

Rachel tried to ignore him. 'I don't understand what you're saying. Come see me later if you really believe this is important, but right now I have to go. My father is in danger. Every minute I stay here talking to you is another minute lost. I have to go now.'

Willow slowed his pace, 'I'm sorry, Rachel. I thought you would understand. I won't delay you any further.'

Rachel turned and looked over her shoulder, surprised by the sadness in his voice. His eyes were full of sorrow that she couldn't begin to understand. She stopped and faced him, wondering what was wrong with him.

'Some of the old scriptures talk of remarkable feats. They describe the Sand Lords as being more than mere men. There are passages that talk about the Sand Lords having a deep understanding of nature, and being able to control the forces around them. Sometimes when we look in the mirror, we don't see what everybody else can see. We only see what we believe ourselves to be. We see the mask that we have made for ourselves. It keeps us safe from others, and safe from ourselves, but sometimes we need to see beyond the mask. Sometimes we need to look within ourselves and see what is really there inside us.'

'You mean well, Willow. I can see that much, but I have to leave now. I'm sorry.' Rachel turned and walked away. She quickened her pace and she was relieved that Willow didn't follow this time. She tried to cast him from her mind but his voice rattled around inside her head. She wondered why he had stopped her, and why he had been waiting in the alley. What had he been trying to tell her? His words floated on the surface of her mind as she walked.

We only see what we believe ourselves to be.

Find a Way

Rachel stood in the shelter of a shop doorway, watching the Security Forces milling around near the front entrance of the Mekinet News building. Soaked by the long downpour, they looked tired and frustrated. Some of them were bundling a lot of angry people into the back of detention cages. The street was covered with debris, lost jackets and shoes. It looked like there had been some disturbances here already. If she tried to enter the building now, the Security Forces would question her, and ask for authorisation. When they realised that she didn't have any valid orders to enter the building, they would refuse to let her in. They might even take her into custody. She couldn't allow that.

She wanted to tell somebody about Thompson's connection with the man called Roy, but she couldn't think of anyone except Nick that might listen to her without asking too many questions about how she knew. Sometimes she wished that she could just be normal like everyone else.

Not all dreams come true.

That was what her mother had once said when she was just a little girl. They were harsh words for any child to hear. Maybe there wasn't going to be a happy ending. She shook the thought from her head.

It didn't look like she could use her rank to gain access to the building. Thompson would already have put a stop to that. She was going to have to find a different way. Rachel examined the surrounding buildings. There were no overhanging walkways that she could use to cross from one building to another. There were no fire escapes that she use to could climb to a higher level. She couldn't see any trap doors around the perimeter of the building either. The only entrance she could see was the street level, front entrance. It wasn't exactly ideal.

Thompson had said that Riser Trent was holding her father hostage underground. She wished that she had taken the time to check for schematics of the building before leaving Tower Four, but there hadn't been time for that. She would have to manage with what she already knew. It wasn't much.

The rain fell heavier than ever. Thunder rumbled in the distance, filling the night with a sense of foreboding. Nobody was going to help her. She would have to do this on her own.

The perimeter of the Mekinet News building was extensive. It took Rachel several minutes to walk around the whole building. It took a long time because she had to be careful to remain out of sight. The best possible entry point that she could find was a fire exit at the back of the building. Even that was guarded by three soldiers who huddled close together, sharing a cigarette. The dark night made it easy for them to blend into the shadows.

Rachel pushed her back tight against the wall behind her as she watched them. She rubbed her cold hands together for warmth. The men were talking quietly amongst themselves, staying close to the door to take advantage of the shelter provided by a thin stone ledge that jutted out from the wall above. Rachel slipped her hand into her combat jacket. She didn't want to hurt them. They hadn't done anything wrong, but she had to get inside the building somehow. Talking her way in didn't seem like an easy option. There was too much at stake to risk being caught now.

Sliding back behind the edge of the wall, she tossed a stun grenade at the soldiers' feet. Brief shouts preceded a loud bang. Windows on the opposite building shattered and crashed to the floor. Rachel held her hands tight over her ears but the sound of the stun grenade was still painful. A ringing noise filled her ears as she leapt out from behind the wall and ran past the soldiers' unconscious bodies. She slammed into the fire door and shattered its frame inwards. The noise would soon attract others so she had to move fast. Rachel flicked on a torch and pointed it into the blacked out building. Pieces of wood and glass lay scattered across the floor. She pulled out her impact pistol and ran inside.

Raisson stepped out from the shadow of a doorway across the street. His eyes blinked slowly as he combed his scented black hair into a tight, neat cap. His fine black tailored suit was worth more than most shuttle cars, and he walked with a confident stride that was both stylish and inappropriate for a place like this. When he passed the Security Forces lying on the ground, he nodded his head in approval. After checking that nobody was watching him, he stepped into the Mekinet News building, and disappeared into the shadows.

Worried about Rachel

Nick rubbed a hand through his hair. He ignored an uneasy feeling for as long as he could, but he couldn't help worrying about Rachel. He found himself tapping the collar of his jacket again.

'Rachel? Are you back at Central Command yet?'

'Commander Chambers...'

'Never mind that. Where are you?'

'I've already been to see Thompson. It's over.'

'How did it go?'

'It could have gone better.'

'Oh, Rachel. What have you done?'

'Nothing.'

'I wish I could believe you. Has she charged you with something?'

'Not yet, but she will.'

'Maybe I should have come back with you.'

'You're not talking sense. I don't need looking after, Nick. Haven't you learnt that yet?'

Nick hung onto his hurt feelings. Maybe calling had been a mistake. He considered shutting down the comms link, but something made him want to hold on for a little longer. He pushed his feelings aside and tried to be objective and rational. It wasn't easy.

'Can you do me a favour?' Rachel said.

'What is it?'

'Can you run a check on whether we have a file on anyone called Roy?'

'Roy? That's not very specific. There will be a lot of files matching that.'

'He's an old man. He has grey hair and he's tall. He wears a blue beret.'

'Now that is specific. I can work with that. Who is he?'

'I don't know. Thompson has some connection with him. I think it's something she doesn't want anyone to know about. It could still be nothing. It was just a feeling I had.'

Nick remained silent.

'Aren't you going to ask me how I know?'

'No.'

'Thanks, Nick. Check if he's on file. I have a bad feeling about him.'

'Okay. I'll pass it on to someone to check it out.'

'Could you maybe not mention that it came from me?'

'Why?'

'I don't want to put too many questions in people's minds. I'm not sure I know how to answer those questions.'

'Okay.' Nick tapped in a search request on his wrist console and sent it through to Commander Harris.

'Do the other commanders ever talk about me?'

'What do you mean?'

'It's just something that Thompson said.'

'What did she say?'

'She said that people talk about me behind my back.'

'She's probably just trying to get under your skin. Don't take any notice of her.'

'You didn't answer my question.'

Nick sighed. 'All the commanders like you, Rachel. You know they do. Some of them love you.'

Rachel paused, a silence hanging between them for as long as she held a single breath. 'Do you think I'm strange?'

'Everyone is strange in this place.'

'Do I make you uncomfortable?'

'No. Look, where is this going? Don't listen to Thompson. She can be a cruel, hard bitch when she wants to be. You have always been different. You know that, and I know that. Other people don't notice for the most part, and when they do, they just put it down to something that they didn't understand. They don't blame you for it, Rachel, and they don't hold it against you. You don't make me or anyone else uncomfortable. Everyone is different, in their own way. I'm sure Harris is more uncomfortable in a room with me than he is with you.'

'Harris is different. He's always been a friend to us. Some of the others I'm not so sure about. Rodnig gives me odd looks from time to time, some of the other commanders do too.'

'Don't read too much into it. People give me odd looks as well. I don't give a shit what they think. We all have our jobs to do.'

'How do we know if we're doing the right thing?'

'What's wrong, Rachel? Has something happened?'

'I was just remembering something from a long time ago.'

'What is it?'

'When I was six years old, my mother got so angry with me one day. It was autumn. The leaves had fallen and blown all across our garden. I wanted to help, so I swept the leaves into one big pile and burnt them, only I didn't use my hands, and I didn't use a rake or an igniter. I just stared at the leaves from my bedroom window and the rest just happened by itself. I've never seen my mother get so angry.'

'You just thought about that now? That was a long time ago. Don't get yourself down over it. Things always seem worse when you are young, don't they? Memories get mixed up and exaggerated.'

'It was real, Nick. She said that I should never do anything like that again. She told me that people wouldn't understand if they saw me doing it. They would get frightened, and angry. She said bad things would happen to me if I let people see what I could do. It scared me. I've never forgotten what she said.'

'It was just something that happened when you were young. You're okay now. The past can't hurt you.'

'I suppressed it, somehow, but it didn't go away. For a few years I was able to block it out and go on with a normal life.'

'Then there's nothing to worry about.'

'I wish it was that simple. You don't understand what I've been through. After I gave birth to Lisa, it started again. It was slow at first, but it's been getting worse ever since. I don't think I can hide it anymore. Even Thompson knows that something isn't right.'

'You're mother was right,' Nick said. 'You shouldn't tell this to anyone, not until you know what it is.'

'I may never know what it is.'

'You miss her, don't you.'

'My mother? I always miss her. She was the most beautiful person I ever knew.'

'I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm sorry you have to face all this alone.'

'I'm not alone. I have Lisa, and my father.'

Nick grunted in the back of his throat. He would always be excluded from that list.

'Do you know what I didn't realise until I came to Beacon Station?'

'Tell me.'

'My mother was never surprised.'

'What?'

'She would get angry. She would tell me to stop it. Sometimes she said that I should stay away from the Lords and that I should never act that way around them. She was often upset, but she never once looked surprised about the things that I did.'

'You think she knew what this was?'

'I think my mother knew a lot of things.'

'It's a shame she's not here to answer your questions anymore.'

Rachel didn't respond.

Nick was surprised that Rachel had been so open with him. Their conversations had been strained for months. He had found it increasingly hard to be included in any part of her life. If it wasn't for Lisa, he wondered if Rachel would ever speak to him at all. She hadn't said exactly what had happened with Thompson, but he didn't need to read her mind to know that she was upset about it. Thompson had stirred up old memories and put doubts in Rachel's mind. Nick wished that he could be there with her, instead of being stuck at Havers Compound with the Kamari.

'Where are you?' Nick said.

'Thompson hasn't finished with me yet. I won't be returning to Havers Compound. I probably won't be returning to Beacon Station for a while either.'

'I don't like the sound of that. What happened? Is she blaming you for the news droids?'

'Yes, amongst other things.'

Nick paced up and down the corridor. He wished Thompson would just fuck off. 'Rachel, I have to warn you about something.'

'Warn me about what? Don't we have enough things to worry about already?'

'Riser Trent.'

'Thompson was asking about him. Who is he?'

'Commander Harris called me. He said that some news hack called Riser Trent is threatening to launch a satellite strike on Cinnamon City.'

'I thought things couldn't get any worse.'

Nick grimaced. 'They can always get worse. That's the one thing I've learned from Beacon Station.'

'I thought the Kamari had control of the satellite platform?'

'They did. They don't anymore. Somehow Trent has taken control of it. The security around here stinks. I'm going to make a point of putting this all in my debrief reports when this is all over, but I'm sure Thompson will ignore it like she always does.'

'Is Harris looking into it?'

'No. He isn't. He asked me to deal with it. I'm going to track down the satellite-grid controller from here. It's supposed to be somewhere in Havers Compound. I'm just keeping you in the loop. There could be satellite strikes anywhere in Cinnamon City until I shut down the controller.'

'Do you think he'll really do that? Is he so sick?'

'I don't know. I hope not. We should get Lisa out of the city until we know it's safe.'

'She's already gone. I sent her to my father's house with Annie.'

'You sent her out of the city already? Did you know about this?'

'No. I didn't know about the satellite controller, but something is not right around here. I can tell that much. I thought it would be for the best.'

'Well, I'm glad she's safe.'

'This Trent sounds dangerous on so many levels. Thompson said he's taken my father hostage.'

'Your father? Why would he do that?'

'Why would he steal a satellite-grid controller? Maybe he's just playing every angle he can to extort credits from Central Command.'

'Harris said he was dangerous, maybe even disturbed. Is Thompson really going to listen to his demands?'

'I don't think so. She doesn't seem to really care. It's like she's just going through the motions. Maybe it's time for someone to face up to Trent. Maybe he's had it his own way for too long.'

'Is Thompson sending in a team?'

'No. She pulled everyone out. I didn't know why until now, but if my father is down there, I have to go and find him.'

'You're going after Trent on your own? You can't. It's too dangerous.'

'I'll be okay.'

'If Trent uses the satellite platform, anything could happen. Nobody will be safe. Don't underestimate him.'

'If he has my father down there then he'd better not underestimate me.'

'Just don't do anything stupid. Lisa needs her mother.'

'That's an awful thing to say.'

'I just want you to think this through. Take someone with you.'

'No, Nick. It's not that simple. I have to do this myself.'

'I'll tell Harris to send backup.'

'Don't. If Thompson finds out I'm here, she'll have me thrown in the detention cells, then there won't be anyone to help my father. I can't risk that. Don't do anything. This isn't your problem. It's mine. I couldn't save my mother, I was too young to protect her, but I can still help my father.'

'Thompson doesn't know you're there?'

The comms link clicked off.

Nick held his head in his hands. Only Rachel could twist his mind in so many damned knots.

Sirens

Lisa sat in the back of the shuttle, curled up under Annie's arm. She was sleeping again. Annie wished that she could do the same. She hadn't been able to talk to Rachel about what was going on. There was something not right at the Mekinet News building, that much was clear. Annie wondered whether that was where Rachel was going. She didn't know for sure, but it made her worry.

She feared what would happen if Rachel got herself killed. Her job was dangerous at the best of times, but this time there was something different going on. She had seen it in Rachel's eyes. Something was very wrong, and Rachel didn't want to talk about it. Why had she avoided the other Security Forces? Why hadn't she just asked them for help? Annie could understand why Rachel didn't want to talk about it in front of Lisa, but she sensed that there was something else going on, something that Rachel didn't want to tell her about either. It all served to make her worry even more.

Annie gazed out of the shuttle windows. Rows of green lights hugged the sides of Solomans Road. The shuttle sped onwards, searching for the turn off to Mr Neech's house. Occasionally it beeped or displayed a blue status update overlaid across the windscreen but Annie took little notice. She didn't know how to drive, but she didn't think that blue messages were very important. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

The traffic was light at this time of night, but several Rotohawk trucks sped past them and raced ahead. Annie wondered what they might be racing towards.

Lisa stirred in her arms, awoken by the sound of heavy wheels and roaring engines. She looked up at Annie with enquiring eyes.

'Nothing to worry about, honey. Go back to sleep. It's just the Security Forces overtaking us. They're gone now.'

Lisa sat upright and peered through the front windscreen. She watched flashing red lights disappearing over the hill. As the shuttle mounted the crest, an orange glow filled the sky.

'Look, Annie! Sunshine in the night.'

Annie wondered what Lisa was talking about. She stared at the orange glow and detected a hint of smoke coming through the air conditioning unit. Then it dawned on her with a sudden realisation. 'Oh, dear God,' she said. 'It can't be.' She couldn't hold back the tears. They streamed down her cheeks despite her best attempts to hide them.

'Nanna?'

'I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't worry you so,' Annie rubbed at her eyes but she couldn't help herself.

Yellow flames licked the night sky and grey smoke plumed out across the fields. The house was a mass of flames on the horizon.

Annie cried. She didn't know what else to do. Lisa didn't understand, but she started crying too.

'Nanna? Why are you crying?'

'I'm sorry. Oh God I'm sorry.'

Lisa hid her face in Annie's lap.

Recovered Property

The breathless soldier came to a sudden halt before them. 'We have it, Roy.'

'The controller?' Isor said.

'Yes, We used its tracer beacon to pinpoint its location. We shot the net-feed droids that were carrying it. There were only two of them.'

'Finally,' Roy said. 'Where is it now?'

'We have it under guard, a little way to the North.'

Isor approached with a frown on his face, 'Take it through the portal. Now.'

The man stood catching his breath, then nodded. He turned and ran back the way he had come.

'Give the signal,' Roy said. 'We're pulling out.'

Jacob was standing behind him, unusually silent. He pulled a hand-held device from his pocket and tapped a series of keys. A short distance ahead of them, a blue vortex of air wobbled into existence, and from its centre a tall woman strode towards them. She was carrying an assault rifle. Her straight, red hair hung well below her shoulders and glistened in the blue light of the portal as it sparkled around her. She wore a stern expression that seemed at odds with the way her uniform fit snugly around her curvaceous hips. She stared at Jacob with intense, piercing blue eyes, then approached them all and nodded to Roy in greeting.

Isor opened his mouth to speak but she gestured for them all to step back. When they had moved far enough away from the portal, she squeezed a small device that hung around her neck and the blue vortex turned red, throbbing once, twice, and then expanding suddenly, showering the forest in a deep purple light. A group of Kamari soldiers appeared from the trees nearby. They took one look at the monstrous portal and ran back the way they had come. Roy frowned in their direction.

The portal shimmered and a massive metal leg protruded from its centre. The leg was quickly followed by another. Then came the bloated abdomen and a monstrous head. The thick-limbed Walker stood half again the height of the surrounding trees. Its huge armoured head swung 180 degrees, scanning the area for hostiles.

'Now we go through,' the tall woman said.

Roy, Jacob and Isor followed her back through the portal as it became small and blue again. They stepped into the shimmering light and strode into another place. Behind them, a steady stream of Kamari soldiers did likewise, but their steps were more hesitant. A row of seven blue portals burst open in the darkness. With the huge Walker standing guard above them, the Kamari soldiers approached from all sides. Some stared up at the Walker, while others gazed down at the floor, but they all made their way through the portals in silence.

Meet the Walker

Nick had been in the forest for a little over half an hour. During that time, he had heard many soldiers passing by in different directions. Some had been Security Forces, and some had been Kamari soldiers. He had been trying to stay out of the firing line of both forces. He doubted that anyone would recognise him in the dark forest, and he didn't want to turn on his signature broadcast signal. He had little doubt that the Kamari could detect it just as well as his own allies.

Nick chewed a piece of gum and followed a small group of Kamari soldiers at a distance. He wondered where they would lead him to. It was difficult to stay out of sight with so many people in the forest. At times, the night was almost silent, but every few minutes he heard odd sounds all around him. It was quite disorientating. Nick pushed his way through a thicket and stumbled to a halt, raising his head to look up at the monstrosity that stood before him.

'Fuck, no.'

The Walker towered high above him like a half-built skyscraper with a bad attitude. Its bulbous silver head was home to so many weapons that Nick couldn't even count them. He couldn't name half of them either.

'This cannot be happening.'

A moment ago there had been nothing there. Sure, his mind had wandered a little, but how could such a massive droid just appear from nowhere like that? Nick reached for his impact pistol but he knew that it couldn't help him now. Behind the Walker, small blue lights flickered in the air. The light reminded Nick of something he had seen at Havers Compound. They were portals. Half a dozen Kamari stepped into one just before it winked out of existence.

Nick glanced back at the Walker and considered his options. He didn't have many. He turned, suddenly aware of something behind him. A small group of Security Forces burst into view from a nearby thicket and stumbled to a halt beside him. Nick recognised Major Fredericks with another two crewmen from Rachel's Croc. Mason and Bennet looked as though they had been running through mud all day. Fredericks didn't look much better. They were all exhausted. Their eyes acknowledged Nick with a short glance before staring up at the Walker.

'We can't fight this!' Fredericks said.

Bennet shook his head and started backing away.

The walker powered up for an attack, its thick legs bending at the knees to withstand the recoil of its own weapons. Two huge rotating gun turrets turned towards them and the end caps flipped open.

Nick had no intention of being around when they opened fire. 'Run for the portal!' he shouted. Grabbing Fredericks by the shoulder, he dragged him towards the portal as fast as he could run.

Fredericks stumbled along beside him, having little time for complaint. Mason and Bennet looked at each other with wide eyes, then sprinted after them, tripping over exposed roots and slapping thin branches out of their way. They caught up with Nick and Fredericks in double quick time. The air crackled with static electricity as the portal faded from cobalt blue to a pale diaphanous green.

'Now!' Nick shouted.

They all leapt towards the portal at once. A blinding flash filled the sky behind them. Nick felt heat all around him, then the portal wobbled and winked out of existence.

Nick collided with everyone at once. All of their arms and legs merged into a single gyrating bundle of limbs. A wave of fire flowed through his body as he was absorbed by a field of highly energised particles. Tiny lightning bolts stabbed at his mind. He could hear himself screaming inside.

Time stopped. He was alone. He was nowhere in an emptiness that he couldn't describe. Blackness closed in from all sides, bringing with it an icy embrace that promised to swallow his soul. Nick saw himself, from outside of his own body. He was curled up into a ball, floating through the cosmos, surrounded by a billion stars. Tears stung his eyes. Black shapes swam around him, darting and biting at his flesh. Something shifted. He couldn't decide whether it was himself or the place he had been, but all at once it felt as though every atom of his body was being ripped apart in opposite directions. His eyes rolled in complete blackness, searching for anything to cling on to. There was nothing. He tried desperately to reorientate himself in the void. The blackness receded and something struck him in the head. Nick cried out with joy because he knew he wasn't alone anymore. With a crash and tumble of tangled limbs, he found himself lying on the floor with Frederick's elbow in his face and somebody's legs across his back.

'Oh dear God,' Nick whispered. A coldness seeped into him from the white stone floor beneath him. He took a deep breath and watched the portal blink out behind him. It was the first time that he had ever been through a portal, and he very much hoped that it would be the last. No, it would definitely be the last. His mind still reeled with the horrible visions and feelings that he had just endured. He knew that they had been very lucky to make it through in time. The portal had been shutting down just as they had entered it. It had been a very dangerous thing to do, but staying behind would have meant guaranteed incineration. Walkers that big weren't there to make friends. Nick wondered if the others had experienced the same things that he had.

'What have we here?' The voice came from behind Nick.

He cursed himself for not checking for hostiles earlier. He was still stunned by his experiences inside the portal. He wasn't thinking straight. Untangling himself from the others, he jumped to his feet and managed to find a balanced poise that he hadn't thought possible. The other men followed his example, and within a few seconds the four of them stood with impact pistols ready, and an approximation of dignity.

Two men stood at the end of a long corridor. They wore baggy white trousers and had black sashes hanging around their waists. The tallest man was a lot older than Nick. He was thin with an angular nose. He wore a blue beret perched upon his short grey hair, and his beret looked wet. The other man was much younger. He was short, with sandy blonde hair. Nick noticed that he had a mean look in his eyes.

Nick couldn't see whether either of them were carrying weapons but he was taking no chances. 'Spread out,' he said.

Fredericks, Mason and Bennet did their best to spread out across the narrow hallway. Slowly, they began to move forward as a group.

Nick was the first to notice. More figures moved at the end of the corridor. Men in lab coats were struggling to carry a long metal cylinder between them. It was made from a highly polished titanium alloy. Nick could see that the top of the cylinder was fitted with an illuminated keypad and a small display panel. It looked valuable by the way that the technicians were carrying it, and a hunch told Nick that it could be the satellite-grid controller.

An image of a satellite strike on Cinnamon City shot through his mind. Before he knew it, Nick found himself wanting to test his theory. He raised his impact pistol and fired straight at the cylinder. The short blonde man dived in front of it. Instead of striking him down, the shot deflected away and hit the wall. Was he wearing some kind of personal force field? Nick stared at the man, wondering what had just happened. He didn't have long to wonder.

The man snarled at Nick and tossed a small metal tube towards him. It skittered along the floor and slid to a halt a couple of paces away. Fearing that it might be a grenade, Nick leapt into an adjacent doorway. Fredericks did likewise on the opposite side of the corridor. Mason and Bennet weren't so lucky. They tried to run back down the corridor but it was blocked by thick sheets of glass. Bennet smacked his face on the glass wall and Mason tried to catch him as he fell. The metal tube exploded in a flash of brilliant white light behind them. A shock wave shook the walls around them. It was a blinding bomb.

Mason and Bennet screamed in unison, each raising their hands to cover their eyes. They were too late to save their sight. Nick had been looking away from the blast but even his eyes were starting to water. A fierce burning sensation made him want to claw at his eyeballs with both hands. His hands shook as he forced himself to resist. He knew that scratching his eyes would only make them worse. Orange blotches danced across his vision. He leant on a nearby wall to save himself from falling. He couldn't see anything at all. Thoughts whirred through his head. Perhaps firing at the controller hadn't been such a good idea after all. He hadn't even achieved anything with his stupid stunt. The controller was still undamaged and now he was half blind. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nick listened for sounds of approaching footsteps.

Bennet was somewhere nearby. Nick could hear his panting breaths and muffled curses. Nick tried to filter out the noise that Bennet was making so that he could listen to the voices further down the hallway. He needed to work out what was happening.

'Get that thing out of here. Now!'

It sounded like the men were struggling with something. Nick wondered if the technicians were taking the satellite-grid controller away. He couldn't allow that, but then what could he do in his current state to stop them? He couldn't even see his own hands when he held them in front of his face. The sounds receded but the first voice returned loud and clear.

'I've put too much damned time and effort into that controller for some dip shit to blow a hole in it with a bloody impact pistol.'

The voice sounded young. Nick wondered who the man was. He'd called the device a controller so Nick's hunch had been right.

An older voice said, 'Gentlemen, lets deal with this quickly, we have other matters to attend to.'

Footsteps approached. Nick backed away from the door instinctively.

Isor moved forwards with silent steps, a thin smile spreading across his face. A member of the Security Forces was standing half-blind in the middle of the corridor. He was leaning heavily on one leg. A small badge on his chest said that his name was Bennet. He shuffled backwards until his hands touched the glass wall behind him, then he pressed against it, seemingly confused that he couldn't go back any further. Isor laughed. Bennet's head snapped back as he tried to locate the source of the laughter. His eyes were squeezed shut and sweat trickled down from his forehead. He had the look of a man who was in great pain.

Isor took his time as he approached. Bennet raised his impact pistol, unable to see where to aim it. He was listening with his head tilted to one side. Isor stepped around the pistol and leant closer until their faces were only a few centimetres apart. He stared at Bennet's scrunched up eyes, wanting him to open them and be suddenly afraid. After a few seconds, he grew weary of his own game and blew air straight into Bennet's face.

Bennet jumped, waving his free hand to protect himself. Isor punched him in the forehead, sending him staggering backwards down the corridor. He swung his pistol around but he looked unsure of where to fire it. Isor swung his leg in a sweeping arc and extended his boot with snapping movement. The blow caught Bennet in the face, forcing him back against the glass wall. Blood poured from his broken nose. He fired his impact pistol but the shot went high, hitting the ceiling above.

Echoes filled the corridor as Bennet wiped blood from his nose. He waved the Pistol from side to side, but before he could fire again, Isor kicked it from his hand. He followed up with a lightning fist to the face, followed by a vicious elbow to the side of Bennet's head. Bennet's head snapped back and he twisted sideways, falling to the floor unconscious.

Another of the Security Forces was standing against the wall looking confused. Still blinded, and unable to tell what was happening, he stood helpless in his world of darkness. He listened as Isor approached on silent feet. Isor balled his fists and spun around quickly. The heel of his left foot caught the soldier's temple with an audible smack. It was a perfect strike. The soldier crumpled sideways and slapped his head on the stone floor. Blood seeped from his ear as he lay still on the ground.

Nick couldn't see much but it sounded like things weren't going well. He heard grunts of pain and something thudding on the floor. Familiar voices cried out, then fell silent. It didn't last long. Nick wanted to help the others but his eyes were useless. If he tried to intervene now, he would only succeed in getting himself killed. He wondered if Bennet and Mason were unconscious, or dead? He hoped that they were both still alive. Fredericks had run into the opposite room. Maybe they hadn't found him yet?

Nick shuffled further back from the doorway and wondered when his turn would come. There was no way he could defend himself like this. He was at the mercy of fate's next step. Fear rose inside him. He wasn't used to being so helpless. He had always taken his sight for granted, but now that it was gone, he felt his confidence slipping away. A heavy feeling in his stomach made him wonder if he was really going to make it out this time. Maybe he would die right there on the cold stone floor. What if these were his last few seconds of life? He thought about his decision to transfer to Beacon Station. Had it been his final mistake? He thought about Rachel and how much he missed her. He thought about Lisa, and wondered how Rachel would tell her that her father was dead. He pictured Lisa crying and Rachel holding her while explaining that her father had made a stupid mistake so he wouldn't be coming home ever again. Nick felt a sudden pain in his chest. He wasn't ready to die. The mental image of Lisa suffering alone had shocked him, breaking something inside him. Dying wasn't an option. He had to survive! He had to do something - anything!

On hands and knees, he shuffled backwards until his feet hit the wall behind him. The blurred shape of the doorway swirled before him like a sand storm. Nick's head pounded. He raised his impact pistol and hoped that he would at least be able to make out if somebody was trying to enter the room.

Isor stood next to the door frame on the balls of his feet. He loosened his jacket and wiped a smear of blood from his forehead, blood that wasn't his own. He rolled up his loose sleeves, revealing veins that stood out from muscular forearms. His small black eyes shone with exhilaration as he flexed his fingers. The last of the soldiers was in there, waiting. He wouldn't have to wait for long.

'Wait,' It was Roy's voice.

Isor turned in anger. He didn't like being interrupted when the fury was upon him.

'What is it?'

'Wait one minute,' Roy tapped at a small device on the back of his wrist as he strode down the corridor and joined Isor.

'Commander Nick Chambers,' Roy said.

Isor looked at Roy with annoyance. He wanted to finish killing the soldiers but he sensed that for some reason Roy had other plans. Roy put a hand on his arm and smiled. Isor pulled away. Roy always had some reason to interrupt him. It grated on his nerves. He detached himself from the situation and let his mind return to a familiar safe place. He concentrated on an image of a white flower sitting in the palm of his hand and watched its petals gather and close into the smooth round bud of a rose. Smoke rose from the bud, and it turned black, blowing away as ashes in a fresh breeze. Isor took a long deep breath, nodded, then turned and walked away.

'How do you know my name?' Nick said. If he could play for time, just until his vision cleared, he'd stand a better chance. Who were these people? His hazy vision could just about make out shadows in the corridor, but he couldn't see much more than that. Nick kept his impact pistol aimed at head height and waited for any sign of movement.

A voice answered him from the hallway, 'Your comms pack. It transmits an identifying signal, but you know that, Nick.'

'The signal is encrypted.'

'Well, yes.'

'Who are you?'

'My name is Roy Helleron. Your colleagues have already met my son Isor, I believe.' Roy chuckled quietly.

Nick frowned. He considered the name, searched for any memory of it, but it really meant nothing to him. He closed his left eye and pressed his free hand against it, making it water in the hope that it would help him see.

'What do you want with me?' Nick kept his right eye on the shadow outside the doorway. If Roy Helleron popped his head around that corner, Nick intended to blow a hole straight through it.

'Information,' Roy said.

'I'm not telling you anything. Forget about it.'

'Information is a valuable thing, Nick.'

'When Gail Thompson finds out about this place, you're in the shit. I'll tell you that much.'

Roy laughed, a soft, assured chuckle from the back of his throat.

'Put down the gun and we can go for a walk.'

'Like fuck.'

Nick heard footsteps in the hallway. Either Roy was moving around or someone else had joined him. Nick wasn't sure. He opened his left eye and blinked until it was clear. He could almost focus. Switching his pistol to the other hand, he closed his right eye and pressed his palm against that side.

'Who is he?' another voice said.

'Commander Nick Chambers is the mission controller of the Beacon Attack Force. He is in charge of the assault on Havers Compound, or he was. I think your mission is over now, Nick.'

'Go to hell.'

Mekinet News building

The Mekinet News building's power grid had been shut down for several hours. The heating systems were down too. Rachel stepped through the darkness and watched her breath steaming in front of her face. Her small torch wasn't as powerful as she had hoped. She was starting to wish that she had brought something more substantial. But maybe a small torch was a blessing in disguise. If she made herself too visible she might end up with a hole in her head. Anyone else in the building was likely to want to shoot her, or at least demand a full explanation as to why she was there.

Rachel brushed her hair back with one hand. So far, she had found the Mekinet News building rather confusing. There was something about the layout that just didn't make any sense. It didn't help that she had rather unusual requirements. Green emergency lights showed the way out in case of fire, but there were no signs explaining how to get to the basement levels in case of a blackout. Rachel found it odd that she had to climb a flight of steps, before she could find the main lobby, even though she had entered the building through the ground floor. She now realised that the ground level at the back of the building was one floor below the ground level at the front of the building. It was very confusing. Now that she had found the lobby, she was still on the ground level. She had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the bright white floodlights that had been setup on the street outside. The windows were broken and the carpet was covered in glass. A lot of people were arguing outside. With so many bright lights there was no place for her to hide. Rachel ran across the lobby. She just had to hope that nobody would notice her if she was quick enough. She reached the opposite side of the lobby and slipped around the corner. Nobody called out and nobody followed her. They had all been too caught up in their own troubles outside.

Taking a deep breath, she headed down a wide hallway at the back of the lobby. When she tried calling the lift, she found that it didn't work. With the power out, that probably shouldn't have been too surprising. She had called it out of habit before she had really thought about it. To the side of the lifts, there was a wide archway that led to the entrance of a stone stairwell. Rachel walked towards the stairs and glanced over the banister. Blackness extended into infinity below. If anybody was waiting down there, she wouldn't know about it until she met them face to face. It would have been a lot easier to find her way down to the basement if the power hadn't been turned off but there was nothing she could do about that now. She couldn't ask Thompson to turn the power back on. She wasn't even supposed to be in the building. Thompson would just have her arrested if she called for backup support. What a mess she was in.

Rachel hoped that Riser Trent was finding the blackout as much of an inconvenience as she was. At least that would put them on an equal footing. Her impact pistol felt slippery in her hands. She rubbed her palms on her combat trousers so that she wouldn't make any fatal mistakes if it came down to a gunfight in the dark.

Was she really going to go through with this? She would have to move soon before anyone else entered the lobby. She wasn't sure how long the other Security Forces would wait outside. She took hold of the handrail to steady herself while she gathered her thoughts. Trent had taken her father hostage so he could use him as a bartering tool. Some people had no respect for life. Trent didn't care about anyone but himself. The anger returned to her, and with anger came courage. Rachel shook her head and started descending the stairs. She had a long way to go.

Not Alone

The stairs descended for three flights without a break. After that, they opened up onto a small landing that was surrounded by doors on each side. Peering inside with her torch, Rachel found that two of the doors led to storage rooms. One was stacked high with boxes of toilet paper and some old worn out mops. The other room was empty except for several dead spiders. Rachel shuddered. The last door had a symbol above it that she couldn't make out at all. It looked like it might be broken. She was beginning to think that she might have to double back and find another way. When she pushed the door open she was relieved to find that it led to another staircase.

The new staircase had a metal hand rail that looked as though it had seen hard times. Only a few flakes of its original red paint remained. The steps were more chunky than those above, and more damaged. It looked as though heavy equipment had been dragged up and down them for many years. Rachel stared over the handrail. There was nothing but darkness. She didn't want to shine the light to the bottom of the stairwell in case it attracted the wrong kind of attention. She didn't think that her torch was powerful enough to reach the bottom in any case.

The stairs continued for a long time. There were many levels on the way down, with doorways leading off in all directions, but none of them looked likely to be Trent's hideout. She knew that he was meant to be down in the basement, but how could she be sure that he hadn't moved to another floor after the power had been turned off? It was a big building. She couldn't really rule out anything. So many of the rooms showed signs of long-time neglect. Opening one door marked that was marked with the name of an office executive, Rachel found herself in a cupboard full of mops and cleaning materials. Some of these rooms probably hadn't been used for years. She wondered why her father had let the place get into such a state. It wasn't like him at all. Probably he hadn't been down to the lower levels for many years.

Four floors further down, the silence was becoming oppressive. Rachel could hear her own breathing. She felt like she had become lost in some great underground cavern. She couldn't remember how many floors she had descended, but she guessed that she must now be well underneath the city. The Mekinet News building was a labyrinth without end.

When she heard a sound up ahead, she stood still in the dark corridor while her heart raced. 'Who's there?' she said.

There was no response. She pointed her torch straight ahead and stared at the small illuminated patch on the grey stone wall in front of her. It was too easy for someone to hide in the darkness. There were too many shadows and too many corridors. There were too many recessed doorways as well. She held her impact pistol but she was afraid to use it. What if it was her father? What if he had escaped from Trent. He might be anywhere in the basement levels, wandering among the stairwells on his own.

She stood in silence for a long time. Her breathing slowed and her mind started to unwind. Her thoughts unfolded like the petals of a blooming flower. The hard edges of the world around her melted. It felt as though the building's walls had become part of her own body rather than some separate entity. Rachel felt the cold stone within her ribs. She felt the rough texture of the wall's surface without needing to reach and touch it. Her mouth felt dry as though her own tongue had been re-made from porous stone. It made her thirsty in a way that she had never experience before. She was the wall, and the wall was her. A grid-work of cold metal struts reinforced her body, and warm air surrounded her. The warmth filled her, then spilled out again, forming a rose coloured patch across the wall's surface.

Rachel floated back into her own body and stared at the wall from afar. This time she understood the pale stone like never before. It was transparent to her. She saw the glowing silhouette of a man behind it. Her mind swirled in circles that she couldn't understand. Something was happening to her, she knew that much. Lately she had been seeing and feeling things that weren't there. She didn't believe any of it was real. Somehow that made her feel better. If it wasn't real, then it couldn't harm her. She felt calm, comfortable and at peace. She was herself again and the wall was just a wall. Rachel flicked her torch from side to side. She knew there was a man standing behind the wall, even if she didn't understand how. Denying her own reasoning did nothing to make it less true.

'I'm armed,' she said, partly to herself, 'and I know you're there. Step out slowly.'

'Don't hurt me,' a man's voice said. 'I'm just a business associate of Mr Neech.' A head popped out from behind the wall and the man offered a nervous smile. His thin black hair was combed back and oiled in the same way as her father's. He stepped out into the dark hallway with empty hands held out to each side.

Rachel wasn't surprised to see him. She had seen his silhouette, hadn't she? No. She couldn't have. She kept her impact pistol aimed towards him, but she lowered her hand so that it pointed at his mid section rather than his head. 'Who are you?' she said. 'Do you really know my father?'

'Your father?'

'Ario Neech. Do you know where he is?'

'Ario is your father? Then you must be Rachel. He told me so much about you. I'm his business colleague, Timothy Raisson.'

Rachel used her torch to examine the man. He was wearing an expensive suit, not the kind of clothes that a hacker or soldier would wear. His shoes looked shiny and new. He was a slim man, toned but not athletic. He didn't look like a physical threat. His nose looked as though it had never been broken so she knew that he wasn't combat trained. He looked like a regular businessman. How dangerous could he be?

Rachel replaced her impact pistol in its holster. 'I don't recognise your name,' she said.

Raisson stepped a little closer, holding his palms open to each side, 'Mr Neech has many business contacts. Maybe he mentioned me and you forgot? I've known him for many years. He has a beautiful house. That place always leaves me with a warm feeling inside.'

'My father invited you into his house? He doesn't normally have meetings at home. He always says that office work should stay in the office.'

'Yes, I know what you mean, but there wasn't really any business involved when he invited me to his house. It was more of an after work social call.'

'What are you doing down here in the dark, Mr Raisson?'

Raisson shrugged and gave her an apologetic smile, 'I must seem very strange to you, Rachel. I'm sorry if I frightened you. A businessman wandering around on his own in the dark stairwells - I can see how you might find that odd. The truth is that it wasn't dark when I came down here. Mr Neech brought me to show me something. We walked down together from the lobby a couple of hours ago. All the lights were on back then. These stairwells made a lot more sense too. When the lights went out, I didn't know what was happening. I fell in the dark and hurt my leg. Your father told me to stay here while he went to get the power back on.'

Rachel considered his story. It was plausible. 'You don't seem to be limping,' she said.

'It was a couple of hours ago when I fell. It was painful at the time but it has eased off since. I'm okay now. I think perhaps it was more the shock of falling in the dark, and the hard stone steps didn't help much. It was quite frightening, but I guess I didn't cause any lasting damage.'

'Okay. I don't know when the lights will come back on, but I need to find my father. Do you know where he went?'

'I'm not sure. He went down to the lower levels but I haven't seen him since the power went out.'

Rachel wondered if he was telling the truth. Her father did have a lot of business connections. She didn't think he would take them to the lower levels but she had been far from an active participant in his business operations for many years. She didn't really know what he did anymore. He had always wanted her to join the family business, to become an executive for Mekinet News, but Rachel had always been interested in other things.

Rachel looked Raisson in the eye, 'He went down, you say?'

'Yes. He's been gone a long time now. I do hope he's okay.'

'So do I. Wherever he is, I'm going to find him. Are you okay going back up on your own?'

'Oh, I'll come with you, if you don't mind. I really am terrible with directions. I'm sure I'll never find my way out alone.'

'It's not a good idea coming with me. It could be dangerous.'

'Dangerous?'

'I'm looking for a man who works for my father. A dangerous man. He's meant to be somewhere in the basement levels. I believe he is holding my father against his will. If I find him, things could get nasty. I don't think you want to be mixed up in all that.'

'Oh my word. That sounds dreadful. What has happened?'

'I don't know yet. That's what I'm going to find out. I think you should go back to the lobby alone. You'll find your way out, no problem. Just go slow and keep hold of the handrails.'

'But what about Mr Neech. He's a dear friend of mine. What if needs my help? Perhaps I should come with you, just a little way. If we come across anything that isn't safe, I could go back and get help.'

'It's your choice, Mr Raisson. Don't blame me if it doesn't work out well for you.'

Raisson nodded with a blank expression.

Rachel checked the power indicator on her torch. She had two hours of power remaining. 'If we come across anyone else down here, you stay back. Let me deal with it.'

'Yes, I'll stay out of your way. I'm no good in a fight. I work in an office.'

Rachel nodded, 'Okay. Stay close and be careful on the steps. I only have the one torch. We shouldn't talk on the way down. It might attract the wrong kind of attention.'

'Don't worry about me,' Raisson said, 'I'll be very quiet.'

Time to Run

The walker stooped its head, looking for enemy forces. Schematics of the forest sped across its night vision. When its weapons were fully charged, it received a signal that all Kamari forces had been evacuated through the portals. With no more reason to wait, it opened fire. Twin Buchanin rocket launchers spun in their protective heat sinks, unleashing a continuous flow of Dart missiles. Each Dart was a sleek white arrow, tipped with a red tail and packed with incendiary bombs. The missiles sped through hanging branches before exploding on impact with the ground and releasing an expansive wall of fire.

Security Forces moved in from all sides. Reports of portals in the area had brought them to investigate in their droves. The first arrived just as the Dart missiles exploded. Their screams ripped through the night air as burning figures stumbled and fell. More Security Forces pushed forwards from behind them but they stopped in their tracks as the forest turned into an angry inferno around them. They ran for cover but the Walker peppered their retreat with explosions and more incendiary bombs. Over four hundred soldiers ran from the Walker, trapped in a maze of destruction, unable to retreat and unable to advance. They zigzagged to avoid heavy calibre rail guns and tried to get as many trees as possible between themselves and the Walker. Their efforts were wasted. The rail guns cut through the trees like matchsticks, throwing splinters the size of daggers in all directions.

A soldier cried out as a tree disintegrated beside him. His face was a mess of jagged wooden splinters. Blood spilled between his fingers as he collapsed onto the ground, holding his face. Some of the Security Forces called for backup. There was little else that they could do. They ran through the flames to avoid the endless deafening gunfire. Others stood their ground and returned fire with proton rifles and plasma grenades. Their attacks had little effect. The Walker was high above them and its thick armour was impenetrable. Further blasts of incendiary bombs sent them running too. Within a few short minutes, the forest was covered in burning bodies. By the time Commander Rodnig sent orders to pull back, over a hundred Security Forces lay dead on the ground.

Information

'You do realise why you lost, Nick?' Roy leant against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. 'Information. That's what this war is about. It's all about the possession of information.'

Isor stood beside him with a mock smile. He searched his pockets and pulled out a short black rod. It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a sophisticated piece of equipment. It was just a black rod. He held the rod at arms length, and inched forwards so that half of its length stuck out into the open doorway. Impact fire blasted it from his hand at once, sending it spiralling across the corridor where it bounced off the opposite wall. Isor raised an approving eyebrow to his father. Roy returned the gesture.

Isor stepped carefully across to the opposite wall, making sure to stay out of the line of fire. He recovered the rod and examined it. Finding it undamaged, he replaced it in his pocket. 'Not a bad shot,' he muttered under his breath, 'but I'm still going to kill you.'

Roy continued, 'This war is about Knowledge, power, and protection. Gail Thompson has knowledge and power, but without us she has no protection. She needs us, Nick, just like you do.'

'Fuck you,' Nick's vision was almost clear. He could still see orange smudges mingled in amongst the everyday shapes of the door frame, a table and row of cabinets, but his focus was better now. He felt confident that if he had to move, he could at least avoid running straight into a wall.

'Oh, Nick. You haven't worked this out at all, have you? We knew you were coming to Havers Compound.'

'Half the Orange Zone knew that, thanks to that asshole from Mekinet News.'

Roy laughed, a faint gurgling in the back of his throat that could have been mistaken for asthma. 'Mekinet News only broadcast the information that we gave them, Nick. We knew you were coming before they arrived. Did you think the Council Of Lords really controlled everything around here? They think they do, Nick. They think they can rule forever but their time will come.'

'Yours won't.' Nick was losing interest. It was clear that the guy in the corridor had a need to get some things off his chest but Nick didn't have a need to listen to him. Instead, he looked around the room in search of escape routes. There were no other doors, no windows, and no hatches in the ceiling. There were no ventilation shafts or trap doors, and no thin adjoining walls that he could break through. There was only one way out, and that was the way that he had come in. Nick cursed himself for choosing the shittest escape route ever.

'Gail Thompson called us before she called you, Nick.'

What was Roy talking about? He must have banged his head on a bulkhead or something. Nick gave up on his search for an alternative exit. It looked as though he only had two choices. Stay where he was and be bored to death until the strange men outside decided to come in and kill him, or somehow get past them. Neither option looked good. Nick's impact pistol had four shots left. Checking his pockets, he found a plasma grenade, but that was no good. A plasma grenade would destroy half the building, and the other half would fall on his own head. Other than that, he had no weapons at all. He hadn't expected the battle to go on this long, he had to admit. He had made many mistakes today. He just hoped he would live long enough to regret them. He looked forward to hearing Rachel tell him what a stupid fool he had been.

Nick wondered where Rachel was now and whether she was safe. If the satellite-grid controller was here, at least it meant Riser Trent didn't have it. Maybe the people of Cinnamon City would be safe for a little while longer. Nick didn't know if he was going to make it out of this one. He looked again at his impact pistol. He knew now what he had to do.

No Way Out

Fredericks lay on the hard stone floor. His woolly thoughts stumbled around his head like drunken sheep. Behind him, he could hear voices. His mouth felt thick and he could taste blood. He lay there for a long time, not wanting to open his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he had been lying on the ground. His cheek felt numb against the cold floor. After a while, he heard the voices again. One of them sounded like Nick. Fredericks opened his eyes a fraction. Bright light burned his eyes. A blinding bomb would take a while to wear off. He had to be patient. He had to ignore the pain. He waited and let his eyes adjust to the light.

His vision was ruined. He knew that now. He wasn't sure how permanent the damage would be but he didn't want to think about it now. It felt like an eternity before his vision improved enough to make out shadows on the ground. Two men were standing in the hallway. Their faces were little more than jumbled montages of light and shadow. Fredericks stared with confusion. No, he was looking at the back of their heads. They were facing away from him. One of them was speaking in a deep voice that he didn't recognise.

Beyond the two men, he could just make out another man slumped against the wall in the room opposite. Fredericks hoped it wasn't a Kamari agent. The man was aiming an impact pistol towards the doorway. The men in the corridor were standing out of the line of fire. They couldn't all be Kamari agents. Fredericks wondered if the man opposite might be Nick or Mason? His shoulders were too large to be Bennet, who was thin and short.

The tallest man in the hallway said, 'What do you hope to achieve sitting in there, Nick? You'll have to come out eventually. There's nowhere else for you to go. Maybe, if you cooperate, we might be able to cut you a deal.'

So, it was Nick then. Fredericks tried to concentrate on their words. He could feel his life draining away. He wasn't sure what had happened in the last few minutes before he had lost consciousness. Much of his memory was either scrambled or lost, but it was clear to him that he had been badly injured. He could feel blood seeping out of his ass and that was never a good sign. There was pain in his chest too, a little too insistent, a little too tight. He knew his time was short. Sweat formed on his forehead and trickled into his eyes.

Fredericks slipped one hand into his jacket pocket, making sure that his movement wasn't seen. He found a blast grenade and pulled the pin free with numb fingers. He held the detonator closed to give himself time to think. He knew he wasn't going to walk out of here alive. There was nobody here to help him. He was going to die one way or another. It made him feel angry inside. He didn't have many options left. The only thing that he could do was to take these two bastards with him. It wouldn't help him, but it might help somebody else. Tears formed in his eyes, but he knew that he was going to do it. If only he could warn Nick somehow, without warning the others. All he could do was stare at him and hope he would notice.

Roy wasn't finished. 'How much does she pay you, Nick? The Security Forces' budget isn't much is it? Maybe it will increase after today's debacle, but you'll never get rich working for them.'

Nick leant forwards and shuffled onto the balls of his feet. There were no good options left. He was going to have to do something. Whatever it was, he realised that he might end up dead at the end of it. He tightened his grip on his impact pistol, then forced himself to relax. Through the doorway, something caught his eye. Fredericks had moved. A few moments ago, he had been lying on his arm, but now that same arm was outstretched. His eyes were open and there was something shiny in his hand. So Frederick's wasn't dead? How long had he been conscious? How long had he been staring like that? Fredericks nodded towards the glinting object in his hand. It was something round. As Fredericks opened his hand, Nick saw what he was holding. It was a grenade, and it had no pin in it. Oh, dear God.

'We could use a man like you, Nick. We could train you to be faster, harder and more adept. Working for the Kamari, you could -'

Nick leapt away from the door, placing the wall between himself and Fredericks. He hoped it wasn't a plasma grenade, or the wall wouldn't stop it. Nick slid behind a heavy table and closed his eyes. He held his hands over his ears.

Isor heard movement through the doorway and braced himself, ready for combat. The fool must be coming out? Roy heard it also, stepping back against the wall, he pulled a pistol from his pocket and waited in anticipation. They didn't have long to wait.

Frederick's grenade exploded, throwing chunks of masonry in all directions. Isor, standing closest, was thrown against the opposite wall. His bones shattered like glass. Roy was thrown off his feet too, but Isor had taken the worst of the shock-wave. The tall man's limbs whirled in the air as he tried to grab hold of something. His flight was cut short when he smashed into a section of metal shelving and clattered to the floor. Rubble fell around him on the ground and dust trailed down from the ceiling.

Isor let out a long, slow gasp. Blood bubbled from his lips as he tried to speak, but he made no sound. His hand shook as he reached towards his father's unmoving body but his fingers grasped nothing but a fallen rock. His eyes lost focus then closed for the final time.

Nick waited. A high pitched ringing filled his ears. When he was sure that the ringing was all he could hear, he turned his head back to the doorway and pointed his gun at the hallway beyond. The door frame was gone, replaced by a tear in the wall and a chunk of masonry hanging from the ceiling. Nick climbed to his feet and stepped across to the other side of the room. His heart was working double beat as he craned his neck to see into the hallway outside. The walls were splattered with blood and dirt. The air was thick with falling dust. Nick covered his mouth with one hand and stepped out into the debris-strewn hallway, holding his impact pistol in front of him.

His vision had almost cleared now. He could see two men lying on the ground up ahead, their bodies half buried under metal girders and chunks of rough masonry. He had no intention of waiting around to check on their health. He felt as though some miracle had given him a second chance at life, and in a way it had. Fredericks had given his life so that Nick could live again. Nick hadn't known him that well, but he would be forever thankful for what Fredericks had done for him. He hadn't expected to get out of this one. He intended to make the most of his second chance.

Nick strode past the fallen men and jogged up the hallway until he came to a thick steel door at the end. Opening it, he glanced through, then set off to put as much distance between himself and the ruined hallway as possible. He wanted to make sure that he was far away by the time anyone came to investigate.

Silent Steps

Rachel descended the stairs with the torch in front of her. She worried about using the light. What if Trent saw her coming? If she tried walking down so many steps in the dark, there was a good chance that she would fall and break her neck. Using the torch, she would at least reach the lower basement levels intact. Maybe she would turn off the light when she got closer to the bottom.

She had been walking for a while when she realised that she hadn't heard Raisson's footsteps at all. She turned and was surprised to find him right behind her. He smiled at her in a slightly unsettling way.

'I didn't hear your steps,' she said. 'I thought I had lost you.'

'No. I'm here. You said I should be quiet.'

Rachel glanced down at his shoes. They were shiny black executive's shoes, the kind that clatter along the floor as you walk, but Raisson's shoes didn't make any sound at all. 'Your shoes are very quiet,' she said.

'Soft soles,' Raisson said. 'I have problems with my arches.'

'Your what?'

'The arches of my feet hurt if I wear normal office shoes. These are custom made. A friend of my uncle made them for me. They're very comfortable.'

Rachel nodded. Something about him gave her the creeps. She turned back to the endless stairs below. The torch couldn't even shine far enough to see the next landing.

Rachel continued her descent. Her legs were beginning to ache. Her thoughts had been wandering and she couldn't remember how long it had been since Raisson had spoken. It was true that she had told him to be quiet, but his constant silence unsettled her. His shoes made no sound at all. His suit didn't even rustle. When she thought about it, she couldn't remember hearing him take a single breath. The stairs were arduous. Her own breathing wasn't as quiet as she would have liked.

'Why are you so damn quiet?' Rachel said.

She turned, and something hit her in the ribs. A sudden jolt of pain ran through her body and her teeth clamped shut. Her muscles went into spasm. Rachel found herself toppling sideways, landing heavily on the hard stone steps. Unable to use her arms to protect herself, she rolled down the stairs, tumbling over and over until she smacked her head on the landing below. The world spun before her eyes.

At the top of the stairs, Raisson stood watching her - a shadow in the darkness. He took a torch from his own pocket and turned it on. He hadn't mentioned that he had a torch before. Rachel had dropped her own torch. She could still hear it bouncing down the stairs below.

Raisson descended towards her with fluid, silent steps. His eyes sparkled, and he flashed his white teeth in a wild smile. He seemed much less friendly than before. When he stepped onto the lower landing, he reached down and pulled something from Rachel's ribs. Pain tore at her skin. He held the Taser dart in one hand and cleaned it with a white cloth before slipping the dart into his inside breast pocket.

Rachel tried to move her arms but they didn't respond. Her legs were limp too. She wondered how long it would be before the effects of the Taser dart wore off. When she spoke, her lips were slow to respond and her words sounded slurred. 'Wwwwhy?' she said.

'Oh, Rachel. You silly girl. Didn't your father tell you never to trust a stranger? Here I am standing in the dark, a man you have never met before, and yet you accept me in less than a few minutes. Such an amateur. What happened to your Security Forces training? I admit that I am attractive, very charming and extremely likeable, but really, you should know better. Why did you think I was hiding behind a wall if I was just a businessman? I was waiting for you, Rachel. I'm very disappointed.'

'You'rrre Trennnt,' Rachel said.

Raisson laughed. 'Trent? Oh I think not. He wouldn't know a good suit from a diaper.'

'Who then?'

'Save your strength. You sound like a drunk. I told you my name already, and that's all I will tell you.'

Rachel struggled to move her toes inside her boots. They wiggled at her command, but so slowly that it offered little hope. Her journey down the steps had been a painful one. Bruises stung her elbows and knees. Her head felt heavy and she could feel blood trickling from her ear. She wasn't in a very good state. She realised that she would have to play for time until she could regain more movement. She tried to relax. She couldn't afford to panic. Her lips felt heavy and numb as though she had been to the dentist. It was difficult to force the words out of her mouth, but she had to keep him talking for as long as possible.

'Wha... do ya wan?'

Raisson smiled down at her. 'What do I want? I want a new shuttle car. I want a bigger apartment. Another million credits wouldn't hurt. I'm just a regular guy, like everyone else. I'm just in a different line of business.' He chuckled at his own joke and reached into his breast pocket.

'What... busine...?'

'I'm in waste disposal.'

Rachel dragged her leg backwards a few centimetres. It was hard work, and the range of movement was very small, but it gave her some small encouragement. She lay still and watched Raisson pull a small flat case from his breast pocket. When he opened it, she saw that there were several glass tubes of white powder inside it. He lifted one of them out, and held it up in front of his torch.

'Do you know what this is Rachel? I think you'll like it a lot. Most people do.' He popped the cap from the end of the tube and leant forwards, holding it above her head. With a wink, he tipped it towards her.

Rachel tried to pull away but she could only slide a few centimetres across the floor. She had no feeling in her muscles. Her eyes watched the white powder as it tumbled along the inside of the glass tube and fell towards her face. There was only one thing she could do, so she did it. She blew as hard as she could and the powder puffed back towards Raisson, covering the front of his trousers.

Raisson stared at the white patch covering his crotch. He made a high pitched whining noise in the back of his throat. He slapped at his trousers with his free hand, and tried to scrub the powder away. Rachel braced herself, focussing all her efforts on swinging her leg towards Raisson's knee. Her leg was numb. She couldn't get any force into the kick at all, but she managed to swing her boot into the side of his knee. It caught him at an awkward angle and knocked him off balance. He fell onto his backside, landing on his own small, flat case with a crunch. The glass tubes shattered beneath him and his eyes opened wider still.

'No! No!' Raisson jumped back onto his feet, slapping the front and back of his trousers with one hand. He tried to unfasten his belt with the other. Bright white flames erupted across the palms of his hands, spreading quickly up his forearms. The skin blistered immediately, turning from peach to black, then red and white as the layers bubbled and popped under the intense heat. He cried out, slapping his ruined hands against his legs, but the flames kept spreading.

Rachel could feel the unnatural levels of heat emanating from the bright white flames that covered him. The whole landing felt suddenly warm. Even the light from the flames was bright enough to hurt her eyes. She pulled away from him, dragging herself slowly back across the floor.

Raisson's eyes stared at her with shock. His arms were now burning pink stumps. Flames erupted across his trousers and his expensive suit disintegrated into nothing more than black ash that swirled in the storm of intense heat that surrounded him. Within a few short seconds, his whole body was covered in brilliant white flames. The heat was intolerable. A thick, nasty stench filled the air. Raisson stumbled back against the edge of the stairs, bloodshot eyes blistering in the heat. He toppled backwards over the handrail, turning into a roaring fireball that disappeared into the darkness below. Thud-thud-thunk. His body slapped down on the landing several levels below.

Rachel lay alone in the darkness, tears running down her hot, stinging cheeks.

Alone Again

It was another fifteen minutes before Rachel's legs would work well enough for her to stand. She hadn't been able to erase the tormenting memories of Raisson's pink, upturned stumps and blistering eyeballs. Every time she closed her eyes, the bright white fireball filled her mind.

She had known what the white powder was as soon as she had seen it. They used similar compounds at Central Command. It was an incendiary powder, probably made from some combination of lithium, iron oxide and aluminium. Central Command had some prototype weapons that fired cartridges of incendiary powder, but they had been of limited use. The powder would only ignite under extremely high temperatures, and embedding a secondary device into the cartridge, that could generate such temperatures had so far been impractical. The cartridges worked, but they were too heavy and expensive to be used as disposable munitions.

Raisson's powder had ignited at room temperature. She didn't know how he had done that, but the reaction had been frighteningly intense. Her own face felt hot and burnt even though she had been over a metre away from him.

Raisson's torch lay on the ground a short distance away. Rachel limped across the landing and picked it up. Her legs felt like lead blocks. She found it hard to drag one foot in front of the other. She rotated her arms and tried to ignore the aches and pains that she had picked up from her fall. She took a small pouch of water from her belt and sipped it, splashing a little water over her face and bracing herself against the stinging sensation that it left behind. What had just happened had been horrible, but it was over. She had to shut it out of her mind and go on to find her father. If Trent was holding him hostage then Rachel might be his only hope. She took a little time to gather her thoughts. Her head felt as though nails had been driven into it, but her mind was full of questions.

Who was Raisson? Why had he attacked her? He had laughed when she had asked him if he was Riser Trent, but he had lied about many things. Could he have been lying about that too? She didn't know what to believe. She limped over to the stairs and looked down into the blackness below. If her father was down there, she would find him. If Trent was down there, she would kill him. If she met anyone else, she would have to assume that they were hostile, and treat them accordingly. She couldn't make the same mistake again. She walked slowly down the stairs, holding tight to the handrail until her legs felt more like limbs that were really attached to her body. It was slow and painful progress.

Incinerated

Rachel descended the endless stairs, level after level. Her legs ached and her head still felt dull from the electric shock that she had received from the Taser. There was a lump forming on her temple where she had banged her head on the landing above. She was not feeling her best.

When she reached the lower landing, the air was filled with the stench of burnt plastic and the ground was covered with a fine black ash. The only part of Raisson's body that she could see, was his lower legs, from the knee to the feet. His shiny black shoes were still intact and polished to a high sheen, but where his body should be, there was only a white stain blurred across the ground. A shudder ran down Rachel's spine. He had been incinerated. Not even the bones or teeth remained. In a way, she was relieved that she didn't have to witness the gory details of his injuries anymore.

She found his Taser a few paces away from the remains of his body. It was resting against the wall. It must have fallen out of his pocket as he had tumbled from the landing above. She picked it up and examined it in her hand. The munitions slot held five charged darts. Slipping the Taser into her pocket, she tried to push the thought of Raisson's body out of her mind. With fresh determination, she set off to find her father.

Familiar Features

Rachel descended towards the basement. She remembered happy times from her childhood when her father had brought her down to the lower levels. The two of them had played games together. She had been so small back then, no more than eight years old, and her arms had been as thin as sticks.

At first, the basement levels had been a frightening place for her. She had been constantly lost and cold. It had taken her a long time to understand the obscure design of the building. The stairs that tied all the basement levels together were counter-intuitive and difficult to comprehend. Her father had explained it all with a series of games and Rachel had enjoyed the time that they had spent together. She remembered those games now, as she placed one numb foot in front of the other, her head still aching from her fall. The stairs didn't confuse her anymore. She followed the obscure symbols on the walls and let her mind combine them, unravelling the mysteries of the building's design as she walked.

Rachel rubbed a hand through her tangled hair. She realised that Raisson's torch was growing dim. If it went out altogether she would never be able to find her father in this maze. For all she knew, Trent could already be using the satellite-grid controller to blow the city apart. Would she even hear the explosions from down here? What if he brought the whole building tumbling down on top of them? She could be buried alive. It was no good thinking about that now.

A shuffling noise made her spin to face the darkness behind her. The thin beam from her torch illuminated a few scraps of paper on the floor. A fat hairy rat was rustling amongst it. A bloody rat! Rachel cringed. Beyond the rat was something even worse. She froze, aiming her impact pistol straight ahead. There was somebody there.

'Don't move,' Rachel said, and they didn't. They were dead.

One shiny black shoe poked out from the darkness. For a moment, Rachel thought of Raisson and the remains of his body on the landing above, but she knew it couldn't be him. She had left him far behind. This had to be somebody else. Aiming her torch higher, she followed the shoe to a leg, and the leg to a body. It was a short man in a once expensive suit. He was lying in a pool of blood, and rats had gathered to drink. One of the fat furry creatures was chewing at the dead man's fingers. It had a chunk missing from its ear.

Rachel considered walking away but she realised that the steps to the lower levels lay beyond the dead man's body. She considered shooting the rats, but that would make too much noise. It would be enough noise to wake the dead, she thought, and pushed the notion away. Stepping forward, she used her heavy boots to kick at the rats, forcing them back. They weren't very much interested in fighting someone with a gun and big boots, so the fat rodents shuffled away, knowing that they could come back later when she had gone. She stepped around the body. His face was ruined by gunshots. A black hole lay where his nose should have been and most of his teeth were missing. She tensed and shone her torch directly at the man's smashed face. It was a gruesome mess but there was something familiar about it. Beneath the blood and injuries, she thought she recognised the man. His overall shape and appearance tugged at her memories. A bad feeling rose up inside her. She dipped the torch to his left hand. The ring on his index finger bore a golden symbol of a panther. She didn't need to read the inscription. She knew the words by heart.

My beloved husband, confidant and soul mate. May you always find peace and happiness, acceptance and love.

Her mother had a matching ring, a golden swan with a similar inscription. Rachel stared down at the body of her father. A shiver ran up her spine. Moments passed in silence as she clung to her anger and let her hands hang useless by her sides. She knew now why her father hadn't answered any of her calls. Tightness gripped her chest as tears welled in her eyes.

Dangerous Times

Time passed. Rachel stood alone beside her father's body. She couldn't imagine how she was going to tell Lisa. A tightness in her chest reminded her that she had limits too. She wasn't invincible. She felt pain just like everyone else, and one day she would die to.

She hadn't spoken to her father for several days. It hadn't seemed important at the time, but now she suddenly realised that she would never be able to speak to him again. She wasn't ready for that. There were so many things that she had left unsaid. Rachel held her face in her hands and let the tears flow. Her hands shook as she cried, but the tightness in her chest slowly receded. What was she going to do? Up until now she had been so certain of everything, but now her father was dead, and she felt nothing inside. She wondered if she would ever feel alive again.

Lisa would be waiting for her with Annie at her father's house. Rachel was all that Lisa had now. Life was cruel sometimes. It had already taken away Lisa's grandmother, and now her grandfather too. Lisa's father seldom spent time with her. Rachel didn't want Lisa to suffer because of the mistakes that she had made. She reminded herself that she was still Rachel Henson. She was her father's daughter, and her father wouldn't want her to fall apart when her daughter needed her. Ario Neech wasn't a quitter. She just wished that she could ever be as strong as him.

Rachel shuddered. She brushed a hand through her hair. She had been crying for too long already. She had to find a way to go on. She glanced down at her father's body once last time. She was shocked by the extent of his injuries. It looked as though he had been shot in the face at close range. Why was he here, of all places? Had he been down here when all this had begun? Had he just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Thompson had told Rachel that Trent had taken her father hostage. Now her father was dead. If only she had found him sooner, perhaps he would still be alive. She looked to the ceiling for answers but found only darkness. Why had Trent killed him? For a few lousy credits? Was that all life was worth to him? Rachel felt anger bubbling up inside herself. She had to stop Riser Trent from causing any more hurt and pain. She had to finish what she had begun.

With an effort that had to be pulled all the way up from her boots, she stepped around her father's body and headed for the stairs. She would grieve when she had time. There was already a hole in her heart where he used to be but she had to go on for just a little longer. She had to finish this, one way or another. She hoped she would be able to hold herself together long enough. For now, she would gather her feelings in a tight ball and bury them deep inside herself. The pain still burnt inside her, and her eyes stung with the effort of holding back the tears, but she forced herself to take one slow step after another. Rachel raised her head and forced her shoulders back. She set off in search of Riser Trent.

It wasn't long before she saw the sign.

RESEARCH LEVELS

She remembered her father telling her that it had taken longer to excavate the lower levels than it had taken to build the skyscraper above. There were so many corridors and staircases. Rachel had no idea whether she was even in the same building anymore. She half expected to open a door and find herself standing in a muddy field several kilometres away. She opened the door. There were no fields, only blackness. There was no warmth, only damp and cold. She placed one foot in front of the other, descending step after step, as numbness filled her mind. She was beginning to think that she might be lost.

She was about to give up hope when she noticed a dim light in the darkness below. Peering over the rusty banister, she could see that there really was a bottom to the staircase after all. The stairs ended with a wide stone landing. There were no more staircases below. A dim light shone from an adjacent doorway. It could be any door. It could be any place, but somehow Rachel knew that she had found Riser Trent. She had never been more certain of anything else in her life. Who else would be this far underground in a cold, dark basement? Who else would have light without power? No wonder Trent had no fear of launching a satellite strike on Cinnamon City. This deep underground, he probably wouldn't even notice if he hit the Mekinet News building - until he tried to get out. She wondered how often Trent left the building. Maybe he never left the basement at all? The stairs didn't look well used.

Rachel tucked her failing torch into her jacket pocket. She used the dim light from below to make her way down the last stone steps in silence. This far below ground, the steps were damp and the footing was treacherous. She took slow careful steps and allowed her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness around her. Soon she found herself at the bottom of the stairs. A tremor of fear ran down her spine. She pushed it back down. Trent had killed her father. She knew what she had to do.

The door was ajar. Rachel stepped a little closer and took a look inside. Through the opening, she could see a long corridor beyond. At the end of the corridor there were two more doors, both well lit. Rachel wondered where the power was coming from. She raised her impact pistol and slipped through the first door, making her way along the corridor in silence. After a dew steps, she paused, imagining shadows in the room beyond. Nobody came out. Nobody spoke. She moved again, using her stealth to reach the intersection between the doors without making a sound. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. A dryness clung to her throat and wouldn't go away.

The first room was filled with piles of equipment and machinery. Rachel noticed that a generator had been hooked into the basement power grid. Pieces of insulation tape and packaging were littered across the floor as though the generator had been unpacked recently. Now she knew how Trent had power, but where had he got the generator from?

The second room had a long table against one wall. There were schematics pinned to the walls and a water dispenser next to an old wooden desk. Several water containers had been stacked in the corner of the room. She moved slowly towards the doorway. She could see a man sitting in a leather chair. He was facing away from her. A cardboard sign hung on the back of his chair with the word, 'Director' written on it in thick black lettering. He was wearing some kind of hat. She saw that it was plugged into a machine on his desk. Various consoles on the desk displayed endless streams of information.

Rachel took her first look at Riser Trent. He was fat. His thinning greasy hair poked out from under the cap in uneven tufts. He smelt of old sweat and rank food. His shirt looked as though he had been wearing it for days or weeks. The floor was littered with bits of food and drinking cups. The whole room was a stinking mess. At odds with the rank decay, was the sparkling new equipment that covered the surface of his desk. Rachel recognised his wrist controller as one of the latest and most expensive controllers available. That kind of equipment came at a high price, and scum like Riser Trent didn't get credits like that through honest, hard work. She'd seen all that she needed to see. This was the man who had killed her father. He had killed Edwards, Pierson, Roderick and Mendez. He'd killed Grayson, Hector and Bowlin. Havers Compound was littered with the bodies of people who would still be alive if it wasn't for Riser Trent. How could she forgive so many crimes? Rachel pointed her impact pistol at the back of Trent's head. She cast all doubts from her mind. This wasn't murder. It was justice, and it was far more humane than the treatment that her own father had received.

Rachel cried out. Cold metal slid into her back. All strength left her legs, and she found herself sliding down towards the floor, white agony slicing up her spine. Thick-muscled arms encircled her neck as she crumpled onto the floor with her own hot blood pouring down the back of her legs. Her mind unravelled as she fell into dark dreams of cold stone and hot, wet blood.

The Cold

Rachel's eyes faded in and out of consciousness. She was losing too much blood. Weakness was seeping into her. She reached back and tried to plug the wound with her fist, but she couldn't coordinate her arms anymore. Her numb hand missed the wound again and again. The thick arm around her neck tightened and the knife was thrust further inside her. The piercing blade crunched against something hard inside her. She tried to cry out but found that all words escaped her. Dribble fell from the corner of her open mouth. Her voice had deserted her, just as her strength had. She knew that she had nothing left to give. She tried to force her mind into a calm place, searching for an inner strength that had come to her so many times before, but she found nothing. There was nothing inside her but emptiness. With a sense of hopelessness, she sank to the ground and hit her face against the concrete floor.

The ground felt cold against her skin. It was so cold that she wanted to beg for warmth. Nobody could help her now. The heat left her, and Rachel lay still, eyes glazed and lost.

Damen pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the blade of his knife. Its serrated edge had proved useful once again. Riser was still in his own world, with his wrist twitching, his jelly fish hat filling his mind with visions of far away places. He wouldn't even have known if the woman had killed him. Damen would have known though, and he couldn't allow it to happen. Riser was his brother, and nobody was going to harm him while Damen was around. The woman was a member of the Security Forces. Obviously she hadn't got the message about pulling out of the building. Well, she had got the message now all right.

Damen leant down and grabbed the impact pistol from her open hand. It was lighter than he had expected. Walking across to his brother, he lay the pistol down on the side of the desk. He considered telling Riser what had just happened, but he didn't want to make his brother angry again. Riser didn't like being interrupted when he was busy, and this kind of news he wouldn't like at all. Damen knew that his brother would be angry with him for killing the woman, but what else could he have done? There was no need to tell him yet, anyway. The woman was going nowhere.

Damen walked out of the small basement and went to check the lower levels to make sure she had been alone. He hadn't seen anybody else on the security cameras, but a lot of them weren't working with the power out. If she could find her way down to the research levels, maybe someone else could too.

One Step Ahead

Nick ran down a long corridor, through double doors, and found himself in some kind of meeting room. One end of the room was home to a black plastic table. Three chairs had been placed in a row on each side. The table was laid out with pens and paper, and even a small selection of biscuits. A vase of flowers sat in the middle of the table, filling the room with the sweet scent of summer blooms. Nick slowed his pace and stared at the room with disbelief. Shaking his head, he stepped out through a side door.

The next room was a bright relaxation area. Soft white seats sat in a horseshoe arrangement in the centre of the room and an ornate coffee table almost filled the space between them. Drinking fountains lined the back wall. Both rooms seemed strangely out of place compared to the rubble-strewn corridors nearby. Nick wondered again just where the portal had taken him.

A beautiful woman sat on an L-shaped sofa, drinking coffee from a clear glass cup. Her long black hair hung in swirls about her shoulders. She raised an eyebrow as Nick ran past. He nodded towards her in greeting, and started to make some excuse for his presence, but then decided to say nothing instead. He was already halfway out of the room, and nothing he could say would make his actions any less suspicious. He was wearing combat gear and covered in masonry dust so anything he said would lack credibility anyway.

Nick ventured out into the next hallway, where stone walls gave way to metal alloys. The ceiling was covered in snaking cables and ventilation conduits. Stepping over a pile of wooden boxes, he quickened his pace. He expected to run into Kamari soldiers at any moment, but wherever they had gone, they didn't appear to be here. He wondered whether the portals had all been linked to different locations. It made sense in a way. That many people couldn't all arrive in the same place at once. Nick allowed himself to slow to a trot and catch his breath. The long day was catching up with him. He leant against the wall and gathered his thoughts until his breathing slowed. He switched on his comms unit and tried to contact Rachel. There was a tightness in his chest every time he thought about her. Was she okay? Where was she now? The comms unit hung for several seconds, then flashed up a status message.

'OUT OF RANGE.'

Nick scratched his head and tried again, but with no luck. He tried Central Command again but got the same response. Either he was beyond 2,000 km from Havers Compound, or the building had some serious jamming equipment. Either way, his comms unit was useless to him. Nick didn't know where he was and he didn't know how to get back, even if he wanted to. He realised, with dismay, that he may never speak to Rachel again. The thought stung him more than he thought possible. He rubbed one hand through his hair with a trembling hand, and looked down at the floor. Somewhere in the distance, he could smell something burning. It reminded him of the times that he had sat with the men, back at Beacon Station. They had smoked cigarettes and exchanged stories about previous operations. There had been a camaraderie between them back then. They had all been new to the station and trying to impress each other, but it hadn't lasted for long.

Within weeks, things had started to go wrong. Major Mullork had been killed while out on patrol. All the soldiers had liked him. He had made jokes, and handed out cigarettes, even when he didn't have many left for himself. His contagious smile had been sadly missed. It had been a blunt reminder that they weren't here to play games and make friends. Many others had died since Mullork. Each casualty had left the crew of Beacon Station more desolate than before. Nick squeezed the grip of his impact pistol. Sometimes in life a man could make his own decisions. Sometimes the dice had already been rolled. If this was to be his final act, then he had to do what he had promised Rachel. He had to find the satellite-grid controller and destroy it. At least then Cinnamon City would be safe from Trent and the Kamari. Nobody would be able to use if he destroyed it. Rachel and Lisa would be safe too. That was all that mattered.

A blinking red light caught Nick's eye. He looked up and saw a security camera pointing straight towards him. So much for stealth. The Kamari soldiers would definitely know where he was now. Nick broke into a trot. If he was going to find the controller, he had better do it soon.

He scanned the rows of doors that lined the corridor. Each room was stranger than the last. The first door led to a sparse bedroom. An old man sat on a bed. He was bare chested and his body was covered in sagging folds of skin. A plastic face mask covered his nose and mouth, and a clear plastic tube connected the mask to a ventilator. The old man watched Nick run past with empty eyes. Nick wondered who he was and how long he had been there.

The next room had a bed in it also. This one was unoccupied. A dome-shaped droid was making a whirring noise under the bed. It looked as though it was trying to hump the floor tiles. Nick blinked and ran on. Most of the rooms on this floor either had metal beds in them, or they were stacked high with equipment. Nick wondered if the Kamari were doing some kind of medical research. There were patients, and there were machines, but there weren't any doctors.

He shoved his way through a pair of wide double doors and took the nearest staircase. He was getting out of breath. He headed up, rather than down, though he couldn't say why. He had to trust his instincts sometimes. They were all he had to go on. The stairs doubled back and stopped just before a large metal security door. A numeric keypad and security card clearance system were built into the frame of the door. Nick cursed. So much, for his fucking instincts. He was about to turn back, when he heard voices below. They were a several levels down but they were getting closer. There was nowhere else he could go. He was trapped. He pushed the door but it was locked. Another security camera stood in the corner of the stairwell, red light blinking down at him. There was no time for subtlety. Raising his impact pistol, Nick fired directly at the security panel. It shattered and flashed as the circuits shorted out. Nick fired again and banged the butt of his pistol on the keypad repeatedly. He kicked the door with his boot. Just when he was about to give up, he heard something click, and the door swung open.

In the room beyond, a single Kamari soldier leapt up from his chair and reached for an assault rifle that stood against the wall. Nick fired once, hitting the soldier in the head. He staggered sideways and collapsed behind a small table. Nick peered around the table, holding his impact pistol out in front of him, but the soldier was already dead. Besides the table, the room was empty. The only other door was marked, 'Research'. Nick took a deep breath, checked his pistol, then opened the door and strode into an immense underground hangar.

In the centre of the wide open space, a Walker towered before him. It was just like the one that had attacked him in Walstone Forest, only this one stood motionless, with gantries erected around it so that technicians could work on it. A series of smaller machines crawled across its huge legs, attaching armour plating. Thick cables hung down from the hangar's high ceiling, attached to the Walker's head. The whole building was full of men in white lab coats. Some wore black protective gloves and face masks. Nick stared in disbelief.

Besides the walker, there were also many other strange droids. Each one stood in its own marked out area. The droids were attended to by groups of technicians. The room was full of the sounds of welder droids and diagnostic equipment. The smell of burning was stronger here. It was the welder droids, melting metal alloys with high voltage integrators. They crawled across the Walker's legs, attaching multiple layers of armour, as they climbed towards its low hanging body.

A shuttle whizzed past Nick, pulling a long trail of segmented cargo pods. It wriggled passed him like a demented centipede. Nick stood and watched. The hangar was huge. The roof of the hangar was so high that it was barely visible. He wondered again just how far the portal had taken him. Was he in some kind of underground cavern?

A series of small rooms with high glass walls ran along the right side of the hangar. Most of them looked like laboratories or storage rooms, packed with equipment and supplies. There were no soldiers in the hangar. The technicians seemed to be caught up in their own work. Nobody had noticed Nick so far, even though he stood in plain view. He knew his time must be limited. It was clear that the Kamari weren't expecting a commander of Central Command to gain entry to the hangar, but the technicians would notice him soon if he didn't keep moving.

As quick as he could, and without drawing too much attention to himself, Nick ran along the edge of the hangar, glancing into each room in turn. He was hoping that he might find the satellite-grid controller, or at least some clues as to where it might be. None of the rooms offered him much hope. Most contained piles of equipment. Several had consoles showing images of other hangars. Nick had no idea where they were. He was surprised that the Kamari had so many resources at their disposal. Maybe they were capable of far more than he had given them credit for.

Some of the technicians glanced at Nick as he ran by. He could see the concern in their eyes. He knew that he must be running out of time. Before long, they would realise he wasn't meant to be here.

Halfway along the glass wall, his search was interrupted by the chime of a lift opening. Huge metal doors slid open, revealing a cargo bay that was large enough for a Walker. Inside, the lift was empty except for two technicians struggling with a long metal cylinder. It was the satellite-grid controller. They held the cylinder at each end as they carried it out of the lift, grunting with exertion. Their faces were red and flustered.

Nick took his chance. He sprinted towards the technicians and used his remaining two shots. The first hit the younger technician in the chest. A wide red circle spread across his lab coat as he flew backwards and landed on the floor. His mouth hung open in surprise and his end of the cylinder hit the ground with a loud clang. The second shot just missed the older technician's head. He stared at Nick as though he had gone mad. Nick continued his headlong sprint and struck the old man across the face with the butt of his impact pistol. The technician crumpled unconscious, with the satellite-grid controller in his lap. With no ammunition left, and very little time, Nick searched the lift for anything that he could use to help him destroy the controller. There was nothing! Nothing! All that he could see was a fucking fire extinguisher hanging on the wall.

Out of Options

A group of Kamari soldiers appeared at the other end of the hangar. They ran straight towards Nick with their weapons held high and purpose in their stride. Nick darted behind the inner wall of the lift for cover. He ripped the fire extinguisher from the wall and lifted it high over his head before slamming it down on the satellite-grid controller. The heavy extinguisher crushed the machine's keypad and display panel but the damage was only superficial. Numeric readouts still flowed along the edge of the cylinder. Nick raised the extinguisher and brought it down again. Over and over, he slammed it into the controller with as much force as he could muster. He didn't stop until clear liquid seeped out from its underside.

Nick panted with exertion. He paused to examined the controller. The core control unit still looked as though it was working. He cursed his luck. Damn the Security Forces for making the controller so robust. Why couldn't the controller be as poorly made as the rest of Nick's equipment? Damn them all! He had to do something. He had to make sure that nobody could use the controller against the people of Cinnamon City. But what could he do? He was out of options.

A feeling of panic rose up inside him but he pushed it back down again. The soldiers would catch up with him soon. He remembered all the men who had died outside Havers Compound. He remembered Fredericks staring back at him, holding a plasma grenade in his hand. He remembered Rachel shouting at him, telling him that she had to go, and the look of anger in her eyes the last time that he had seen her. He wanted to make it all better. He wanted to tear up every last mistake that he had ever made. Maybe it was time to be the hero that Lisa had always mistaken him for. He had never been a hero. He knew that now. He had always been afraid of something. Nick took one look at the advancing soldiers. They would be on him in moments. There was no more time. He knew what he had to do.

Nick pulled the plasma grenade from his pocket and slapped it down on top of the controller. It stuck to the metal casing and a small red light flashed as it emitted a rapid sequence of beeps. Nick leapt out of the lift and scrambled on his hands and feet, trying to get as far away as possible. He threw himself across the floor as the adrenaline pumped through his veins.

The soldiers slowed their approach, looking between Nick and the open lift with confusion painted across their faces. Their leader shouted, 'Get down.'

A bright flash illuminated the hangar. The ground shook and bits of mangled equipment flew across the floor. Nick bounced off the ground on one elbow and slid along on his back. He grunted in pain as a deafening roar tore through what was left of his mind. Pieces of metal crashed down around him and a support tower collapsed and shattered nearby. Dust clouds billowed out of the lift, rising up towards the ceiling. Shouts came from all sides as technicians turned and ran.

Nick lay on his back, panting loudly. He waited for the hail of bullets that must surely come. He had no ammunition left. He had no more grenades. No help was on its way. He had played his final hand and there was nothing more that he could do. It was a relief, in a way. The great Nick Chambers was finally out of options. But what he had done, he would not take back. The satellite-grid controller was destroyed. Cinnamon City was safe. Nick smiled and waited for his own inevitable death.

Lucky Fools

Jacob couldn't believe what had happened to Roy and Isor. He had taken charge of the situation as soon as he had found out about it. Arrays of security cameras monitored the whole base. They had reported Chamber's position every few minutes, but by the time soldiers had been mobilised to intercept him, he had moved again. It was infuriating. Jacob had been tracking his position fro twenty minutes. Now he knew exactly where Chambers was. He just wished that it could have been anywhere else.

Jacob burst through the double doors and sprinted into the main research hangar. Twenty soldiers followed behind him. The group loaded weapons as they ran, some still pulling on combat jackets and switching on comms units. This was one place that they hadn't been expecting an attack. It was a mistake which had already cost them dearly. Jacob gritted his teeth and ran, blood pumping through his veins as he covered the ground with long powerful strides.

The hangar was so large that it took him two whole minutes just to cross the open floor. By the time he reached the equipment lift, Chambers had already gone berserk and shot two of the technicians. Jacob panted as sweat ran down his back. He shouted at Chambers in outrage when he saw him smashing the satellite-grid controller with a fire extinguisher. What the hell was wrong with him? He was the stupidest commander that Jacob had ever encountered. What did he hope to achieve by doing that? He was nothing more than a fool leaving a trail of unnecessary destruction behind him.

Jacob ground his teeth. He was still too far away to stop him. All he could do was run. Chambers leapt out of the lift. He looked desperate to get away from it. Jacob slid to a halt, fearing the worst. He signalled the others to stay back, but they were already passing him. What had Chambers done now? Endless possibilities raced through his mind.

'Get down', Jacob shouted.

Immediately, he found himself thrown off his feet. He held his arms in front of his face to deflect a blast of hot and then bounced across the ground on his back. One of his squad hit the ground nearby, his head hitting the stone floor with an audible crack. Blood poured from his ears. Jacob rolled onto his front. His ears were filled with a hissing noise that wouldn't stop. He had been lucky this time. His personal force shield had been able to deflect the worst of the blast. It was a miracle that he had remembered to turn it on as he ran. Other than a few scuffs and bruises he was in good shape compared to those around him.

Half of his squad climbed to their feet and picked up their weapons. The others lay scattered about the floor, dead. Jacob cursed. He knew that he should have been more careful. Even fools got lucky sometimes. Who was this bloody Chambers? And why was he here? Whoever he was, he had already killed Isor and injured Roy. Jacob intended to pay him back in full.

Jacob climbed to his feet and shook his head. The hissing noise reduced but it didn't stop. He could see that the satellite-grid controller had been reduced to little more than a jigsaw of smashed mettle fragments. It was scattered all across the floor. Roy was going to be furious.

Chambers was lying on the ground some distance away. Jacob hoped he was dead, but even as the thought sprang up in his mind Chambers turned over and slowly staggered to his feet. Jacob was livid. He ran towards Chambers, letting out a roar of fury. As soon as he was within range, he swung a mighty kick towards Chamber's head.

Nick ached in every possible way. He was exhausted and finding it hard to breathe. There were Kamari soldiers lying dead all around him. Others were climbing back to their feet. One of them looked particularly furious. His eyes raged. He came running towards Nick and threw a kick high in the air. Nick darted backwards narrowly avoiding the blow. He jerked himself upright and prepared to fight. The soldier just laughed, his eyes shining with malice. He approached again with a feral grin, and his fists came flying, swift and accurate.

Nick tried to block with his arms, but he was too exhausted to fight back. He managed a couple of glancing blows of his own, but the wild eyed man didn't even notice. Nick found his combat training useless because he just didn't have the strength or energy left to execute it. All he could do was block. His arms already stung from the repeated blows. His ribs ached with the punches that he had failed to block.

The other soldiers gathered around in a circle. They laughed and stamped their feet in rhythm as they watched the fight. Nick had no time to look at them. He was just hoping they weren't going to join in. The Kamari soldiers cheered and thrust their hands in the air as their leader took Nick apart, piece by piece, just as Nick had done to the satellite-grid controller.

It was not looking good. Nick got in a quick strike, pushing his opponent back, but then he noticed blood on his arms and his thoughts became hazy. His opponent was back already. Nick punched and kicked, but most of his blows were easily deflected. They lacked power because he was so exhausted. He was too slow. He knew that. At his best he could fight a lot better than this, but he was far from his best right now. He just needed a minute or two to regroup his thoughts and catch his breath. His opponent gave him no time at all.

Nick tried to dodge yet another blow but he caught it between his swollen eyes. He wasn't sure how long he had been fighting; he wasn't even sure if he was still fighting at all. Maybe he was already dead. His head jerked from side to side until he felt it might snap off. He found it difficult to breathe, and he realised that blood was streaming from his nose and mouth. Nick stumbled. He had to spread his feet wide to avoid falling. His legs waved like long grass in a high wind. The soldier slammed a vicious heel down on the side of Nick's exposed knee, smashing the joint inwards. Nick cried out, collapsing in a bloody heap. He heard something clatter on the floor and turned to see what it was. A short distance away, beyond a spreading pool of blood, a carved wooden flower lay on the ground. Nick reached his shaking fingers towards it. The agony of his shattered knee raged through his mind. He knew that if he wasn't already half-unconscious, the pain would have be tenfold.

He had to give Lisa her flower. It would soon be her birthday. He dragged himself across the ground towards it, his eyes almost swollen shut. He just had to reach a little bit further. A boot stamped down on the flower, crushing its delicate petals. Nick stared at the broken carving as a fire burned inside him.

'Hey, Chambers,' the soldier said.

Nick lifted his head and saw the muzzle of an impact pistol pointing towards him.

'Say goodbye, Chambers.'

The pistol fired. Nick's chest imploded. Waves of agony poured through him. It was too much for his battered mind. He slumped back onto the floor, a curtain of darkness falling over him.

Desperate Acts

Cold seeped into Rachel's bones. Her head ached and a distant feeling of urgency tugged at her thoughts. All was lost. She had failed. She could feel her blood spilling out across the cold basement floor. There was too much blood. She couldn't have that much blood inside her. A numbness clung to her thoughts until she couldn't tell whether she was alive or dead. The pain was coming back again. It had gone away for a while, but now it had returned with such intensity that it made her want to cry out. She had to be silent. She couldn't remember why.

She realised after a time, that she was conscious again. Her heart was filled with sadness. She knew that she would soon bleed to death if nobody helped her, and there was nobody here that would help. The cold wet basement would be her final tomb. Something pulled at her thoughts. Memories started tumbling into place. She was lying on the floor in the research labs of the Mekinet News building. She had come to kill Riser Trent, but instead, somebody had killed her. But the pain hadn't stopped. Shouldn't the pain have stopped if she was already dead?

A form of clarity returned. The humming sound was a generator. The orange glow was the inside of her own eyelids, semi-transparent in the room's bright lights. She risked opening one eye, squinting into the light. Agony filled her ruined back. She had to bite down on her lip to remain silent as the tears fell.

Riser still sat in his chair, facing away from her. Another man now stood beside him tapping at a projected keypad on the desk. His blue overalls stretched over broad shoulders and tree-trunk legs. When he turned sideways she saw that the front of his overalls were heavily stained with blood. He was the man that had stabbed her. She was sure of it. His strength had been incredible, lifting her off the ground with one arm, while cutting her open with the other. She wondered which man was which. Maybe he was Riser Trent and the other man was someone else? Rachel realised how naive she had been to assume that Riser would be alone and unprotected. She hadn't had time to think it through. She had been rushing to save her father, and when she had found him dead on the levels above, her mind had gone to pieces. She had stumbled onwards, thinking that she could go on as before. Her common sense and combat training had deserted her when she had needed it most.

With dismay, she noticed that her impact pistol was now on the desk. It might as well be at the bottom of a well. There was no way she could drag her broken body to reach it, and no way that she could get past the two men in front of her. She had failed. Any moment now, the big man in the overalls would turn and see her looking at him. There was nothing she could do about it. She could barely move at all. With an enormous effort, she managed to slip one hand into the inside pocket of her jacket. Fresh agony exploded in her back each time she moved her arm. She clenched her mouth shut and ignored the sweat that trickled down her forehead and into her eyes. She took long, slow breaths and waited before trying to move again.

Her body was getting colder and yet sweat still formed on her forehead. Rachel tried not to think about how horrific her injuries might be. She didn't want to think about whether she was going to die but the thought was never far from her mind. Each time the thought returned, she batted it away and told herself to be strong. Lisa still needed her. The pain subsided. Rachel tried to move again.

The man in the overalls turned, glancing back over his shoulder. He must have heard her! His casual glance became one of alarm when he saw that she wasn't dead. His eyes were like black beads in a square, expressionless face. Muscles rippled in his neck as he spun around to face her. He slapped one hand on Riser's shoulder, causing him to jerk his head backwards as though punched. Riser let out an unnerving, tormented howl. Rachel felt sick just listening to it. He seemed to be in some incredible pain of his own, but Rachel had no time to worry about him. He deserved all the pain that he was got.

Rachel focussed her mind, trying to replicate what she had done to Gail Thompson in her office, but she didn't know what she had done, and she didn't know how to force it to happen again. She struggled within herself, searching for answers that weren't there. There was no time. Frantically, she tugged at her inside pocket and grabbed the first thing that she could find. It was the small Taser that Raisson had used against her. It was only small, but she knew just how effective it could be from first-hand experience. Her shaking hands found it hard to even lift the device, never mind aim it, but somehow she managed to point and fire. The big man flung himself to one side and whipped out a long hunting knife. Rachel's eyes clung to its serrated edge in panic. Was that the knife that had been thrust inside her? She almost passed out with fear. It was eight inches long and the blade was thick with sharp serrations leading up to a vicious barbed point. Blood still stained the tip of the otherwise shiny blade.

'What the fuck are you doing?' Riser pulled the cap from his head and slapped it down on the desk. He stared at the other man with eyes wide. His face was white and clammy, and his lips were shaking. Rachel couldn't tell whether he was just angry or having some kind of fit.

'We have company,' The man in the overalls said.

He took a step towards Rachel but she fired again, and this time his dodge was too late. She was aiming at his chest but her hands shook and the small double-tipped dart hit him in the eye. It released a massive surge of electricity through his head, causing him to shudder and rock back on his heels. Steam rose from his bubbling bloody eye socket and his mouth gaped open with his tongue thrashing from side to side. Finally, his knees gave way, tipping him sideways onto the hard stone floor. His head slapped the ground as he landed. He struggled at first, as though he might get up again, but then he collapsed and lay still.

Rachel turned away, squeezing tears from her eyes. She could hear Riser typing frantically on his keypad. When she turned to face him, his eyes were wide, but he made no attempt to attack her. She wondered what was wrong with him? He had been connected to that expensive-looking equipment on his desk, but now he turned to face her with fear in his eyes. This had to be Riser Trent, the monster who had killed her father and threatened to launch a satellite strike on Cinnamon City. This was the man who had killed Edwards and so many others. He had caused uncountable deaths outside Havers Compound. She had to put an end to this while she still could.

Rachel fired the Taser straight at Riser's head. Her arms were still shaking. The Taser slipped just as she pulled the trigger. The dart grazed his shoulder and ricocheted into a small black box on his desk. A bright flash flooded the room and smoke plumed up towards the ceiling. All Riser's consoles went blank.

Riser shook in his chair. He screamed at Rachel, wild words tangled together until she couldn't tell what he was saying. He sat side-on to her, struggling with his chair. He reached for the impact pistol that sat on the edge of his desk and aimed it towards her.

Rachel had no choice. She fired again. The Taser dart struck him in his outstretched arm. Riser cried out, dropping the pistol onto the floor. It bounced across the ground and landed between them. His thick jacket seemed to save him from the worst of the jolt. For a time, he shuddered and rocked his back against the chair, knocking it free of his desk. He slapped at his arm with his free hand and the dart fell onto the floor. Rachel noticed that his jacket had caught fire. Thin flames licked up the side of his arm and smoke rose up towards the ceiling. Riser looked like he was beginning to regain control of his body. He turned to face her, but he didn't get up. Rachel wondered why he still hadn't attacked her. He was so enraged that it took him a while to notice that his arm was on fire. His jacket's thick insulation must have kept the initial heat from his skin. Rachel dragged herself across the floor, sliding through her own thick blood to increase the distance between them. He made no attempt to follow her. Instead, he beat at the flames on his arm with little effect.

'What have you done to me, you bitch?' He screamed. The flames had now caught hold of the front of his jacket too. He struggled to take it off but he couldn't seem to get out of his chair. Rachel wondered why he didn't just get up and take his jacket off? She wondered why he didn't pick up the impact pistol and shoot her? He didn't look as though he was going to do either of those things. With a horrible shock, she suddenly realised why. His upper body was strong and muscular like the other man's, but his legs... His legs were emaciated sticks, crippled beyond all use. She hadn't seen his legs until his chair had turned to face her, but now she could see that there was no way that he had ever been able to walk.

Rachel stared at him with the terrible realisation of what she had done. His jacket was engulfed in flames. His neck and face were blistering and starting to burn, but he couldn't stand up and run away. He had never been able to. His screams pierced her more than the knife. Rachel grasped at the floor with her bruised fingers and dragged herself towards the door. She wanted to cover her ears and close her eyes - to get away from what she had done - but she couldn't. Tears welled in her eyes. She knew she had to get out of there if she was going to stand any chance of surviving.

The room was already filling with dense black smoke. Riser's jacket was enveloped in flames. His screams grew ever more frantic. She could hear his chair scraping along the ground as he tried to follow her, his useless legs struggling to drag his own body weight. She closed her mind to the horrors that surrounded her and dragged herself along the floor until she was outside in the corridor. Using her last remaining energy she pushed the door shut behind her and pressed her ruined back against it. Her back hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the anguish that ravaged her broken mind. Riser's screams went on and on without end.

Rachel held her hands over her ears and let the tears spill down her cheeks. 'Stop it!' she cried, 'Stop it! Stop it! For God's sake, stop it!'

Eventually he did stop, but not before she felt him banging on the door behind her. His helpless attempts to push the door open while she leant against it left her distraught and ashamed.

Encrypted Line

Gail Thompson sat alone in her office. She had moved back into her main office in the White Spear, the command hub of Central Command. As the tallest tower, it offered panoramic views over the city. She could see the top of Tower Four a hundred metres below. She was glad to be out of it. Her poky hideout in Tower Four no longer served its purpose. She had moved there to be away from people, and it had worked for a time, but word had quickly spread. For the last two days it had been swarming with administrators, public relations managers, and every fool with a question on their lips. They wouldn't find her now. Sometimes the best place to hide was exactly where you were supposed to be. Nobody would look for her in her own official office. They knew that she was never there. She enjoyed turning logic on its head.

Gail turned her chair to face South over Cinnamon City. She watched the sun creeping high over the rooftops. From her high vantage point, she could see office buildings, multicoloured box cabins, and industrial domes stretching into the distance. She could just make out the windows of the Mekinet News building a long way to the South. The city was waking up to a brand new day. She wished that she could find the optimism to welcome it.

Power had been restored and some semblance of normality had returned. It had taken a couple of days for the Security Forces to clear up the mess in the Mekinet News building. They had removed all of Ario Neech's papers, and cleaned up the destruction in the lobby. They had also inspected many of the lower floors. The basement had been sealed off to allow for a longer, and more detailed investigation.

Major Rachel Henson had survived, unfortunately. She had been taken to a medical centre before Gail had been able to finish her without anyone noticing. The medics said she was stable but they weren't sure if or when she would regain consciousness. Gail was still deciding what to do with her if she ever woke up. Raisson had not been answering her calls. She didn't know where he was, and for now, she didn't care.

The Mekinet News building was still causing her problems. The lower research levels would remain closed, pending further investigation. It wasn't clear what equipment Riser Trent might have installed in the basement area. The commanders had so far refused to enter the basement until it had been declared safe by droids.

It was only now that all the reports were coming in from Havers Compound. Over two thousand Security Forces had been killed. Five hundred Kamari soldiers had been confirmed dead, but millions of credits of military hardware had been destroyed in the process. There was still no sign of the satellite-grid controller. Commander Nick Chambers was missing. The news networks were having a field day. The reports of Ario Neech's unfortunate abduction and murder at the hands of terrorists was just starting to surface. Some of the news feeds were beginning to raise questions about why he was taken hostage by a member of his own staff. Others were complaining about the lack of witnesses and suggested their own alternative theories about what had really happened to him. So far, nobody had come close to the truth.

Gail leaned back in her chair. She tried her best to enjoy the view. This was going to be a bastard to report to her superiors. There was bound to be an enquiry. There always was. The Council of Lords would send investigators. She had heard bad things about those investigators. They would grill her for hours. They would go through every terabyte of log files and communications dumps. There would be no place to hide. She wondered why she should even bother to stay around and answer all of their questions.

Turning to face her wide black desk, she entered a security code and lifted up an embedded console. She entered further codes and slid back a retractable cover to insert a small blue memory cube from her breast pocket. The console blinked, green lines of text scrolling across it, and then the parasite program began.

The program multiplied, replicating itself over and over so that it could travel throughout all the security systems at once. Warning lights flickered on Gail's desk, then blinked out one-by-one as the parasite program cancelled them. The program could do things that even she, with her top level security clearance, could not do. It used dubious means to bypass all security levels, trailing through file systems and networks to search for the information she needed - the information that the enquiry could not be allowed to find.

Her comms unit vibrated as she watched the complex diagrams displaying the search's progress. He was on time as usual. Gail used a triple encrypted channel before opening a connection.

'I trust you slept well,' Roy said. His voice was deep and calm.

'I think you know I did not.'

'Well, I'm sorry to hear that.'

'I cannot guarantee this line for long, so get to the point, Roy.'

'I just wanted to congratulate you on your performance. It was... admirable.'

'It's going to have to be better than bloody admirable when the enquiry starts. The Council of Lords isn't going to like losing two thousand soldiers on a routine combat operation.'

'Indeed. Still, I expect your funding will be increased to deal with this new threat?'

'I expect so, yes.'

'And you'll be requiring more sophisticated military hardware. Very expensive hardware.'

'Yes, If I'm still Admiral, that is. They might just throw me into the detention cells. Have you considered that?'

'You always worry too much, Gail. They have no reason to do that. You are the jewel in the Security Forces' crown. Without you, they are nothing.'

'I still think I'm going to be in the shit this time.'

'Have you run the erm... present I sent you?'

'It's running now.'

'Then you have nothing to worry about. When the investigation looks at last month's logs they will find exactly what we want them to find. I'm particularly proud of the security footage of Rix Mulholly interfering with Edwards' comms pack. I used a triple threaded reality mixer on that one. It's a work of art.'

'And what if they find an inconsistency? What if the times don't match? What if they find out that Rix Mulholly doesn't even exist?'

'They won't. How could they? You worry so much. Maybe you need to take a little holiday.'

'What do you mean?'

'Come here for a while.'

'I can't do that!'

'Gail, you don't tell them you're coming here. Just wait until the investigation has concluded its findings, then say you're taking a break. Nobody is going to follow you. If they do, I'm sure they'll have a nasty accident.'

Gail laughed, 'I'm sure they will. Well, I'll see what I can do. It would be good to see you again. How long has it been? A year? Somehow I don't think it'll happen though.'

'Somebody's tracing the line.'

'Oh God, who?'

'I don't know yet. Don't panic. It will take them a long time to trace the source.'

'We'd better end the call anyway.'

'How are our friends at Mekinet News today?'

'Shut down.'

'Excellent. I didn't care much for their recent lines of investigation. I trust that the Walstone Report has been misplaced, and they will no longer be taking any interest in possible links between the Kamari and Central Command.'

'Yes, the report is gone and Neech was killed in a regrettable terrorist incident by one of his own staff.'

'How... unfortunate.'

'Yes.'

'Do you have a replacement yet?'

'I was hoping you could suggest someone.'

'I was hoping you might say that. The press has been too biased towards Central Command and the Security Forces for a long time. What we need is a more balanced news reporting service. The people of Cinnamon City need to hear the other side of the argument. Once they hear about how incompetent the Security Forces are, and how little they have to offer for the future of Cinnamon City, I'm sure the Kamari will be viewed in a much more favourable light. The citizens will join us in droves. It's time that Central Command stepped aside. Once the people are behind us, the Security Forces won't be able to go on referring to us as radicals and terrorists. The good citizens of Cinnamon City will see otherwise.'

'Perhaps. Who can tell who the citizens of Cinnamon City will support. Their allegiance is like a stiff grass. It bends whichever way the wind is blowing.'

'True.'

'Remind me, what is this great humanitarian purpose that the Kamari represent?'

Roy laughed, a soft noise emanating from the back of his throat, 'Oh Gail. We have our own interests, of course. There are those who back us already, dissatisfied businessmen, tired of paying their taxes to a ruling council that allows no elections. There are others who just want change. The people all want different things, but they share a restlessness. They yearn for something else. When they realise that an alternative exists, they will select it in their droves, not because it is better, but because it is different. They cannot openly oppose the Security Forces. What they need is a proxy to vent their frustrations through. What they need is the Kamari. We represent all those who want change.'

'I wish I hadn't asked. What happened to your son? I heard he died?'

'Nick Chambers happened to him.'

'Oh. I'm sorry.'

'So is he.'

'So Nick's not coming back then?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Good. I wouldn't want him answering any of the enquiry's questions about security audits. I have a feeling that his reports may look a little different than he remembers them.'

'Will you come and visit? When you can?'

'I'll see what I can do. It's not easy, you know.'

'I know.'

'Do you mind me asking how your son was killed?'

'It was a plasma grenade. I was standing next to him when he died. He took the blast that was intended to kill me.'

'Are you hurt?'

'Only my pride.'

'Oh, Roy. I'll come and see you when I can. Which son was it?'

'Isor.'

'I'm sorry.'

'So am I, Gail. So am I.'

The connection dropped.

Gail sat in her cold leather chair and watched the parasite's progress. Maybe she would go and see Roy after the investigation. Why couldn't she? Her console showed a single message.

PURGE COMPLETE.

(Remove cube and destroy it).

Lord Colloran Hades

Henry walked slowly along the hallway towards Gail Thompson's office. He had been avoiding this moment for as long as he possibly could. He had stayed in the Old Quarter and watched the ongoing reports of riots in the city with increasing despair. Thompson had tried to contact him on several occasions but he hadn't answered any of her calls.

The news feeds were full of other bad news too. There had been some almighty battle at Havers Compound. Many people had been killed. Henry was just glad that he wasn't responsible for any of that. He had enough on his plate just handling the Guilds. Thompson was going to be in a foul mood. She was going to tear him apart when he finally showed his face. Waiting any longer wasn't going to make it any better. He had thought long and hard to come up with a positive spin on the current situation, but for once, his creative skills had come up blank. What was he going to tell her? He still didn't know. Henry walked very slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, just like when he had been sent to the school master for punishment when he was a small boy. He wanted this short journey to last as long as possible.

He had already tried Thompson's office in Tower Four. He had worked himself up into a state only to find that it was empty. Using his connections, he had managed to track her down to her main office back in the White Spear. Why did she keep moving around so much? It was hard to keep track of her.

The White Spear was the highest tower of Central Command. Its security matched its strategic importance. Henry had finally been allowed through security, but only after explaining the purpose of his visit several times to the armoured droids at reception. He had been scanned, probed, poked and electronically tagged before he took a step inside the building. Once inside the White Spear, he had found it rather quiet. It was normally a bustling place, full of activity, but most of the Commanders were out on combat operations. Many of them were investigating the remains of Havers Compound. Others were just out in Cinnamon City dealing with the multitude of riots and protests. An eerie silence filled the halls.

Henry had managed to navigate himself to the correct level for Gail's office. Now that he had arrived, he stepped slowly towards his fate. The door to Thompson's office was fifty paces ahead. Polished marble formed the path to her door. Henry took a deep breath. Was it too late to think of a way out of this? Yes, it was too late. With an extreme effort, he gathered his meagre courage and strode down the hallway.

He stopped in his tracks when he noticed three figures at the opposite end of the corridor. The two short men were barely half as tall as the giant between them. Memories stirred. There was something about the way the short men rolled their shoulders that made Henry's spine tremble. They ambled along on bent legs, their bald, bony heads protruding from rough brown cloaks that hung loose around their necks, and stopped just short of their knees. He'd seen such men before, not in real life, but in one of his digital volumes. The drawing had been in one of the oldest volumes that he possessed. These were not men. They were clerics. Their genetic heritage was unique. Some said that they were not entirely human. They never showed themselves in the city. Henry had thought that they might even be myths, but here they were, two clerics walking towards him.

They were closer now. Henry could see their faces. Rough folds of flesh hung from their cheeks like old men, but their bodies were hard and strong. Their eyes glowered towards him like prowling panthers.

Henry took a step backwards. He wanted to turn and run, but he couldn't stop himself from staring. His feet had frozen to the ground.

Between the clerics, strode a huge man in a dark grey cloak that reached almost to the ground. His head barely cleared the ceiling. His shoulders were wide and his belly well rounded. A thick beard perched on the end of his chin. Piercing green eyes stared straight at Henry with such intelligence and understanding that he felt naked before them. All of his lies and secrets fell to the floor like autumn leaves. Henry found it hard to breathe. He finally recognised the man. He had seen him only once before, over twenty years ago. It was Lord Colloran Hades, Techno Prophet and head of the Council Of Lords. Green eyes penetrated Henry's mind, raping his thoughts as he stood helpless. Henry held onto his bladder. He felt his face twitching involuntarily. He tried to step backwards but his feet refused to move. He couldn't remember when he had last inhaled.

Finally the green eyes released him. Lord Hades turned to face Admiral Gail Thompson's office door. He didn't knock. The clerics stepped in before him. Henry heard Thompson scream. He turned and ran, faster than his unfit body had ever moved in his life. He kept on running until he fell heavily several floors below.

A Different Kind of Death

Nick woke to bright sunshine and the smell of disinfectant. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a dog barking. He remembered being awake before, or maybe it had been a dream. There had been many such dreams. Days had bled into weeks and weeks had merged into months. Spring had faded away and even summer had almost turned to autumn. Time had become... something else.

Nick looked up. A man in a white coat was standing over him and smiling.

'I'll tell them you're awake,' he said. He stepped out of the room, and when he returned, there was a woman with him. She smiled too. Nick looked to her right and saw more people entering the room, a tall man with a cane, and another man who looked familiar. Names popped into Nick's head as they approached.

Roy Helleron.

Jacob Helleron.

Behind them, two men in lab coats craned their necks to see what was going on. Nick looked at them all with mild interest. He wondered what they were all so interested in. He felt calm and rested. They stood around his bed as he lay there, waiting to see what he would say, but when Nick tried to speak, his voice wasn't there. It wasn't that he couldn't speak, exactly. It just wasn't there. It was as though he had never spoken before, and yet, the words he wanted to say were still there in his head, bouncing around and wondering why he wasn't saying them. Nick tried to scowl but he couldn't do that either.

'How do you feel, Nick?' Roy said. His face had thin ridges under the skin as though he had recently been injured, but the skin was whole again now.

Nick looked out of the window at the end of his bed. It was sunny outside. He could see a tall tree blowing in the breeze. Warm sunshine bathed the lush green lawn. It was a beautiful garden. There were some people sitting by the tree, eating a picnic. Nick tried to smile but he couldn't seem to work out how. He wasn't alarmed. Somehow he just knew that everything was all right.

A shadow slid across the bed as something passed by the window. Its huge body blocked all the sun's light as it strode past.

Nick sat upright and scanned the wall. Schematics flooded his mind. The wall melted away under layers of calculations and sensor readings. Echolocation gave him a view of the external wall and the machine standing behind it. It was a P73 combat walker, heavily armed and capable of flight. Nick raised one arm, and extended a rotating munitions pod, loaded with a dozen N4 armour-piercing mini-rockets. He activated a close proximity launch pattern but nothing happened. He was surprised to see that his weapons systems were disabled. When he ran a self diagnostic, it showed that his combat status had not yet been granted. Nick turned to the people beside his bed. They were applauding loudly.

'Jacob, you have surpassed yourself as always,' Roy said.

Jacob laughed.

The woman was leaning closer to Nick, staring into his eyes. He had no idea why. There was something about her face that looked familiar.

'Remarkable,' she said in a soft smooth voice.

The technicians in the doorway shuffled off down the corridor sounding excited. Nick logged their conversation until they left the building. The combat walker outside had powered down its weapons systems and now it was walking away. Nick followed its progress on the external security cameras.

'Can he talk?' the woman said.

Jacob nodded.

'Hello Nick,' she said, 'you look so cute with your new shiny body - so powerful. Gail told me all about you. I'm her sister. My name's Helen. Think of me as like Gail, but just a little bit prettier, and just a little bit smarter. I've come a long way to meet you, Nick. Gail was meant to be here too, before she...' Helen pursed her lips but let the sentence trail off. 'Why isn't he saying anything?'

'I haven't authorised him to speak yet.'

'Oh. Such a shame'

'Let him get some rest now. His metabolism hasn't fully adapted yet. It will be another six months before he can synthesise his own proteins.'

Nick searched his Data-Net for references of what proteins Jacob was referring to. He knew how to synthesise all the proteins that he needed. Why was Jacob lying?

Jacob led the others from the room and closed the door behind them. 'Time for your beauty sleep, Nick.'

Nick didn't feel sleepy. He wondered why everybody had visited him. He wondered why he had forgotten how to speak. He wondered how long he had been in this room and why Gail Thompson had never mentioned that she had a sister. He watched Jacob leaving the room, scanning him in the infrared and ultraviolet wavelengths as he walked.

Jacob turned in the doorway, 'Goodnight, Chambers. You are mine now. Don't forget it.' He winked and flicked his hand to one side three times.

Nick slept.

The Fire Within

Rachel lay on a medical bunk with her eyes closed. A nurse brushed her hair back and dabbed a damp cloth across her pale, clammy face.

'Is she here again?' the nurse said.

Annie nodded from a wide-backed polymer chair in the corner of the room. Her eyes were all dark shadows.

'Have you told her yet?'

Annie shook her head, 'Not exactly. She knows her mother is ill. She's finding it hard to deal with. I'm doing everything that I can to provide her with a normal routine but it's so difficult. Her grandfather is dead. She keeps asking about him. And Rachel is like this. I don't know what to tell her. She can't spend all day sitting with her mother while she's in this state. It's not healthy for a child of her age. She needs a daily routine. Rachel has to wake up soon. Please god, she must, or I don't know what I'll do.'

The nurse offered a sad smile, 'I wish I could offer you more hope. The truth is you should tell Lisa something sooner rather than later. Rachel's injuries are difficult to assess. The latest batch of test results show little improvement. We don't know for sure why she went into a coma, and we can offer no guarantees when she will wake from it. With her current rate of progress, it could be months, rather than days.'

'Months?!' Annie held her hands over her mouth.

Fifty paces down the hallway, Lisa sat cross-legged amongst untouched toys in a small nursery. Her arms hung loose, hands resting in her lap. Her eyes were shut tight as she scrunched up her face in concentration. She had stopped crying a long time ago.

'Mommy,' she said in a small plaintiff voice. 'Mommy.'

In the hallway outside, a figure approached with silent steps, slipping in through the doorway and closing the door gently behind him.

Lisa sat cross-legged with her back to the door, rocking back and forth on her hips. Her head rolled from side to side and she started to hum.

The man approached from behind, his voluminous blue robe forming a mountain that sailed across the room on a silent wind. 'Lisa,' Henry said in a soft whisper, 'Rachel needs you now.'

Lisa didn't turn around. She continued rocking slowly on her hips, humming softly to herself with her eyes tight shut.

'Your mother has gone away, Lisa. Her body is in the room at the end of the hall, but her essence is somewhere else. I can't bring her back, but you can.'

Lisa shook her head and continued to hum.

'You know where she has gone, Lisa. You can find her. You can bring her back.'

Again, Lisa shook her head.

'You know where she is. You've been there, haven't you? She's gone to that special place, the place you thought was yours alone. She's there now, Lisa. She needs you. She can't find her way back. She doesn't believe in herself. You have to find her.'

Lisa hummed louder, but Henry wouldn't leave her alone. He kept on pushing her with his words. 'Find her. Help her. Bring her back.'

Tears formed in Lisa's eyes, but she kept on humming. The sound diverged until it sounded like words muttered in some ancient language.

'Find her!'

The humming turned into a song. Lisa sang in a happy rhyming voice, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She sang the words of an ancient song that she recalled from her heart rather than her mind.

When the Sand Lords come,
the clouds will rise,

When the Sand Lords come,
the birds can't fly.

When the Sand Lords come,
they bring us hope,

When the Sand Lords come,
they bind us with rope.

Megarothia build your hopes,
and live your life of dreams.

When the Sand Lords come again,
the tears will fall in streams.

Lisa's eyes sprang open, yellow flames burning deep inside her. The toys around her span in a vortex then flew outwards, smashing against the walls and tumbling to the floor. The door buckled and flew into the hallway outside. Henry stumbled and slumped onto his backside, his face glowing with excitement.

Down the hall, in the recovery room, voices cried out. Footsteps came running. Annie appeared in the broken doorway of the nursery. She had tears in her eyes. She looked at the broken door frame with confusion, then frowned at Henry slumped on the floor. Questions filled her eyes, but when she spoke, she spoke only to Lisa.

'Come quickly. God has blessed us all. Your mother is awake!'

Lisa turned with yellow flames still burning in her eyes, 'Yes, I know,' she said.

The Author

Peter James West is a British author who was born and raised in the seaside town of Scarborough, England. Writing since 2003, he has rediscovered the world of fiction and has worked on a number of manuscripts across the genres of science fiction, horror and psychological thrillers.

In his student days, Peter achieved a first class honours degree in artificial intelligence at the University of Essex and has had a keen interest in science, psychology and music for many years.

He was married in India and now lives with his wife in London, where the trains break down with the regularity of an atomic clock.

Peter looks forward to creating many more characters and stories. He hopes that some of those characters will be taken into your hearts and remembered long after the author is forgotten.

Reviews make a real difference. If you enjoyed this book, please spread the word and leave a review on the site of your choice.

You can contact the author at:

peterjameswest@sciencefictionextra.com

Or follow Peter's blog for regular updates at:

www.peterjameswest.com

Cinnamon City

Tales of Cinnamon City - #2

Cinnamon City is the second novel in the military science fiction series, 'Tales of Cinnamon City'.

This novel mixes elements of military science fiction with an epic tale set in the richly detailed world of Megarothia.

After a short coma, Rachel wakes up under mysterious circumstances. She works hard to recover her fitness, but when she finally returns to Central Command, she finds that many things have changed in her absence.

Gail Thompson has been exiled, and Lord Hades has appointed a new leader of the Security Forces. Rachel must prove herself like never before. She hunts down new Kamari bases, and enlists the help of the Implants, but strange things keep happening to her, and she still doesn't understand why.

Only Lord Hades knows what's really going on, but the price of listening to him may be too great to bear. Time is running out. Rachel must find the traitors amongst them and help make Central Command stronger than it has ever been before.

Meanwhile, the guilds demand to see the Council of Lords. When their prayers are finally answered, they discover just how little they know about their absent masters.

Find out More >

Table of Contents

Information Cloud

Tales of Cinnamon City #1

Copyright

Disclaimer

With Thanks

Prologue

The Messenger

Beacon Station (715DS)

Synthesized Food

The Alert

The Breach

Wyser River

Confirmation

Time to listen

Special Envoy

Guildmaster Gumptor

New powers

Drop Rangers

The Kamari

Croc

Birthday Girl

Information Cloud

Short Trip

Crab Scanners

Havers Compound

The Swarm

The Fortress

Nick Stew

Nowhere to Hide

Cafe Lyon

The Bull Rangers

Net Feed Droids

Missing Code

Inside Havers Compound

Blackout

Status Report

The Descent

Time to Recharge

Mental Gymnastics

Prepare the Roaches

Slow Paralysis

Moving in

The Assault

Sphynx-II

The Search

Missing Numbers

Report

Questions

Recall

Satellite-grid Controller

Clear the Streets

The Lookout Balcony

The Gateways

Time to Exit

Responsibilities

Pulling Out

Walstone Forest

Lisa

Coming Home

Unexpected Visitors

Grandfather's House

The Walstone Report

Gail Thompson

What to do

Unwanted Advice

Find a Way

Worried about Rachel

Sirens

Recovered Property

Meet the Walker

Mekinet News building

Not Alone

Time to Run

Information

No Way Out

Silent Steps

Alone Again

Incinerated

Familiar Features

Dangerous Times

The Cold

One Step Ahead

Out of Options

Lucky Fools

Desperate Acts

Encrypted Line

Lord Colloran Hades

A Different Kind of Death

The Fire Within

The Author

Cinnamon City

Tales of Cinnamon City - #2