SpaceBrigade II The Syndicate's Revenge
Auteur·e
James Marriott
Lectures
15,2K
Chapitres
35
Chapter 1
The DCO guard let out a muffled throaty moan as he slipped silently to the highly polished floor. The hot blade of a vibro-knife had cut his throat neatly, his blood seeping down his olive-green tunic, forming a puddle around him. His killer moved on swiftly, appearing as only a dark shadow.
“Shouldn’t have got in the way,” he mumbled as an afterthought.
He moved fast, his objective clear in his mind. They had planned it, and his mistress had assured him their plan would work. A plan that they had both concocted to ensure they would both get what they wanted.
However, he knew he only had a very short time to complete this mission before his deeds would be discovered.
Moving confidently along the dimly lit corridors of building fourteen on Jurass, he had already disabled several of the hi-tech alarms with ease and had removed six guards. All the expensive security systems did not faze him or turn him from his task; they were no obstacle to this apparent master of the art of covert infiltration.
His mission was paramount: get the information his mistress desired. Two security guards, as usual, guarded the computer records center. They had, like any other day, guarded the room without any disturbance.
Today was like any other; they were oblivious to the intruder’s presence until it was too late. Both guards collapsed simultaneously as the intruder fired his Crotainian scatter pistol, a weapon outlawed by the Coalition for its silent, deadly brutality. Its wide green beam reached out, engulfing its targets.
Immediately, the guards’ internal organs began to dissolve, leading to instant massive bodily failure and death.
Several buildings belonged to the Network, who stored their most sensitive documentation on past missions and new military weaponry. Farther into the city could be found the central bank of Agar Security, where they kept the listings on those serving on penal asteroids or detained at the military prison Vorll.
The intruder wasn’t interested in any of these. He headed immediately toward his target like the professional he was. He wasn’t here for monetary gain or even power.
The reason for this intrusion was purely personal. Building fourteen housed the most sensitive records of the DCO; it boasted the most up-to-date security devices available.
A fortune had been spent on its construction, assuring its impregnability: motion sensors, tracking droids, automatic laser defense systems, infrared and ultraviolet scanners, and a multitude of well-armed guards kept constant vigil over this building.
One section of building fourteen was heavily secured; nobody was allowed access without a direct order from Director Arron Quinn.
This section housed top-secret DCO documents, including the computer list pins of all active DCO agents operating throughout the Nepis Galaxy. No one had ever broken in without being detected; the penalty for which was certain death.
Some had tried in the past; all had failed—all until today, that was. The guards dispatched, the intruder moved to the door, reached into one of the many pockets in his black jumpsuit, and pulled out a miniature computer probe. He held the device close to the door’s digital lock.
Tiny colored lights raced up and down the hand probe; numerical sequences scrolled across its tiny screen. After only fifteen seconds, it emitted a single beep, indicating its task was complete. The intruder returned the probe to its home, pushed the door open, and dragged the dead bodies inside.
The lighting inside was as dim as it was in the corridors. The intruder scanned the area visually, searching for what he had come for. Along one wall, a line of flashing dots ran the width of its surface.
He strolled casually over to them, walked along the line, brushing the dots with his gloved fingers. Below the line of dots, several safes were embedded into the wall. In all, twelve of the most secure safes in the Galaxy.
One of these held the prize the intruder was after. An intrusion at this level meant certain interrogation and execution, though this did not sway him. He eyed each safe in turn, and a tight-lipped smile appeared on his face when he found safe zero one six.
“There you are,” he mumbled to himself.
Taking a thin laser torch from his hip, he activated it. The thin pulsating red light cut easily around the digital lock, making its seals discolor. He worked quickly and with great skill and efficiency, and did not hesitate when he heard the hydro-lift at the far end of the corridor churn into action; he simply ducked behind one of the computer terminals and waited.
When nobody came from the hydro-lift’s direction, he returned to his illicit task.
“This had better work, Shakara, or we’re going to have words when I get back,” he said to himself.
After a few minutes, the safe’s lock cracked but remained closed. He sighed, irritated, and once again took out the miniature scanner. Waving it across the safe, it lit up, showing the internal workings to be linked to an inaudible alarm that would automatically alert security once the safe was opened.
It would take more time than he had first thought to achieve his goal.
Searching his pockets, he finally found the apparatus he wanted. Placing the wafer-thin brown sheet across the lock, he pressed its micro-switch; the sheet began to break down the internal alarm system, rendering it useless.
While the magnetized inhibitor worked its wonders, he amused himself by rifling through the drawers and cupboards, looking for nothing in particular; nevertheless, a chance not to be missed.
The inhibitor beeped. He returned his attention to the safe and removed the system’s inhibitor, folding it carefully and replacing it back in his jumpsuit.
He rubbed his gloved hands together and whispered with supreme confidence, “This shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Next, he pulled out a telescopic lever and began to pry the safe door open. The seal gave; he gently squeezed two fingers inside, feeling for any secondary alarm system.
Finding none, he pulled the door wide open.
***
Eight systems from Jurass, on Kodo’s Satura beach, Colonel Jim Raga, Captain Cap Beeta, and Captain Pala Toms lay basking in the midday sun. The crimson waves of the ocean gently caressed the peach-colored beach, rising in foamy ripples to end dispersed into the fine grains of peach-tinged sand.
“I’m sure glad we chose this place,” Pala remarked.
Kodo’s twin suns shone brightly in the pastel pink sky, while a soft, warm breeze tempered the midday heat. Here on Kodo, the three Network officers had spent most of their long overdue leave; it had been two months since the Secunda incident.
They had done all the usual tours of the city’s taverns and pleasure houses, and had seen all the sights they cared to see.
They had even visited the Imperial Museum of Art, where a wealth of the planet’s cultural past resided. Any ardent crook that had the audacity to try his or her luck, although so far no one had tried, could gain a virtual fortune.
Cap had tired of the museum within minutes, and the history-gathering tour came to an abrupt end when he insulted and tried to break the curator’s feeble neck. They were immediately escorted from the premises with a lifelong ban and the promise of a fully documented report to their commanding officer.
“Well, it’s certainly been quite a while since we indulged in any luxury,” Raga replied.
After they had exhausted their interest in such attractions and been barred from most taverns and bawdy houses in the city, they had taken up residence on the secluded Satura beach. Here they relaxed away the remainder of their stay.
The overlarge burnt orange suns were now at their highest and the heat was beating down strongly, but not unbearably. The three men lay on their loungers at the water’s edge.
“Ya know, I could get used to this!” Cap said as he reached for another flask of potent Kodo whiskey.
“Yeah, but we’ve only got four days left,” Pala answered as he adjusted his ultraviolet visor. The visor let in just enough of the sun’s rays to tan his skin around his eyes without risking damage to his vision.
“Fancy another Wrencher, Jim?” Cap inquired as he threw the now-empty flask into the growing pile of discarded flasks.
Raga nodded in answer, and Cap chucked one over. He poured the aptly named dark brown, thick concoction into a tumbler rather than gulp it straight from the flask like Cap. He took a modest swig; the alcohol swiftly went to work, giving its imbiber the strange sensation of their heart skipping a couple of beats.
Raga placed the palm of his hand to his chest as if the liquid was burning his insides.
It was widely rumored in most of the seedier taverns that too many wrenchers drunk at the same time could actually stop one’s heart. However, this rumor was probably started by the brewers to raise risk sales, as drinks with a risk factor often made major sales to Network troops who were looking for a quick kick.
As it was, Cap had already downed several and seemed fine, although he could probably drink Kodo dry and not damage his robust Capstan viscera.
Satura beach was the ideal place for them to relax and revitalize their overtaxed bodies. It had been a long time since they had had the chance to get away from military life. The beach was only available to Network troops, as arranged between the Network and the Kodo hierarchy.
It boasted seven kilometers of quiet shoreline, an apartment fit for royalty, and above all, privacy. No Kodo street trader was allowed anywhere near. To gain access through the barrier shield one had to acquire the codes from Kodo central, codes that were not handed out lightly.
“Anyone for a swim?” Cap asked, getting up.
“Get lost!” Pala responded firmly, not wanting to leave his comfortable lounger.
“Jim?”
“Nope, but you go ahead,” Raga replied as he twisted the neck off another wrencher.
Cap shrugged and charged off into the vibrant, warm water with the enthusiasm of a young child, whooping loudly and splashing wildly.
Raga swallowed another mouthful then said, “I don’t think he’ll ever act his age!”
“I sure hope not, he can be a miserable swine when he gets serious,” Pala answered while leaning on his elbows, watching Cap.
Raga glanced over at the beachfront apartment. Its powder blue sandstone walls were in keeping with old Kodo architecture, allowing the temperate sunlight to filter through into every corner. Its single entrance was constructed from one flowing arch; the windows were circular and tinted a pleasant mid-green.
The curved roof, made from steel-glass, allowed the occupants to gaze at Kodo’s three moons and surrounding constellations on a clear night. Behind the apartment, about six meters back, stood a backdrop of silver-blue willow Satur trees, their eight-foot leaves fluttering gracefully in the breeze. A long winding path snaked its way through them and up to the cliff-top barrier shield.
Cap scurried back from the water and shook his dripping arms at Jim and Pala.
Pala threw him a towel, saying, “Dry yourself, you asshole!”
Raga smiled at Cap’s attempt to look hurt at the remark, and said, “How about dinner at Halpinas tonight? I hear they dish up a mean Clampa steak.”
“Okay by me,” Pala answered.
Cap shrugged and nodded affirmatively then stopped drying his head and said while gesturing toward the pathway, “Someone’s coming.”
A Network officer briskly stepped along the pathway, heading toward them.
“Well, this can only mean trouble!” Raga remarked quietly.
“Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit what it is. I’m not leaving until our time’s up!” Cap mumbled irately.
“Me neither,” Pala added, grabbing a wrencher.
