Into the Light by Jane Wallace
Chapter 8

Hauki glared at the preening albino, feeling bile rising through her core. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you,’ she said, pretending to be contrite.

‘Ah good, you have seen the sense! So, where is your ship?’

‘It’s, it’s…’

‘It is where?’ He leant forward to hear her reply.

’You grut!’ He was standing within reach of her free foot and she aimed a powerful kick at his knee. He yelped and hopped on his good leg, massaging the impact area.

’You pay for that, morka,’ he said, bawling at one of the sturmgangers who came forward to restrain Hauki’s legs. Olav stood back while he did so, his face resting in his palm and the fingers beating a persistent little rhythm against the cheek. When the sturmganger had finished, Olav took a thin cord from his pocket and trussed Hauki’s right hand securely to the chair arm. She watched him warily.

Olav stroked the middle finger gently. ‘Such lovely hands,’ he said. ‘It is a pity they are so dirty.’ He seized the finger and began to force it backwards.

‘Where is the fleet?’

Hauki gulped back a scream.

‘Where is the fleet, where is the fleet?’ he shouted, applying real pressure to the joint.

The pain was intense. She writhed against her constraints, trying to focus on her breathing or thoughts of her twelve-year old son, Turi, what she would do when the campaign was over, anything to lift her mind above the excruciating agony in her hand. Finally the bone gave way with a snap. Olav let go and she slumped in the chair.

There was a rap on the door.

’Va!’

A clerk came into the room, spoke urgently in Gharst and then disappeared. Olav sighed heavily, crossing his arms. He thought for a while, fingers drumming the same unconscious phrases against his sleeves. His head snapped up as he made his decision. Saying something in Gharst to the sturmgangers, he left the room.

Hauki let the sturmgangers untie her, guessing that she would be returned to the cell until Olav had finished whatever urgent business had called him away. On the way back through Central Control, she tried to absorb every detail of the layout and equipment. When she had arrived, she had noticed the trio of white workstations was set to track morphs alone. Her second look at them confirmed it. That meant two things. First, since the morphs were operational, Special Ops had failed in their mission to shut them down. Second, if all those clerks were watching the morphs, they were likely to be operating them too. The masterboard which Special Ops had been seeking was in this very room.

λ

The hopper was only three-quarters full on the flight to Banthan. Sevin sat up front again to avoid seeing the remaining agents shrink from the vacant spaces as if they might get contaminated by bad luck. He couldn’t believe an entire unit had been taken out. As always, he castigated himself for their loss, grateful for the pre-dawn darkness which hid his distress from Marik.

He pulled up a detailed plan of the Kraton on his digi. It was an impressive structure. Built in a whimsical Euro-colonial style over three hundred years previously, its original purpose was a home for one of the mining dynasties. The family had eventually bequeathed it to the nation and it now formed the seat of government. That democracy, however, had long been overthrown by the Gharst.

Hewn from the local creamy marble, it formed an anomalous backdrop to the modern city, a grand folly that girdled the ramshackle streets by the sea, protecting them from the heavy industry further inland. It took the form of three rectangles linked through their centres by wide ambulatories. The façade of the first building, the Atrium, harked back to classical architecture with ornately sculptured pediments held aloft by colonnades of fluted pillars. Antechambers lined the vestibule that lead through to the Debating Chamber, the erstwhile ballroom still crowned with its original glass dome. From here, a covered walkway led to the one-time kitchen block, now the official Dining Hall for representatives. Above this, the four floors of servants’ quarters were used as offices for lawmakers.

Sevin mulled over the location of the masterboard. Nothing seemed to fit the bill. He assumed the Gharst governor, Jenalt, was using the presidential suite as an HQ and that he would want to have the masterboard close by. However, the rooms were on the fifth floor of the old kitchen block and the Gridon had specifically said the masterboard had been taken to a bunker. That suggested somewhere underground. There were cellars under the Dining Hall, he noticed. Perhaps the masterboard was there.

‘ETA is five minutes, sir. How do you want to go in?’ Marik’s voice came through the co-pilot’s headset.

‘Is there a choice?’

‘Not really. The whole place’s surrounded by a force wall. We’ll have to go in from the top. I’m not reading any ground-to-air defences.’

‘Drop us on the dome then.’

‘The dome?’

‘Zendra’s got a few linewires. We’ll abseil down. It’s a bit early for politicians, the chamber should be clear.’

‘Table that motion,’ said Marik, unable to resist the quip.

‘While we’re in there, put your unauthorised cannon to use. Fenne and the other two wounded will have to stay onboard. Maybe they can back you up with some sniper action.’

Sevin swapped the co-pilot headset for his own helmet and began to issue orders to the agents in the cabin behind.

As Marik began the descent, Sevin switched his eyeshields to fifty times magnified. The perimeter of the Kraton was marked by square towers at each corner of the plot. At intervals, sturmgangers patrolled on foot, seeming to keep their distance from an imaginary line that demarcated the boundary, probably the force wall. The noise of the hopper made them look skywards and some began running towards the main building. Sevin spent the last few seconds trying to estimate the numbers of the palace guard. From Coalition intelligence and his own eyes, he calculated their reception committee could potentially be two hundred strong, with a few morphs added for good measure. Against which he had a team of eighteen minus the three hurt. The odds were not good. Still, if Marik could create havoc with the hopper, they had a chance of pulling it off.

‘Make ready,’ Sevin ordered into his outvox as they hovered over the dome. Marik released the chutes and the agents disembarked rapidly, slipping the last few metres down the curve of the cupola to where it joined the flat of the roof. Sevin was the last to leave and when he touched down, the hopper soared upwards and away before circling round to run a steep downwards angle into the Kraton grounds with its guns blazing.

The Special Ops groups spread out and started to breach the decorative panes, securing the linewires then throwing the filaments through the openings. One after another, the agents clipped on and dropped a terrifying hundred metres into the wooden stalls of the parliamentary hall below.

At this time of night, the empty Debating Chamber was cavernous and echoing. Reaching the ground first, Sevin unhooked and ran towards the rear exit, the agents following as soon as they landed. Together they pounded down the enclosed walkway and into the flagstoned entrance of the Dining Hall. In front of them, a grand marble staircase rose to oval windows at mezzanine level where it parted into two smaller flights that curled back on themselves and upwards to the first floor. The blood pulsed harder in Sevin’s temples when he saw a similar arrangement leading down to the basement. He was sure the masterboard was down there.

’Bravo, Papa, upstairs,’ he said into his outvox. ‘Foxtrot, stake out the ground floor. Alpha, to me!’ Sevin motioned for Cantor and Yrim to make an advance party while Lauden and himself took the rear. They reached the first step, hiding behind the alabaster barricade provided by the upwards elevation. Cantor peered over the banister and withdrew sharply. ‘Sturmgangers,’ he mouthed at the others before poking his rifle through the balustrades and letting out a few well-targeted strokes.

There was a lively return of fire, forcing Alpha back into the hall. Cantor and Yrim took turns to scattergun the staircase, hitting nothing but a stale-mate. The Gharst had taken cover and were happy to remain behind it, shooting wildly at any movement. Short of charging the basement, they couldn’t flush the sturmgangers out or get past them.

Lauden lifted his hands at Sevin who returned the gesture. He knew they needed another strategy. His gaze rested on Lauden’s prodigious stomach which was kept from spilling out of his trousers by a wide belt. Off it hung a range of combat nick-nacks like a knife, a gas refill and two stubby white sticks.

‘Grenade!’ said Sevin to the outvox, pointing at Lauden’s belly. ‘As many as you can.’

The big man gave him the thumbs-up and pulled out one of the slim cylinders, twisting it active. Cantor and Yrim stood back to let him creep to the top step and toss it over. They held their breath until they heard a reverberating thud and hollers of pain. Plunging into the smoke and the confusion, Alpha scrambled down the two flights, pausing for Lauden to pitch more incendiaries into the basement and to take out a few dazed Gharst. A pair of sturmgangers appeared choking and holding their throats in the hallway at the base of the stairs. Sevin and Cantor dispatched them. With several more shots, they secured the space and Alpha group stood alone listening to the hiss of hot carpet being doused by sprinklers. It began to reek of wet bonfire.

Sevin looked around the spacious hall now littered with debris. A corridor lined with framed artworks and numbered doors ran off to the left and the right. ‘I’ll take the left with Yrim,’ he said. ‘Lauden, take the right with Cantor.’

Sevin stepped over an inert body and prowled down the passageway to the T-junction at the end, Yrim following. He stole a look around the corner to check the way ahead. It was clear both sides. Even better, he noticed that the door at the end on the left was different to the others, made of a reinforced dull bronze. There was a sophisticated entry panel in a bracket on the wall, the only one he had seen on this floor. Whatever was inside had to be of value.

As he turned to beckon Yrim forward, a scorching heat whizzed past his ear, singeing the hairs. He pulled his head in fast, but not before he spotted the source of the shot. Twenty metres away, an arm in a tight green sleeve withdrew inside the door at the end on the right. Sevin recognised the uniform instantly.

‘Coalition, don’t shoot!’

A badger-striped head appeared in the threshold. ‘Major Sevin?’

‘Hauki!’ said Sevin, relieved to find a friendly face even if it was the CSM. She flung open the door and scurried forward, holding a blaster awkwardly in her left hand. Tagging behind her, to Sevin’s surprise, was the Corazon leader Kristil, also carrying a Gharst weapon. They joined Sevin and Yrim at the crux of the T-junction.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Sevin, taking in the makeshift bandage around Hauki’s right hand and Kristil’s puffy face, rouged from a beating.

‘We were ambushed at the RV. They,’ Hauki swallowed hard, ‘killed Weffer and took me and Kristil prisoner. We managed to overcome the guards and escape our cell, I don’t know what happened to the others. But never mind about that - we’ve got to get in there quick!’ She indicated the bronze portal. ‘It’s Gharst Central Control, I saw Jenalt in there earlier. I’m pretty sure the morph masterboard’s there too!’

Sevin revised his initial opinion of the CSM. The bossy, intrusive personality he had seen in the pre-op briefing had disguised the competent and clever field officer underneath. ‘How many hostiles in there?’ he asked.

‘Six or seven.’

‘Alright, we’ll storm it.’ He turned towards the door, his eyeshields locking into place, and murmured a command by outvox to Lauden to join them.

‘How are we gonna get in? It’s secure entry,’ hissed Kristil.

Loud clicks from the direction of the protected room drove them behind their sheltering corner, backs pressed to the wall. They heard male voices, talking in Gharst. Sevin gestured to the others to stay still then swung around the corner letting fly a steady stream of charge. The two clerks framed in the aperture crumpled to the ground.

‘Forward!’ Sevin yelled, sprinting forward, seeing hands trying to pull the bodies inside so the door could shut. He shot at them and they retreated, leaving the dead to prop open the entrance.

Taking no chances, Sevin stood behind the left-hand jamb with Yrim while Kristil and Hauki took the other side. The dark room appeared empty. Misshapen motifs danced over the walls, reflections from screen displays out of sight. Either the Gharst were hiding in the small office in the corner or behind the inward-opening door where Sevin couldn’t see them.

Sevin pointed at where he thought the hostiles might be. Then, on a count of three, they burst through the doorway, pumping lines of red randomly across the walls and furniture. They caught two officers before they could even raise their weapons. Sevin ducked a few bolts which sung out from behind a pile of chairs where three Gharst had barricaded themselves, Kristil taking down the perpetrator with lightening accuracy. As another popped up in his place, Hauki blasted the enemy female away with a single pulse. A sidewinder from Yrim eliminated the third.

‘Is that it?’ Sevin asked, looking around, tasting the stink of aftermath, smouldering wood and burnt plastic. They put down their weapons, finding their eyes drawn to the perpetually changing screens, a living tableau of men waging war, humans against machines, green versus navy or shiny black.

‘You think this is the masterboard?’ asked Sevin, pointing at the central white workstation.

Hauki nodded.

‘Let’s give it a go.’ Sevin sat down at the touchpad, his rifle between his knees, and the others gathered in a semi-circle behind him. As he pressed the activate key, there was an ear-splitting whine and a grunt. Out of the corner of his eye, Sevin saw Yrim stagger sideways and crash into the ground, the area between his collar and right earlobe a gory hole fringed with browned ridges of cooked flesh.

‘Get down!’ said Hauki, hitting the floor. Sevin slipped from the chair as another scream tore over his head.

‘By the windows!’ shouted Kristil, aiming his blaster at the gloom under the briefing table. He sliced the area again and again until the head and shoulders of a male Gharst slid out.

‘It’s Olav, he interrogated us,’ Hauki said.

Kristil said nothing, his face impassive as he checked the gas level on the blaster.

Sevin bent down by Yrim. The boy was dead, another fine soldier wasted by the Gharst, he thought angrily. A concerted surge of blue and white on the monitors caught his eye. Sturmgangers were running through the Debating Chamber, about fifty or so, accompanied by morphs. He hailed Zendra and told her to hold them off as best she could.

‘We’ve got to shut them down,’ he said, taking the seat at the central terminal once again. He stared at the touchpad, confused by the buttons marked with runic script.

‘This looks like palmprint, try this,’ suggested Hauki. Sevin laid his hand on the screen she indicated. The machine registered the pressure and seemed to wait for a further command. When none arrived, an automated vocal asked for the password to be input. Sevin’s attempts to bypass the command failed.

‘Wassup?’ Lauden entered with Cantor, raising an eyebrow at the presence of Hauki and Kristil.

‘This is the morph masterboard,’ said Sevin. ‘We can’t get past the authorisation system. There’s a palmprint sensor but it needs a password which we haven’t got.’ He heard a distant shrilling of blaster fire. ‘Cantor, secure the door.’

Lauden crouched down so he was on a level with the controls.

‘Did you guys see anyone using it?’ he asked, inspecting the hardware.

‘No, not really,’ said Hauki.

Lauden explored two bars that stuck out from the wall at waist height. ‘Looks like microphones. Maybe it’s an SGOD.’

‘A what?’ said Sevin.

‘A sub-glottal oscillation detector. It listens for vibrations of vocal cords when someone’s talking – makes sure there are some.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Kristil.

‘So it can tell if it’s a tinny or a human talking. It’s designed so the morphs can’t work themselves. Biomorphs could wing the palmprint but they ain’t got voice boxes like us. You sure there weren’t no speaking, no singing or humming of any kind?’

Kristil shook his head. ‘Not around me.’

Hauki thought hard. ‘Well, the only thing I can think of was when Olav was tapping out a little tune on his arm, like you do when you’re thinking about something, you know?’

‘That could be it, might have got stuck in his head. How’d it go?’

‘I can’t really remember.’

‘Try!’ said Sevin.

‘Okay, maybe it was a bit like this.’ She clapped out the tempo.

Sevin picked up the cadence, adding a melody in his accomplished baritone. Hauki stopped, looking at him in surprise.

’It’s Die Rikkeneiger, the Gharst national anthem,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

‘So sing it in the mike!’ said Lauden.

‘And quickly,’ said Sevin, distracted by an incoming message. He pressed his earpiece closer to his head. ‘Go ahead Foxtrot One.’

‘They’re through, sorry. Just too many,’ he heard Zendra say before the connection broke up. ‘Hurry up,’ he gestured at Lauden, who put a finger to his lips. Hauki was rounding off the first two lines of the first verse. As she finished, they all stared at the screens. Nothing happened. She looked at the three men in despair.

‘Try again,’ said Lauden, ‘louder’.

She started up, her eyes wide as she heard voices outside the door, shouting in Gharst, the handle rattling as they tried to open it from the other side. Cantor, Kristil and Sevin trained their weapons on the bunker’s entrance. The screens changed to a welcome format.

‘We’re in!’ said Lauden, his fingers stabbing at the touchpad.

‘They’re cutting the door!’ said Sevin, watching a line sear through the bronze. The Gharst began to batter against it. One edge burst open.

‘Got it! Got the off switch,’ said Hauki.

The other edge came away.

‘Shut down!’ bawled Lauden.

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