Cyber Dreams 2.18 - Charlie Unit (Patreon)

Here we go! Here's a little ret-con: On orientation day, I originally had Cherise explain that each unit had two sergeants and a captain. I realized that was way too much command for a six-person unit. I've changed it to indicate that each unit has two sergeants. Commanders are not actively deployed. This will come up a few times, but the first time is in this chapter! Enjoy :)

-Plum

1/26 EDIT NOTE: I changed the ending of this chapter a little due to some constructive feedback. :) New stuff is in bold if you want to check it out.

When Juliet climbed the short flight of stairs from the top floor of the Grave Tower to the roof, she was met with swirling, hot wind and the sound of a large fluttercraft not twenty yards in front of her. The machine, shaped almost like a wasp, and painted to accentuate that perception, had high-tensile, polycarbonate membranes between the vibrating spines of its dozen or so wings, and they hummed in the air, invisible due to their rapid movement.

She figured most of the members of Charlie Unit were inside the craft, but a couple stood outside, and one of them saw Juliet, waving her over urgently. As she jogged over to the black airship, her eyes drawn to the silver and red stylized “G” on the tail section, Juliet became aware of just how large it was; it was more the size of a bus than a van. The operative waving her on was standing near an open bay door near the bird’s middle, and as Juliet drew near, she hollered, over the noise of the buzzing wings, “Hurry up, probe!”

“Right,” Juliet said, scrambling up the little set of folding metallic steps to the interior. Jump seats lined the front section of the craft, while an open doorway led away toward the rear. She stood there, hesitating, but one of the operatives sitting nearby pointed to an empty seat to her left.

“Don’t stand in the doorway.”

Juliet hurried over to the seat and saw that most of the others were strapped in, so she followed suit. As she clicked the three-point harness clasps, she looked more closely at the four members of Charlie Unit sitting nearby and suddenly began to feel very underdressed. They all wore ballistic vests and helmets, and some were equipped with visors. She saw rifles and pistols and grenades hanging off their harnesses and began to wonder if Kent had given her bad information.

“Angel,” she subvocalized, “Why’d that woman outside call me a probe?”

“My research indicates it’s a term used to refer to probationary employees.”

“Right,” Juliet breathed. Just then, the man nearest the open bay door stood up and helped the two outside hoist a heavy-looking metal box into the fluttercraft and proceeded to strap it to the floor. The two outside operatives hopped aboard, and then the lady who’d hollered at Juliet touched a button, and the bay doors slid closed, blocking out the noise of the craft’s wings and engines and suddenly submerging the interior in surprising silence.

Everyone sat and strapped in except the woman, who seemed to be in charge. She reached up to hold on to a strap hanging from the ceiling, her chromed-up arm flexing with an audible clicking whir. Suddenly, the craft lurched and then exploded into the air, shooting forward and up at an alarming rate, causing Juliet’s stomach to flip and twist. Her eyes bulged out at the sudden explosive movement; she liked fast cars and motorcycles, but this was something different—this was what she’d imagined a rocket launch would feel like, though she knew, rationally, that the fluttercraft was nowhere near fast enough to break into orbit.

“Here we go, boys and girls,” the standing woman said, and Juliet suddenly had a deep respect for her balance and strength; how had she not been thrown to the floor with that launch? “Rookie, tell us your name—I’m not reading my briefing again, and I forgot it.”

“Lydia Roman, ma’am.” Juliet licked her lips, very happy that she hadn’t lost her breakfast all over the floor of the craft.

“Watch your AUI; watchdog’ll set up our team coms. Come back here, so I can get you some gear.” With that, the woman turned and walked through the doorway. Juliet fumbled with her harness clasps, her hands a little shaky from the brief adrenaline dump she’d experienced as the craft took off.

“First time on a fluttercraft?” a big, visored man sitting across from her asked. He had thick, dark stubble on his square jaw, and held his arms, red and black plasteel wire-jobs, crossed over his chest.

“Uh, yeah,” Juliet said, finally shrugging out of the harness and standing, knees bent, hands out, as though she expected the floor to move beneath her.

“Don’t worry; the synth driving this bird will keep it steady until we make our approach; he’s paranoid about take-offs and landings—combat protocol every time, even if we’re not under fire.”

“Thanks,” Juliet said, nervously glancing at the other members of Charlie Unit, most of whom were actively ignoring her. She walked to the open doorway and into the rear of the fluttercraft, where the woman with the chrome arm was busily unlocking storage compartments that lined the sides of the vessel.

“Size?”

“Medium,” Juliet answered automatically. She caught the ballistics vest the woman threw her way and started shrugging into it.

“What about your head? These helmets are unisex, so you probably want a small or extra small. Try this.” The sergeant—Juliet had finally spotted the sergeant’s insignia on her shoulder—tossed a helmet her way, and she squeezed it onto her head. It fit all right, but it was uncomfortable with her bun.

“It fits, Sergeant, but I need to change my hair.”

“Yeah, make two braids. You can do it after you sit back down. Okay, what about close quarters? Blade or baton?”

“Blade,” Juliet said without thinking—she’d used a knife before and never messed around with a baton, so the answer had been automatic.

“Catch,” the sergeant said, tossing her a sheathed knife, easily twice the size of her own vibroblade. “That’s a vibroblade. Don’t cut your leg off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Juliet replied, unbuckling her belt and sliding the sheath onto it. She’d just started to refasten the buckle when the sergeant said, “We’ll probably put you on door duty, so I’m going to issue you a shotgun for now. You ever used a rail-tech weapon? You know, an electro-shotgun?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Juliet smiled, holding out her augmented hand for the bulky gun, her helmet tucked under her other elbow. The shotgun was a lot sleeker than Vikker’s had been; the electro-rails were capped with high-grade plastic, the barrel was slightly narrower, and the canister of shot pellets was molded to fit along the underside of the barrel as part of the foregrip. Still, it was heavy and solid and felt good in her hand.

“Good. What about your optics? You need goggles, or can you see enhanced spectrums?”

“I’m good, Sarge.”

The woman gave her a look, or Juliet thought she did—she couldn’t see her eyes through the dark lens of her visor, then said, “Sending you the equipment signout; be sure to acknowledge it in your watchdog app. Get back to your seat; flight time’s only twenty minutes, and I’m about to start the briefing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Juliet wanted to ask her name but knew it would be on her AUI after her watchdog set up the unit comms. She had a feeling it was already set up; the icon was blinking frantically, trying to get her to acknowledge something.

She worked her way back to her seat, sat down, buckled in, then took off her helmet to fix her hair. Meanwhile, the sergeant had come through behind her and stood near the front of the hold, near a closed security door, presumably leading to the cockpit, and cleared her throat. “Listen up, Charlie.”

“What’s the story, Sarge?” a man seated across from Juliet asked.

“Quiet, Houston.” The sergeant paused to look up and down the rows of jumpseats, eyes lingering on Juliet for a moment, watching her braid her hair behind each ear, then settling on the man across from her. “White? Where’s your minigun?”

“Getting serviced, Sarge; two barrels melted on our last deployment, and the armory was out of spares.”

“You’re goddamn shitting me.” From the sergeant’s tone, the words were not a question. “Load up one of the heavy gauss rifles, then.” The man, White, apparently, started to unbuckle, but Sarge continued, “When I’m done.”

“Roger.”

“Okay, we’re heading to a level four research facility, folks. Intel says we’re negative on airborne infection hazards, so no bug suits for us, thank God.”

“Level four? Jesus H . . .”

“Put a Goddamn lid on it, Houston!” When Houston, an average-sized man with tan skin and dozens of tattoos on his arms and hands, stopped speaking, the sergeant continued, “As I said, level four, but nothing airborne being studied there, so count your blessings. The facility has missed its last two check-ins, and comms have gone dark; the suits upstairs think a competitor likely breached and scrubbed the site, but there’s the chance that something they were working on went sideways. We need to be prepared for anything.”

Juliet saw Houston raise a hand, leaning forward and slightly waving it to be noticed, and the Sarge finally acknowledged him, “Houston?”

“What kinda fucked-up shit are they working on, Sarge?” Juliet braced herself for the sergeant’s explosion, figuring she wouldn’t tolerate his tone, but some of the others grunted in approval—they wanted more information about what to expect.

“Nothing good, Houston.” Sarge looked left and right, her black, impenetrable visor settling on each member of Charlie Unit, daring them to do anything other than give her their undivided attention. Finally, she spoke, her flinty voice devoid of amusement, “Project specifics are need-to-know, and you all do not need to know. Just be ready for anything. We’re boots on the ground in nine minutes. Get yourselves ready. Roman, why haven’t you checked in on the watchdog?”

Juliet nearly jumped out of her seat, and she hastily activated the watchdog icon, saying, “On it, Sarge.” A window appeared on her AUI, and it populated with the names of Charlie Unit members. Next to each name was a summary of their vital statistics—heart rates, blood pressure, blood-oxygen levels, and an icon allowing Juliet to open a window to toggle each member’s POV.

She silently mouthed each person’s name as she read through them, “Polk - Sergeant II, White - Sergeant I, Houston, Rodriguez, Yang, Vandemere, Roman.” Angel helpfully put nametags above the unit members’ heads on her AUI.

Juliet saw the watchdog icon was still blinking, so she activated it again, and a new window appeared with the equipment requisition and acknowledgment of receipt. She accepted it, and it faded away. The watchdog stopped blinking, and Juliet sighed, finishing her hair and slipping her new helmet on, much happier with its feel.

She’d just started to get used to the hum of the fluttercraft’s flight when Sergeant Polk spoke up in the team channel, “Our synthetic friend up front just let me know we’ll be coming in hot in less than a minute, grab onto something.”

Juliet glanced toward the front of the hold to see the sergeant was still standing, holding onto a grab strap with her metallic arm, her footing wide, and her knees slightly bent. Most of the others reached up to grab the straps of their harnesses, and Juliet did the same, following her neighbor’s example of tucking her heavy gun tight in the crook of her augmented arm.

When the pilot took the craft in for their landing, Juliet felt her stomach surge up to her throat, felt the blood rush to her head, and actually saw her vision begin to dim for a split second before Angel adjusted the pressure in her synthetic eyeballs.

She was glad she’d pulled the straps of her harness tight because she was sure she’d have been ejected if there’d been any wriggle room. This unpleasant force, pulling her upward, lasted for about thirty seconds, and then it rapidly reversed, and she felt herself being jammed down into her seat as the craft came to a sudden, shuddering stop.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Polk hollered, and the guy to her right, Rodriguez, stood up and slapped the button to open the bay doors. Cool air rushed into the hold, and it oddly smelled like pine—how far had they come? “Out, out, out! Move it, move it!” Polk’s voice echoed in the comms, and Juliet snapped her buckle loose and stood up, still woozy from the violent, sudden landing.

She saw Rodriguez jump out the door, then Houston, then White, Yang, and Vandemere, and then it was her turn. She stood at the open bay door and realized the fluttercraft hadn’t landed, it was hovering about six feet off the ground, and there were trees out there, trees and grass, and cool air.

“Let’s move, Roman! Get your ass out that door!” Polk’s voice oddly echoed as she yelled, the comms carrying it along with her physical shout. The words cut through Juliet’s stupefaction like a knife through cheese, and she leaped, aiming for a patch of soft-looking grass.

She landed heavily and off-balance, but she just tucked into a forward roll and came up on her feet, the electro-shotgun tucked into the shoulder, barrel down as she slowly turned, taking in the scene. Angel had populated her AUI with the shotgun’s ammo counter, its battery status, and a crosshair. Juliet held it ready as she watched the rest of Charlie Unit moving toward a low, concrete building that seemed to be built into the side of a wooded hillside.

“Secure that door. Everyone, get locked and loaded! Don’t make yourselves a target,” White said through the comms, and Juliet hustled to catch up to the others, moving to the right side of the single, orange, metal door in the side of the gray concrete. She saw White crouching behind a tree stump, a massive, long-barreled gun resting on a built-in tripod, training it on the door as if waiting for something to come bursting out.

Houston and Rodriguez had their backs to the concrete structure, their automatic rifles trained on the woods further down the hill. Polk came running up, shoving Juliet toward Rodriguez, “Move to the building, give the door clearance in case we have to blow it.” Juliet hustled in the direction she’d been shoved, coming to rest near Rodriguez, resting her back against the concrete.

She watched as the fluttercraft surged upward, its wings vibrating the air so violently that trees fifty meters out swayed and jumped with the currents. “Where’s it going?” she asked Rodriguez, trusting Angel to keep it out of the unit comms.

“Watching from a safe location. We fuck up too badly, it’ll nuke the site.” His voice was deadpan, and Juliet couldn’t tell if he was joking. She hoped he was.

“Still no comms, Sarge,” Yang said, her voice clipped and professional, and Juliet remembered some of the training she’d gotten in the previous week about keeping comms clear as much as possible.

“What’s the story with the door, Houston?” Sarge asked, and Juliet glanced to her right and saw Houston kneeling by a security panel in the concrete.

“Locked . . . dead. There’s no power. I’m jacking in a batt.”

“How’s there no power?” White asked, and Juliet glanced toward his position and saw his four-foot rifle barrel, decked with electromagnets, pointing toward the door. “Don’t these facilities all have mini-reactors?”

“It has to be intentional,” Houston grunted. “Someone turned it off ‘cause if it failed, we’d know it.”

“Enough chatter. Eyes on a swivel, and shut the fuck up,” Polk grunted, but she didn’t seem angry. “White? Anything on optics? Any movement?”

“Can’t see shit through that door—place is shielded as shit.”

“Bypassing the power grid,” Houston said, then a few seconds later, “Inputting the overrides.” Seconds later, Juliet’s auditory implants picked up the click and hiss of the door opening, and then Houston screamed, rolling back into the grass.

“Jesus!” was all he had time to say before a person, hissing and snarling, leaped out of the doorway toward him. The man—Juliet could see it was a man, naked as the day he was born—flew toward Houston, and then White’s gauss rifle *zwapped* and a hole the size of a basketball appeared in the naked man’s chest, and a long red smear painted the gray concrete of the building. The man, his inertia suddenly altered, tumbled and flopped through the grass to land next to where Houston was scrambling to get to his feet.

“What the fuck? Look at this asshole’s face! What the fuck are they doing here, Sarge?”

“Can it, Houston! Cover the door with Rodriguez and Roman. Yang, evaluate this guy. White, any movement?”

“Negative. Nothing incoming. Roman, keep clear of the doorway, stand to the side, and be ready. I’ve got the first shot.” Juliet appreciated the direction—this was a situation that hadn’t come up in practicals. She hurried to the side of the doorway, avoiding the spray of blood that had painted the grass on its way to splash against the building, and standing to Rodriguez’s left, her shotgun held ready, sights down, but toward the open door.

“Sarge, I don’t know about this. You sure you can’t tell us what they were doing here?” Yang asked, her voice unsteady as she injected a probe into the downed man’s neck.

“You sure we should’ve waxed him? He’s naked, Sarge; shouldn’t we have tried to subdue?” Vandemere asked at the same time.

“Shut the fuck up, V. My optics picked that guy up at twenty meters running down the hallway. He covered that distance in two-point-two seconds, and his body temp was eighty-two degrees. I made the call. I took the shot.” White’s voice was a snarl, and Juliet knew he was pissed.

“Can it,” Polk said. “Let me know when you get your stripes, V. In the meantime, you worry about your trigger, not your teammates’.” Polk grunted as she knelt next to Yang, and Juliet heard her speak softly, “What’s the story, Yang?”

“Heavily modded DNA. About a hundred different chemical signatures in his blood. He’s only loosely human by this point.”

“Jesus on a jumping jack!” Houston said from the other side of the doorway, and Juliet almost laughed at the desperation in his voice.

“I’m writing you up when we get back, Houston,” Polk said, straightening up. “You all heard Yang? This thing’s not human, and his claws and teeth are perfectly capable of killing. If there are more like this, do not take chances trying to play Mother Theresa. Am I clear, V?”

“Roger,” Vandemere said, and Juliet could hear Houston grumbling, but he didn’t respond.

“What’s the move, Sarge? Backup?” Rodriguez asked.

“We are the backup. We’re Zeta Protocol! Tighten your shit up, people! Roman? You’ve got door duty. Houston, you’re with her. Do not let anything or anyone in or out without clearing it with me. White, you’ve got point. Let’s go, people! You know the drill! Corporate wants this site cleared and made safe, and we’re burning daylight!”

Juliet moved into Rodriguez’s spot when he followed White into the entry corridor, and, as the others filed past her, Sergeant Polk paused to speak to her, her voice pitched low and not carried through the group comms.

“Roman, we didn’t expect anything quite this gnarly for your first ride-along. Do what Houston says—he’s a whiney bastard, but he’s good at what he does. If we call for him to come forward,  stick with him; I don’t want you on your own at any point. Ever. Clear?”

“Yes, Sarge.” At Juliet’s words, Polk nodded and started forward, ducking through the metallic doorway and dragging her chromed fingertips along the lintel as though measuring its sturdiness.

“I heard that, Sarge,” Houston called after her, but the tall, intense woman ignored him. After a few seconds, after everyone else had gone inside, she was standing alone with Houston in the cool air, a naked, ruined human not ten feet away from her. She wrinkled her nose, glad she was upwind from the body and wondering if she’d get in trouble for dragging it a bit further away.

As though he’d been reading her mind, Houston said, “Keep an eye out while I drag this poor bastard a way’s off—he stinks like hell.” He didn’t wait for a reply, moving away from the door to gingerly grasp the dead man’s ankle, dragging his corpse through the grass. Juliet had a hard time pulling her eyes away from the long red smear left in the wake of Houston’s progress, but she did, following his command to keep alert.

She shifted to the other side of the door and alternated panning her vision over the treeline and then back, peering into the dark shadowy interior of the research facility, her enhanced optics showing her other blood smears on the white walls and pale industrial tile—whatever went down in that place, it wasn’t good. She hoped the staff members were all right, holed up in a secure location, but she worried; all that blood had to have come from somewhere.