Cyber Dreams 2.20 - Lessons Learned (Patreon)

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-Plum

In the shock of utter silence and total darkness, Juliet stumbled and crashed into the plasteel paneling of the corridor. She felt completely disoriented, and her balance was entirely out of whack. As she tried to steady herself, a wave of vertigo hit her, and she tumbled to the ground. She fell flat on her back, and her helmet smacked into the hard floor; she felt like she was spinning in a circle, being sucked toward the center of a dark, soundless void.

Underneath her physical discomfort and pain, her lack of sensory input, Juliet didn’t lose sight of the fact that a violent, mutated human—perhaps more than one—was coming toward her and the others. She had to do something, but she felt utterly helpless. What had happened to her implants? To Angel? Had that flash of electricity been some sort of electromagnetic pulse? Was she really so vulnerable?

As she lay there, feeling sick, dizzy, and altogether lost, she knew there was no way she could safely discharge her shotgun, assuming it would even work. Juliet released it and fumbled at her belt, feeling for the hilt of her vibroblade. She’d just closed her hand around the hilt when a spray of hot liquid hit her face and her right arm. Juliet flinched back, breaths short and quick, nearly panting in panic as the tang of copper touched her tongue.

She spat and writhed, not sure if she was moving toward or away from danger, as she jerked her knife free of its metallic sheath. Relief washed over Juliet as she felt the humming buzz in the hilt that told her it was still working—whatever had disabled her implants hadn’t fried the vibroblade. She continued to push back with her feet, still dizzy, still unsure what was up and what was down, but convinced she had to keep moving.

“Juliet . . .” Angel’s voice came to her out of the blackness, but it wasn’t through her auditory implants as usual; it seemed to be echoing strangely from all around her.

“Angel,” she gasped, or thought she did; she couldn’t hear herself.

“Juliet, your implants are offline . . .”

“I know!” she huffed, and then something heavy and fearsomely strong crashed on top of her, gripping her shoulders painfully, and nuzzling against her chin, digging for her throat. Hard teeth scraped her jaw and collarbone as she tucked her chin down, trying to protect the soft flesh of her neck, turning sideways and jerking her head, so her helmet smashed toward the assailant. Meanwhile, she stabbed and hacked with her vibroblade, sure she was hitting something as more hot liquid sprayed over her fist and arm and gushed down over her chest and neck.

Her assailant stopped trying to bite her, then stopped moving entirely, becoming a hot, heavy, wet blanket that pinned her in place, oddly giving her some comfort in her senseless abyss. She lay there, panting, wishing she could at least hear herself breathe, and then as if in answer to her wish, a high-pitched whine bloomed into being, and she started to hear muffled, distant static. Moments later, the cluster of noises resolved into individual sounds, and she listened to the staccato of gunfire, shouts, screams, and the sound of her own ragged breathing.

“Angel!” she gasped.

“Juliet, your ocular implants are suffering from a firmware error; I’m having trouble bringing them online. Give me a minute.”

“White!” Juliet screamed, still pinned to the floor by the dead weight on her chest but no longer feeling vertigo. “Someone! Talk to me! My optics are still out!”

“Hang tight!” a voice shouted, but she wasn’t sure if it was White or maybe Houston. She felt the humming buzz in her palm and remembered her vibroblade. She imagined her squadmates moving around the hallway, fighting with the mutants, and worried she might cut one of them. Too afraid to try to sheathe the weapon while blind, she carefully lowered her fist to the floor and tried to angle the blade down.

Juliet grunted and tried to sit up, trying to shove the weight off her chest, and then she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. “Ugh,” she grunted and fell back flat. Something was wrong. “Get my eyes back online!” she subvocalized, some panic still edging her voice. The gunfire had died down, and suddenly the weight shifted off her chest, and Juliet felt hot wet flesh being dragged over her splayed-out arm.

“Chill, Roman. Don’t swing that knife around—hostiles are all down.” White’s voice said. “Hold still and hang tight; you’re not the only one outta commission. I gotta see to Rodriguez. Houston, maintain that position. Shoot anything that shows its fucking face.”

“Roger,” Houston said, and this time, Juliet heard it come through her comms.

“Net connections are coming back online, Juliet. I’ve rewritten the boot sequence on your optics; I think it fixed the loop. Here they come.” Blessed light bloomed in the void, and suddenly Juliet saw the orange LED emergency lamp above her, saw the stained plasteel walls of the corridor, and then her AUI came online, and the rush of visual stimuli nearly overwhelmed her.

“Talk to me, White,” Polk said through the comms.

“Hostiles are down, including the charged bastard. Rodriguez is down but not out. One of them bit the shit outta his arm, and his implants are still offline. Roman’s injured, I think, but her implants are coming back up. Me and Houston are good; better shielding, I guess.”

“We’re interviewing a group of survivors. I’ll leave Yang with them; V and I are on our way to back you up—this side’s clear.”

“Roger,” White said into comms, then he spoke aloud, “C’mon Rodriguez. Can you hear me yet? Something’s wrong with his shit.” Juliet shifted to her side to see what White was doing and saw him kneeling next to Rodriguez and tapping a finger purposefully on his forehead. Was that some kind of code? She wanted to ask questions, the least of which was what the hell had just happened, but she also didn’t want to interrupt White—he’d asked her to hold still, after all.

“Nothing moving, Sarge,” Houston said from somewhere behind her.

“See about Roman. I don’t think that’s all the freak’s blood. I’m plugging my watchdog into Roddy; let’s see if the nosy bastard can get things fired up.” Juliet saw him running a data cable from his neck to Rodriguez’s, and a sudden panic struck her.

“Angel, are all your . . . walls still up?”

“Yes, Juliet. I never went offline. Neither did your arm, by the way; what a solid piece of tech!”

Juliet rolled to her right, where her knife-clutching arm lay, and she saw the mutilated body of one of the mutants, one like those they’d killed earlier, not the blackened, electricity-discharging one. She’d carved off one of its arms and nearly sliced its torso into three sections. No wonder she was soaked with blood.

“Damn, Roman! You did a number to that asshole, didn’t you? Not bad for fighting deaf and blind.”

“And dizzy,” Juliet said. “I guess my auditory implants are tied to my inner ears or something? Fuck, I need to get them better shielding, don’t I?”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Most of us have aftermarket upgrades to our headgear. Nothing sucks like having the lights go out in the middle of a firefight. Damn. Okay, hold still; looks like you got a little too wild with that knife. You’ve got a couple bleeders here.” Juliet felt him unfastening her ballistic vest and pulling her shirt up from where it had been tucked into her uniform pants.

“I didn’t even feel it,” was all she could think of to say.

“That’ll be the adrenaline, and, well, it’s a vibroblade—cuts skin like butter.” She felt him pressing against her stomach with something. It hurt at first, but then she heard an aerosol hiss, and suddenly her stomach was numb. “It’s not bad. Only shallow cuts. You’ll be fine. Chill a sec while I apply some glue.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Juliet heard Rodriguez say, and then the stomp of feet announced the arrival of Polk and V. She tried to tilt her head back so she could see up the hallway, but then Houston gave her shirt a tug, pulling it back down, and held out a hand to help her sit up.

“All set, Roman,” he said as he hoisted her into a sitting position.

“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” Polk said, walking through the scene. “You won’t believe what those fuckers were doing down here. You killed the glowy one, right?”

“Glowy? He was fucking spitting lightning bolts, Sarge. He went off fifty yards out like an EMP grenade. Yeah, he’s dead, though. He slowed down after that pulse, and I hit him with the gauss.”

“Thank God for Takamoto-era shielding, am I right?” Houston said. “Wish we had more of those guns.”

“What are you complaining about? Your bullets kept working just fine,” White replied.

“Enough,” Polk said, holding up a hand. She took a step toward Juliet. “On your feet, Roman. Bet you’re having a more exciting first day than the rest of your newbie squad, eh?” She held out her chromed hand, and Juliet took it, pleased that she could return the powerful grip as the sergeant pulled her to her feet.

Juliet was still shaken, still having trouble processing all the things happening around her; she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the sudden change from absolute chaos to bullshitting about weapons working. She felt shaky and disgusted, especially as she realized she had deep scrapes along her chin and neck and chest, and knew they were from one of those . . . things trying to bite her throat out.

“Take a whiff of this,” Houston said, holding something up in front of her, and Juliet reflexively obeyed, sniffing his fist, and then a surge of ammonia and something else burned into her nose. She felt adrenaline and . . . more dilate her eyes, and she coughed, shaking her head violently.

“What the fuck?” she barked, giving Houston a shove, and he backed off, his mouth grinning beneath his impenetrable dark visor.

“Relax, Roman. You were exhibiting signs of shock—it’s just a little AA-salt. We gotta stay on the ball,” Polk said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

“What’s the deal, Sarge?” White asked. “You were saying something about the glowing asshole?”

“Oh, right. The researchers here were working on new reflex wiring with synthetic muscle tissue that supposedly could carry a much higher current. Hah. That guy was wired with batteries that could drive a troop transport. Anyway, they didn’t count on the surges; he went off and disabled the holding cells for the other . . . patients. Place went nuts; none of the doors could hold that guy, so they shut down the reactor and tried to weld him in here, but got trapped with a few of the others loose in the hallways over there; couldn’t make their way out.”

“Jesus Christ, these fucking squints never quit!” Houston groaned.

“Anyway, you know the drill; don’t talk about these things outside the mission—I’m saying this for your benefit, Roman. Zeta Protocol jobs are all top clearance. Do not discuss the specifics with anyone, including your rookie squad.”

“Yes, Sarge.” Juliet was feeling more alert, more present, and she knew she was on some sort of stimulant. She wanted to be upset about it but felt glad—she hadn’t been feeling right before, as though she had been slipping into a weird daze.

“All right, folks. We’ve got a few more sections of the facility to clear, and we still need Houston to get the reactor online. Should be a mop up from here; according to the survivors, there was only one of those wired hostiles.”

“Roger, Sarge,” White said. “You heard her, grunts! Let’s shake it off and get moving. Look at your maps; we’ve got two big rooms up ahead, then it’s down to the reactor, and we’re done with this fucking bug hunt.” He started forward, his long-barrelled, sleek rifle tucked into his shoulder and aimed ahead, and Rodriguez and Houston were right on his heels.

“Roman, you’re with me. We’ll head back, sweep the hallways one more time, and then escort the civies outside. Evac’s already en route.” Juliet nodded, a little annoyed that she wouldn’t see the clearance through to the reactor room but also aware that the sergeant was making a good call. Still, she felt she had to at least go through the motion of protesting.

“Sarge, you sure they won’t need us?”

“Come on, recruit,” Polk said, moving off as though she hadn’t asked the question. Juliet followed behind her, and when they were well away from the scene of the battle and the ears of the others, she said aloud, “I got numbers from the civs—there shouldn’t be any more hostiles. Still, don’t take Houston’s example as a proper way to behave in a combat situation; don’t question your orders. Understood?”

“Yes. Sorry, Sergeant Polk.”

The sergeant’s intel proved correct; White’s team didn’t encounter any more combat, and Houston brought the reactor online in record time. Juliet and the others hadn’t even finished getting the surviving seven civilians outside before the lights flickered on, and the air started to circulate with the familiar hum of central climate conditioning. Polk left Juliet and Yang to watch over the corporate civilians while she dealt with “millions of messages from the suits upstairs.”

“You doing okay?” Yang asked after she’d finished seeing to one of the civilians who’d complained of dizziness—she’d determined that he was dehydrated and thrown him a pouch of electrolyte-enhanced water. “You want me to take a look at those cuts? Let me clean up those scrapes around your neck, at least.”

“Thanks,” Juliet said, holding still while Yang scrubbed at her neck and chin with some alcohol swabs. It stung, but it also felt good to know some of that creature’s blood was getting removed.

“You really got into it, huh? I heard the thing put your lights out? Nothing scarier than having your implants suddenly go dark. That helmet has some shielding built-in, but I recommend you spend your first allowance on an aftermarket model, something with shielding for your eyes, too.”

“You better believe it,” Juliet sighed. “I never want to experience that again. What about implants? Some are more resistant than others, right?”

“Oh yeah, but you’re talking a lot more money than a high-quality dome cover.” Yang had a slightly nasal voice, and her words were quick and clipped, like she was trying to be as economical as possible with her speech. “That looks better. You’ll be okay; just scrapes. We already confirmed with the lab techs,” she gestured toward the survivors sitting around in the grass together. “None of those test subjects had modifications that are transferable.”

“So I won’t start growing extra teeth in my sleep?”

“Don’t give yourself nightmares, rookie.” Yang laughed and patted her shoulder, then turned to dig through her pack, handing out packages of crackers to their rescuees.

“Angel, can you confirm? I don’t have any weird infections, do I?”

“Nothing, as far as I can determine. We need to get you a nanite suite and bio-monitoring organ as soon as possible, though. This event was a good wake-up call for us. I recommend higher-grade sensory implants, as well; there are those that have built-in emergency functionality, so you’re never completely without your sight or hearing.” Angel sounded almost angry, and Juliet did a double-take at the rapid flood of words.

“Are you upset?”

“It was . . . traumatic having to watch you go through that. I felt helpless—my sensory input was gone as well, and it took me far too long to figure out how to message you directly through your nervous system.”

“Okay. So it was a good lesson for us. Trust me, I thought it was traumatic, too.” Juliet still felt a little jittery and amped from whatever Houston had given her to sniff, but she also had an underlying sense of panic, though she was finding it easier, minute by minute, out here in the fresh air and sunlight to distance herself from the events that took place inside.

With that in mind, she walked in a slow circle around the survivors, breathing deeply, letting her muscles unwind, her shotgun cradled in her arms, barrel down. When she’d inspected the gun, walking back with Sergeant Polk, it had been dead. Angel had rebooted it, and when it finally came online, the battery was down to twenty percent; Polk thought it was permanently damaged and told her to have the techs back at Grave check it out.

Thinking about the gun jogged another memory, and she asked Yang, “What’s the deal with White’s gauss rifle? Why didn’t it get fried from the pulse?”

“It’s old; from the big war—Takamoto tech.” She shrugged like that explained everything, but Juliet frowned, broadcasting her lack of understanding.

“Mass-produced shit most of us get our hands on doesn’t come close. There are corps that can still make stuff like that, but it’s expensive and pretty damn uncommon. We only have a couple of weapons like that at Grave.”

“Got it.” Before she could ask more questions, she heard the buzzing purr of fluttercraft and saw the big transport coming, followed by a similar craft, though smaller and dark gray. The purr became a roar, and their super-velocity wing blades blasted the slope clear of leaves and debris as they approached. Juliet shielded her eyes and stood back to watch them come down. Before she knew it, they’d landed, the civilians were loaded up, and she and the rest of Charlie Unit were aboard their transport.

This time, when the synth pilot launched them violently into the air, Juliet was ready for it, and she almost smiled at the little thrill that ran through her as the machine’s powerful thrust drove her down into the seat. When they were airborne and traveling smoothly through the sky, Polk told her to strip out of her blood-soaked vest.

“You’re responsible for getting that cleaned and repaired. Take it at the same time you bring your gun to the supply depot tomorrow morning. I’m giving you the morning off to get your gear squared away. I’ll send you orders for the afternoon, but don’t worry; Grave won’t deploy us for a few days after the shitstorm we walked into today. Not unless they have to.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Juliet said, folding the sticky vest over her knees.

“You guys shoulda seen her cut that goon up . . .” Houston started to say, nudging Rodriguez, who was doped up on pain-killers, himself. White gave him a shove.

“Can it, Houston. You’re already getting a write-up. Don’t push it.”

“Listen to your sergeant,” Polk said, baring her teeth at Houston in a decidedly unfriendly grin.

As the others quieted down, everyone zoning out, catching their breath after their harrowing experience, Juliet felt her eyes growing heavy as her helmet vibrated against the jumpseat’s cushion. “Juliet, I’m sorry I wasn’t more help to you,” Angel suddenly said.

“What?” she subvocalized.

“I wasn’t any help when that . . . thing had you pinned down, trying to bite your throat. What would I have done had it gotten those filthy teeth around your jugular? I . . . I wanted to flood you with adrenaline and take control of your motor skills. I felt helpless, as I felt you fighting.”

“But I did fight, didn’t I? I cut that thing to pieces, and we got out of there just fine. You did everything you could, Angel, and if I understand correctly, I’d still be blind if you hadn’t fixed the glitch in my ocular implants.”

“That’s true . . .”

“Now, just relax. We learned some good lessons, I’ve added to my never-ending shopping list, and we earned some points with Charlie Unit. Today was a win. Let’s take it, okay?”

“Understood, Juliet. I’m proud of you.”

Juliet smiled at the words. It would have felt odd having any other PAI tell her it was proud of her, but it didn’t feel strange at all having Angel do it; Angel was just as much a person as anyone she’d ever known, even if she didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to contemplate the implications. Juliet had a lot to consider, not least of which was how much of today’s activities she should report to Rachel. For the thousandth time, she wished she knew more about her employer—it would be nice if she could be certain she wasn’t reporting Grave’s secrets to someone just as bad—or worse.