Reality Bites Page 4

  “Briony is a vindictive little cat. No normal person would have kept haunting me all these years over a pure accident.” I took Celia’s scarf from my pocket. “It’s entirely her fault I have to kill you and smash your scanner.”

  “What?”

  Arthur looked up from his scanner, saw me advancing on him, and backed away. It was ridiculously easy to pin him against the wall and get the scarf round his neck.

  “Goodbye, Arthur.” I smiled at the irritating little man. “Tomorrow morning, your body is going to be found in Celia’s office, with Celia’s scarf round your neck. I’ll explain to the police that I overheard you two arguing, and . . .”

  “Let him go!” said a female voice.

  For a second, I thought Arthur had added sound to his scanner and Briony was talking, then I saw three police officers crowding into the room. I stared at them.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Arthur pulled the scarf from round his neck. “The police are here because I’m not a complete fool. It was obvious that Ponytail Girl was haunting someone in these offices. A fortnight ago, I got the scanner image good enough to try her pointing at an alphabet chart, she told me her story, and I started planning how to help her get justice. The minute the police started taking me seriously, I gave them Briony’s statement naming you as her murderer. After that, we just had to get Jeremy to agree to help us.”

  I shook my head in bewilderment. “Help you with what?

  Arthur laughed at me. “Haven’t you worked it out yet, Mark? Today’s trips weren’t just about finding those bodies. They were about setting you up to try and kill me. There’s a hidden camera in this office that’s recorded you trying to strangle me. For the moment, the police can only charge you with attempting to murder me, not murdering Briony, because ghosts can’t give evidence in court.”

  He paused and smiled. “At least, they can’t at the moment, but once people see that my scanner really works . . . I expect things will change very soon. Briony should be standing in a courtroom, giving evidence against you, within the next three years.”

  “No.” I shook my head again. “You’re wrong. That can’t possibly happen.”

  Jeremy appeared in the doorway and grinned at me. “Oh, I think Arthur’s right. In fact, I think he’s dead right!”

  End Transmission By Gav Thorpe

  Rain pattered from the dark green leaves of the mangrove trees, a background drumming that numbed the senses with its monotony. Anna adjusted her cape and hood and settled her helmet more squarely on her head as she squinted into the scope of her IL-28, peering through the downpour towards the river.

  “It’s clear!”

  The rest of the team moved out of the gloom beneath the treeline, picking their way over the twisting roots, mud sucking at their boots.

  As though someone turned off a tap, the rain stopped. The mercenary squad gratefully dragged off their heavy weather capes despite the threat of further downpours, revealing fatigues and webbing. Patterns of active camouflage material shifted through a succession of dark greens and browns, distorting as they slowly moved over the bulges of protective plates.

  “There’s nothing happening; we’ll stop here for something to eat,” said Davidson, holding up a clenched fist.

  The sergeant’s words called everybody to a halt. The squad leader pulled up his optical mask, revealing a wide, leathery-skinned face tanned dark. He squinted in the bright light and slipped on a tarnished pair of sunglasses before sitting on an arching root. The others relaxed as well, lowering weapons and bandoleers of ammunition onto the drier patches of ground.

  The STaLKer – Sentient Transport (Light Kit) – plodded out of the forest about twenty metres away, picking its way carefully across the uneven ground. McDermott, Davidson’s second-incommand, used a wireless wand to guide the hexepedal carrier robot to a relatively flat piece of ground. Multi-faceted sensor globes like insect eyes were dotted along the robot’s length, reflecting the canopy of leaves above; armoured baggage packs swayed beneath its skeletal frame with each jerky movement.

  “Rations dispense,” McDermott told the machine.

  ++Dispensing rations++

  The robot’s sing-song artificial tones had the same effect as a dinner bell. The soldiers crowded around and took turns to take the nutri-paks as they were discharged from the mechanical mule’s pannier. Anna was last in line as she had been furthest downriver. She examined the small print on the dark grey packaging that dropped out of the bottom of the camouflaged storage bin. “Sweet and sour sea grape and cricket? You’ve got to be kidding! Who wants to swap? Come on, one of you likes sweet and sour.” Anna’s imploring was met with shaking heads, indifferent shrugs and a few vicious smiles. She slapped the STaLKer across the back. “Give me something else, you piece of junk!”

  ++Rations have been dispensed. Further rations will be available in four hours++ “Goddamn cheapskates at head office. Let those number-crunchers come out here and eat goddamn sweet and sour sea grape and cricket! How’d they like it if the vending machines only worked every four hours, right?”

  Turning away in disgust, Anna shouldered her rifle and sat down with the others. She pulled the tag on the bottom of the rations pack and waited for the chemical reaction to heat the contents. They all looked up at the sound of small rotors above. Two helidrones flitted overhead, each no bigger than a hand span. A couple of the guys waved. Anna gave the drones a two-fingered salute and turned away.

  “Arseholes,” she muttered.

  “What are we doing here, sarge?” asked Hill. She screwed up the remains of her nutri-pak and tossed it at the STaLKer. Spindly arms picked up the litter and stowed it in a compacting unit under the torso. “I thought they had another observation post watching Tarakan, from the south?” “A storm took down their relay,” Strutton replied before Davidson could answer. She gave Hill an incredulous look. “Tarakan’s been blacked out for four days. Don’t you pay attention to the catchups?”

  “I’ve got to live this bullshit, I don’t need to fill my spare time with it too.”

  Anna tossed away her half-full rations pack and stood up. The STaLKer clambered over the roots to retrieve the offending piece of discarded packaging, earning itself a glare from Anna. “This whole mission smells bad to me. Why do we have to take out a jamming post, can’t they just put up a geeorb over Tarakan?”

  “The Malaysians are paying for us on retainer, they might as well have us doing something,” said McDermott. “That and the extra combat revenue from WNN to offset the cost.”

  “Rumour has it that the Indonesians are going to pull their teams out in a few weeks,” said Ramsey. “No point going to the trouble of putting a satellite over Tarakan just to have to move it again.” “We’re the cheaper alternative?” O’Shea’s laugh was high-pitched, almost childish. She spat and shook her head. “Tell that to Wilkington and Holt.”

  There was a moment’s silence as the group’s thoughts lingered on the two mercenaries that had been killed in a firefight earlier that day. McDermott broke the still.

  “Someone messed up,” he told them, banging a fist on his thigh. “An enemy patrol just three kilometres into the contested territory? That ain’t coincidence.”

  “Did you see the badges on those guys that jumped us?” asked Bateman. “Milcorp! Why in all the holy of holies are those yanks taking Indonesian contracts? Traitors, the whole lot of ‘em. Traitors.” “You know what those big international operations are like, Nick,” said McDermott, waving his hand to indicate that Bateman shouldn’t voice his protests so loudly. “Head office in a tax haven, mostly Americans, Europeans and South Africans, contracts from whoever bids highest. It’s just business, nothing to do with morals. You know you shouldn’t take it personal.”

  “When they passed the Moudy Act, they should’ve put in that no-one can take a contract against their country of citizenship,” argued O’shea.

  “Wouldn’t make a bit of difference.” McDermott stood up an
d wandered towards the river, his bulky MPHG held over his shoulder. “How do you enforce that? The Indonesians would have your resident permit stamped in seconds, so would any other country that needs our services. I could be citizen of a dozen places in a year.”

  “Hush up,” Davidson told them. He plugged his helmet comm unit into the speaker at his belt so they could all hear the transmission he was receiving.

  “ –dn’t detect the launch at first, so they have a twenty minute start on us. We’ve sent up an AOM from Tiga station, but there’ll be a five minute window when the orbital will be above your position. You need to get out of the scanzone in the next ninety-four minutes.”

  Davidson touched the transmit button.

  “Message received, Labuan. Heading back west, getting out of the scanzone as soon as we can.” There was a distinctive crackle as a second broadcast cut in on the first. Another voice replied, much deeper than the first.

  “Negative, sergeant. You are still on mission. You have to remove the communications interdiction. We have no signals from the east coast while that jamming station is operational. Target site is just inside the scanzone. By our calculations you will achieve the objective with time to spare.” “Schlatter, what a prick,” said Hill.

  Anna curled her lip. “Profit-monkey scumbag. Swapped his rifle and combat boots for a trackpad and suede shoes. Forgotten where he started out.”

  “On foot, through another five kilometres of mangrove.” Davidson shared a look with his squaddies. “I don’t think we can do that. Colonel Parsons? Sir?”

  There was a long pause before the colonel replied, no doubt due to an off-mic conversation. He sounded resigned to the unpleasantness of what he had to say.

  “Continue to target, sergeant. We’ll keep you updated about the scan-sat.”

  As the team burst into complaints, insults and condemnation, Davidson hooked up his comm unit and picked up his weapon.

  “Anyone that wants to stand here complaining can do just that, but I’m going to start moving,” he told them. He looked up, the cloud was starting to thin, burning away in the late afternoon sun. “In an hour and a half about fifty square kilometres of this jungle is going to be under Indonesian highdef scan. They will see us. They will bring down a tonne of shit on our heads. We are now moving. Understood?”

  “Screw Schlatter,” said Bateman. “Screw WNN. Screw this contract.”

  “You walk out now, that’s not just a win bonus you’re giving up,” said McDermott. Davidson had already packed up his gear and was consulting the digital map-pad, ignoring everyone else. “It’s direct contravention of the contract. You’ll give up all the money.”

  “Can’t spend it when I’m dead,” said Bateman. “Who else is heading west with me?” A few of the others voiced their support. Anna looked between the two groups as they formed, and then at Davidson. “Sarge? Wilkington and Holt are dead already, we don’t have to join them.” Davidson said nothing. He stowed the digital pad in his thigh pocket, pulled down his visormask and headed downriver, not looking back.

  “Don’t be stupid, Nolan,” said Bateman, holding out a gloved hand as though inviting her onto a dance floor. “We really don’t need this. Seriously, screw the contract.”

  “I don’t know,” said Anna, looking downriver at Davidson. Annoyed, she kicked mud up in a broad splash, grimacing. “Goddamnit, I need the win bonus. I got credit charges up to my ears, Nick, I can’t pass on good money.”

  Anna turned away, ignoring his next words. Jogging to catch up with the others, she fell in behind McDermott, who followed Strutton and Ramsay, Sergeant Davidson leading the way. A couple of strides later, Anna glanced back but Bateman, O’Shea and Hill had already disappeared into the trees.

  “I guess five of us can do this, right?”

  *** They made steady progress for the first half-hour, following the river towards the coast. The occasional hum of the drones doing flyovers sounding like giant insects buzzing past, but nothing else disturbed the quiet of the forest. Having decided to press on to the objective, the mercenaries focussed on getting to the relay site as quickly as possible. None of them spoke until Davidson called a brief halt by a bend in the river so that he could check the digi-map.

  “Can’t you make that thing go any faster, McDermott?” snapped Ramsay.

  Anna turned to see that the STaLKer was about four hundred metres behind them, weaving its way between the thick roots with uncertain strides.

  “Just leave it,” she growled.

  “And give up the sponsorship money?” said McDermott.

  “We can’t,” said Davidson, looking up from his digital handset. “If it’s in the scanzone when that orbital comes over the Indonesians will know we’re close even if they don’t see us directly.” “Well, we can’t carry the bloody thing,” said Ramsay. “What are we supposed to do with it?” “There’s a road, about two hundred metres north of here,” the sergeant told them. “More risk of running into a Indonesian contract team or maybe even locals, but we’ll cover more ground. So will Stan.”

  “Stan?” said Anna. “You gave the kit-carrier a name?”

  Davidson shrugged. “Got to call it something. Less talking, more walking.”

  They followed the squad leader through the trees for half a kilometre and found a metalled road cutting through the forest exactly where it was meant to be. The recent rain had turned it into a shallow stream, but it was better than clambering over mangrove roots for another three kilometres. “The sky-eye head office sent up yesterday puts a possible site for the objective three-point-five kilometres east of here. We are now well and truly in the combat zone. Nolan, get the ARES up, let’s see what we can see.”

  Anna took off her backpack and dropped to one knee before pulling out a bioplastic globe. She opened up the tennis ball-sized clam pack to release the dart-like Aerial Recon and Engagement System. With an underarm throw, she tossed the device into the air.

  Activated by the sudden movement, the ARES sprouted six insectile wings and flew higher, taking up a position about fifty metres over Anna’s head. She put the carry pack away and turned her attention to the wrist-mounted control sleeve she was wearing.

  Pulling the glove off her free hand, she tapped her passcode onto the touch screen and connected the wireless link. The signal from the two tiny cameras in the ARES sent back a view of the forest to the east and west. Anna rotated the ARES north a little and then sent it on its way, keeping an eye on the signal display. She felt Davidson looming over her shoulder but the others had spread out, keeping watch both ways along the road.

  On the wristplate the image of the forest gave way to a cleared area about three hectares in size, a small compound of buildings at the southern end of the stretch of recently felled trees. The severed logs were left where they had fallen, strewn over the clearing in haphazard fashion. “Not a lumber yard,” said Davidson. “They wouldn’t leave good timber lying around in this rain.” “Has to be a electronic interdiction post or something,” said Anna. “Not big enough for a full patrol base, surely?”

  “Good call on going digi-blank for the mission,” added Ramsay from ahead. “That station would’ve picked up any networked gear within fifteen kilometres.”

  “If they have any scanning kit, they’re going to know we’re here pretty soon,” Davidson added sharply as he crouched next to Anna. “They’ll spot the ARES as soon as it get within a kilometre.” “Shit!” Anna dabbed a finger onto the controls the halt the aerial snooper’s progress before it was picked up by the Indonesian scanners. She increased the magnification but it was still too far away to see clearly what was inside the compound. She could make out half a dozen metal-roofed huts and a more substantial pre-fabricated three-storey tower made of injected concrete sheeting and graphene scaffolding. There were numerous communications antennae and dishes on the roof, but no sign of the people manning the station.

  Davidson patted her on the shoulder as he stood up.

  “Send it
to Labuan for their records.”

  With a few quick finger taps Anna packaged the collected data into a tight transmission and sent it as a coded micro-signal. One of the comms satellites in high orbit above the range of the enemy anti-orbital missiles would pick it up in moments and transfer the data packet to the reception point on Palau Labuan.

  Activating the ARES homing device , she guided the dart-like device back to her hand. Stowing it away, Anna stood up just as she heard Davidson take in a sharp breath. He cocked his head to one side, listening intently, a scowl deepening as he did so. He spoke quietly in reply, but not so quiet that Anna could not hear, though she suspected that was the intent.

  “Negative, colonel. The location is confirmed, the Malaysians can put a missile on it in fifteen minutes. We really don’t have time to sweep the station if we are to make it out of the scanzone.” He chewed his lip, listening again. “I understand, sir, but if you... Frankly, colonel, they can take their bonus and... No, of course not, colonel. If that is the last word.”

  The sergeant signalled for them to gather round.

  “New protocol. We’re to investigate the compound for intelligence. Eliminate any opposition. Double mission bonus for everybody.”

  “And it’ll be quadruple for Britannic’s shareholders, I’m guessing,” said McDermott. “Bless their little grey cotton socks.”

  “At least they didn’t ask for prisoners,” added Ramsay.

  “The Malaysians want to know what’s going on, I suppose,” said Anna. “Can we still do this in time?”

  “The call came in from Schlatter,” Davidson said quietly. He jerked a thumb skyward, meaning the two helidrones. “He’s been watching. I guess he thought we could be a bit more heroic.” Ramsay started complaining again, but all Anna could think about was the extra money. A double mission bonus would be enough to pay off all her credit and leave a little over. Perhaps even enough to get her on a q-jump to one of the colonies where the serious mercs could make a life’s earnings in just a couple of contracts.