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Chapter 7: Guerrilla Tactics

  I got a whole five hours of sleep before Saint Peter woke me. Our Fabricator order had arrived in Akron, along with a platoon of zone security soldiers. They were all coming to the Seminary. Not a good development. We spent the next hour cleaning up our signature. The office trailer was scrubbed out. We packed the Combat Skins into one of Rafe’s weapon caches out in the woods. Father Luke put the kidney stone materials in the ceiling above the lab and transferred the data files to our ship in orbit. The doctors received a stern lecture on hiding their suspicions. We would get our new equipment running and show the soldiers nothing, unless the doctors wanted to move into a detention facility of their own. If we said it was safe, they could access their files and develop their nano. But it was going to be kept secret, for now.

  The EEG/MEG balloon stayed up. We were going to scan the soldiers as a courtesy. That it gave us a better Battlenet would not be mentioned. The last thing we did was unscrew the spotlight on the steeple cross. By the time the armored cars pulled in, we were clean and prepped.

  Major Shawa was not with this group. Their commander was a Major Watanabe, a stocky fellow with a lantern jaw and permanent frown lines. He made no secret of not liking this assignment or us. His terse conversation with Father Luke revealed that they were here to guard the Nano Assembler. It was thought that the guerrillas would want to capture it. They could develop dangerous bots with the device. It all sounded very plausible, until I saw the two technicians. They wore utilities but carried tools and scanners. All the labs were scanned and inspected. Saint Peter said they were hacking at the network, facilitating outside intrusions. He could keep them out of the Battlenet, but the doctors would not be able to work without sending data out. Actively shutting the spyware down would reveal our capabilities. He would work up sandboxes and countermeasures whenever the technicians stopped poking around.

  It was frustrating. We had the tools but could not use them without revealing knowledge. Major Watanabe’s cover story about the guerrillas gave me an idea, though. If the Nano Assembler wasn’t here, then the soldiers would leave. I kicked the thought up to Saint Peter.

  The doctors had put together the Assembler in one of the labs. There were large tanks of parts stock and coolant feeding into the final assembler, which looked like a finned chrome barrel. It weighed almost seventy kilos. Everything else was replaceable.

  We brainstormed a while on the matter. Rafe and Etienne had some solid additions I incorporated. When the plan was packaged, we sent it to Saint Peter for development. We edited the plan for Father Luke’s consumption. Elements of it were going to be unchristian. When the polished final was submitted, we all signed off. Then I called the guerrillas.

  I told them we found a banker spy. Her name was Fumiko and I would like them to take her off our hands. If they could hold her for a while out of the way, I would ask Daimyo how he wanted to play her. I’m sure he would appreciate the opportunity. We would drive her out to the farm road they came in on last time at about ten pm. Oh, and Zone Security was at the Seminary, so be careful not to get too close. Please RSVP. It took them about an hour to message back.

  It was mostly true. Fumiko’s interrogation showed that she was reporting to a cartel of banks and real estate brokers who stood to gain the foreclosed ranches. Her progress reports allowed them to leverage their market positions. We were pretty sure her intel was getting to Cornucopia Product Research as well. They started shipping our Nanoquinacrine to the Belters right after we had treated fifty patients. If we were going to make any moves, the spy had to go. Saint Peter mail dropped copies of Fumiko’s reports to the big city Christians. They would disseminate to other protected cultures and rancher co-ops. By tomorrow, the bankers and company men would believe they had a leak and no one would be hearing from Fumiko. Confusion to your enemies.

  Etienne walked into the lab and disconnected the assembler feeds. He also prepped our microwave sterilizer. They would both be portable in an instant. He unlocked a window and walked back out the door. As night fell he would be heading to the weapons cache.

  Rafe took Fumiko’s quad out, rode up the farm road and pulled it over to the side. He triggered Etienne’s disable program then walked into the woods. He was going to the weapons cache too.

  Father Luke had most of the clergy staff go home. They had been away for a while and needed a night off. "Please, those of you with family should go home. We will watch God’s house with these soldiers for the night. Come back refreshed tomorrow." He even encouraged two of the doctors to go with them for a home cooked meal. In an aside he told all the remaining doctors to turn in early tonight. We might be doing some security things so they could get to work safely in a day or two. Stay inside the dorms and have a potluck dinner. And don’t tell the volunteers anything.

  I collected Fumiko about a quarter to ten. "Hey Fumiko, that quad of yours cut out on Rafe about a mile up the road. I’m going to pick him up. Why don’t you come along and see if you can get it started?" She immediately launched into a story about it cutting out once in a while. Good old Etienne. He had been having fun. I praised her mechanic skills and walked her to my truck. The distraction of our late night drive allowed Etienne to slip up to the lab building. He was nearly invisible in the mimetic leotard and Combat Skins. Having the Battlenet show him where the soldiers were helped a lot too. By the time I had Fumiko to the Seminary gate, Etienne was through the window and in the lab. He would wait for the next distraction.

  I parked with the headlights on the quad, shouted Rafe’s name out the window and got out. "Fumiko, go ahead and see if you can get it started. I’ll find Rafe. He’s probably off in the woods looking for a good bush." About fifty meters into the woods, Rafe gave me a croaking noise, like a big creek toad. It made me jump as I made my way back to the Seminary. Invisible pendejo.

  Before I got there, the Battlenet showed a truck pulling up to Fumiko and the quad. Four guerrillas got out and quickly bundled her up. When they were all back in the truck and heading away, Rafe let loose a burst of auto rifle fire at my truck. He fired twice more, and then switched to a submachine gun. Alternating between the weapons, he sounded like a firefight back at the Seminary. The surprised guerrillas accelerated sharply and were soon out of sight.

  The Security platoon buzzed like angry bees as an armored car raced away to the noise. Troops shifted toward the sound of guns. Major Watanabe came out of his command car and started pushing his men into a defensive position. That’s when Etienne hit them with the microwave. Even a thin layer of metal would block the weapon, but the soldiers used polymer armor. Invisible waves fanned over a wide area and the defensive position collapsed into shrieking men rolling on the ground. It feels exactly like your skin is on fire, but only leaves a sort of sunburn. With the Major also rolling around screaming incoherent orders, the other soldiers collapsed back to the position in support.

  Etienne stopped firing and hopped out the lab window with the Assembler. There was a clear path to the woods. He was gone before the soldiers stopped screaming. A few fired weapons into the woods where I lay, so I ducked and stayed down for a while.

  Rafe and Etienne buried their gear in the woods again and went back to the dorms. They joined the exodus of doctors and nurses following Father Luke to help the soldiers. The medics began triage under their guns. When it got quieter, I shouted "Help. Don’t shoot. I’m coming out." My sergeants piped up, "It’s Medina. Don’t shoot him." I guess the soldiers heard, but they didn’t acknowledge it by swinging their weapons away. I stood up with hands held high and walked out of the woods. The soldiers tracked me with their rifles. I looked a mess, with leaves and mud stuck to me. My clothes were torn. The soldiers commanded me to a kneeling position anyway. Father Luke brought the revived Major Watanabe over to get me cleared.

  I spun them a story about going to retrieve a quad with Fumiko. They had all seen us leave. When we got there, armed men pulled up in a truck and started shooting. I ran, Fumiko disappea
red. I made my way back to the Seminary in the dark, but stopped when I heard the soldiers screaming. I said I heard a humming noise in the forest where I lay. Someone ran back the way I came. Then the soldiers started shooting and I stayed down. I told them I thought the attackers had run away before the soldiers started shooting. I didn’t get a good look at anybody, being too busy running through a forest in the dark and hiding.

  Watanabe looked like he was chewing nails by the time I finished. He gave rapid Japanese marching orders to his men and a dozen of them went into the woods. He radioed the armored car that left the compound and got a report. My truck was shot up a little. There were signs of a firefight at the woods edge. They had found no one.

  We put salve on the soldiers to numb their enraged nerve endings. They were still running reconnaissance around the compound when we all went back to the dorms. Everyone was really tired. Doctor Torelli slapped me on the back and asked if I "...think it worked?" I told him, "If what worked?" but winked when I said it. He gave me a big smile and said "Right…gotcha."

  Our morning started early again. I was really going to need a nap. A soldier had found the open lab window and then realized the Assembler was gone. The only soldiers left when I woke were Watanabe and two corporals. They were hopping mad. Father Luke stuck to our story and pointed out that everybody at the Seminary came out to help when his soldiers were attacked. The Major suggested that we had a thief. The Father pointed out that we had no reason to steal something already in our possession. Maybe the Major could find Fumiko and ask her these questions? She was the only one not available anymore. My role came up again and then the whole argument just circled the drain from there. The Major could throw no suspicion on us that would stick. He stomped off to inform his superiors and get new orders.

  His new orders were to search for the truck that took Fumiko. Orbital surveillance had a track on it heading to the outer zone. They lost it on a forest road outside of Akron. He would eventually find an empty truck, but I could have told him that. The guerrillas left me a phone message saying they had the package. Mission accomplished.

  The doctors ordered another Assembler from the officials holding our Fabricator. The officials refused on the grounds that having another dangerous device delivered to us would just add to the present security threat. They put us off with assurances that their men were closing in on the thieves. Good luck with that.

  We moved the simulator out of our mostly empty storage container in the parking lot. That would now hold the Nano Assembler. We hung some tarps in front of the containers to confuse orbital surveillance and moved the crated parts right in. If we looked secure tomorrow, Etienne would dig up the Assembler so the doctors could plug it in and get to work. I gave Doctor Torelli the container lock code. He said "I’m still not sure how you did it, but you got brilliant results. When we get back to Arkhome, I’m going to have the Bishop commend you to the Grand Master." I told him, "Then we will just have to make sure you get back to Arkhome." It shifted his thoughts back to the array of forces we would be opposing. He nodded seriously and said, "I am much more confident today that we will be going home, keep up the good work." Torelli was a smart guy. He was easy to prod back to a security mindset.

  I got my nap. The Akron treatment appointments came in along with the staff that we had sent off. The events of last night fueled rumor and speculation. Father Luke was kept busy shaping these opinions to fit our desired scenario. The spin went like this;

  "Yes, the Fumiko who seems to have been the author of spy reports they’ve heard about has gone missing. Security soldiers encamped themselves at the Seminary clinic. There was a gunfight between the soldiers and some men in a truck. When we woke up this morning, we were missing valuable lab equipment. Fumiko was gone. The soldiers left. We don’t know who to blame, but Cornucopia officials will not replace the stolen equipment. Please don’t mention any names in connection with this communiqué. It could be hazardous."

  Everyone offered a possible culprit. None of them were us. Perfect.

  It generated the expected outrage and went viral. Journalists picked it up as an item for research. In a few days it might become a Question, something asked about that must be answered. It was also necessary to continue cover. We should be outraged. Who knows, we might get another Assembler.

  I did get a new truck. Another rancher parted with his work truck when he heard mine got shot up. I thanked him and took it, but would keep the shot up truck, it was finally broken in. Instead, I went to Burkowski’s yard to trade up. He had an old EMAG rig with a flatbed trailer.

  I asked how his Aunt Bev was doing; she had a stage 1 condition we were stabilizing with Nanoquinacrine. We haggled a little over his commission, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Especially after I hinted that we were close to a breakthrough at the lab. He threw in a winch and a ramp for a reasonable figure. Back at the Seminary, I parked it near the container we were using for the Nano Assembler. If needed, I could get it portable in about five minutes with a pit crew. There were a few places nearby it could be parked out of sight.

  Cornucopia Security was right to be concerned about a loose Nano Assembler. The ability to design replicating nanobots was a real threat to the survival of other species. They would eat until programming told them to die. Colony Terraformers used them to shape planets. As a weapon, they were for slow attacks. You had to develop mass and delivery systems. They needed to get into exponential growth without running out of food. And a good programmer on the other side could make a nanophage to infect the bots with. Saint Peter had design data on thousands of models, both defensive and offensive. Doctor Torelli’s department was adding another with the Prion folding bot, so, thousands and one. He had a million more designs for all sorts of peaceful purposes. I doubted anyone on Cornucopia was in a position to win a Nano war with Saint Peter.

  There was a time on Earth when Nano became ubiquitous enough for small groups to manufacture it. Regulation was lagging behind the technology and many abuses were seen. The Garda had advanced the development of military Nano. Health Care designed effective new medical technology. Industry provided special materials and computing designs. The Amateurs tapped all those fields, trading designs over networks. They would custom build projects for customers on spec or have competitions. They designed bots for all sorts of fantastic purposes. Some of these had unintended effects or anti-social uses. It was free market future shock. The technology went into fast forward while the regulation fell further behind.

  When it broke, we had a Time of Troubles. People made Nano for sex, drugs and power. The trio of subversion. When they fought to continue in the face of growing regulation, they became much more hazardous. Nano was used as an area weapon with effects that could be compared to WMD or biblical plagues, or packed into bullets that were destructive far out of proportion to their size. About eight percent of the population was sophisticated enough to fight a nano war. We spent a lot of time, in the Garda, worrying about that eight percent. And so, regulation went into fast forward. Certain design types became forbidden to individuals. The Nano Assemblers themselves became tougher to license. Many small Nano wars broke out as amateur designers ran afoul of the law. Some of them had considerable skill, but Garda AI’s learned fast. Before it was over, the air had become foul in many cities with the black grit of dead Nano. Several million people died collaterally, worldwide.

  Saint Peter wasn’t authorized for more response than an eye for an eye. He was particular who that eye belonged to. That comes from having the long view constantly in mind. Saint Peter would evaluate his designs, trying to get a balanced response for our approval. He did crash a lab computer with a series of false hardware error codes to yield a clean unit for the Assembler. Production was good to go. I could hardly wait.

  I started working on infiltration methods. It would be necessary to leave quarantine to access targets. I talked to a sandbox Daimyo about border crossing and connections outside the zone. Saint Peter was a
big help getting past his psychology. Whenever a Daimyo stopped cooperating, we ran up another. It didn’t take long to get a picture of his underground railroad. It featured Brian and Tashida handling the first leg. The pass off was a farm outside the zone. I saw the operation was designed to turn a profit, Coyotes I understood. North Mexico had plenty of the breed all my life. When borders began disappearing, they had to revise the priorities of concealed personal transportation. They moved criminals secretly. They moved medical patients to care unlawful in their Communities. They entered Communities with workers in spite of Closed Employment Regulations. They trafficked combat zones. Coyotes etched a living out of hazard pay and it made them cynical. Those who valued their lives were also greedy. I studied the routes and thought about Fumiko. How would Daimyo play her to make money? I talked to the sandbox Daimyo again. I needed his touch of authenticity. Saint Peter and I plucked at the folds of his plan to make it fit our objectives. I could get out of the zone if done soon.

  That night, we hooked up the Nano Assembler and the doctors began making the Prion refolding bots. They spent four hours fiddling with the replication rate and life span to fit human norms. It would take some fine tuning, but they could halt the disease absolutely. Once they had several growing cultures, they didn’t need the Assembler for a while. I packed it to travel.

  In the afternoon, I moved the container to Burkowski’s parts yard. Our hunter tarps made it look like felled trees and junk. To the orbital spys, I was returning a borrowed truck. To Burkowski, I had supplies we needed to protect from the soldiers. I asked him to store them there, hooked to his power grid so the drugs wouldn’t spoil. We would probably be dropping by for supplies, otherwise the container stayed locked. If he did that, I would give him the EMAG and flatbed. Of course my good friend Mr. Burkowski was glad to help. He had heard about our troubles with the soldiers just the other night. I reassured him that the cure was coming. He should take his Aunt Bev in soon.

  It was good that he did. Those proteins that had not completely died were restored. The dead prions were rendered non-infectious. We couldn’t replace dead cells, but she would suffer no more brain damage. We specifically didn’t update the patient consent forms. This would be our secret for now. The doctors knew the nano design would be recognized.

  It was time for Templar field justice. We had a ninety five percent lock on our guilty parties and were still covert. Networks were in place. The doctors could go no further without weakening our position. If we went overt and tried to control Cornicopian security, we would all end up in a mass grave with the ash of mad cows.

  I asked Saint Peter for his best scenario. He downloaded data to starting blocks on the network. Careful timetables for its release were reviewed. We would be harnessing Christians, Guerrillas, Belters and Investors. They all had their means and motives. More importantly, the enemy himself would provide aid to our efforts. We were just a few trying to ride a tiger. Any misstep would bury us. I packed kit and made a pickup at the Nano Assembler. Rafe and Etienne collected their own gear while I called the guerrillas, time to feed them their orders.

  Daimyo’s plan involved getting Fumiko to issue some incriminating statements at gunpoint and then getting a ransom to shut her up. My own modification was that he needed her outside the quarantine or Security would go door to door finding her. I had a price, they had to get me and a couple friends out too. In return, we were going to escort Fumiko to Daimyo’s Belter contact and distribute the video. When that was done, we would come back. Fumiko wouldn’t be with us. Brian was uncomfortable losing his link to Daimyo, but I had the right names to drop. When I assured him we would be gone less than a week, he gave us a time and place. I think he was a little tired of Fumiko too. Security was starting to ask around in the zone for her whereabouts.

  My compadres joined me at sunset. We had lots of toys under our clothes, but were leaving the Combat Skins. Too obvious. We took Etienne’s old truck. He had mostly de-militarized it, for long term parking up near the border. It had three duffels of serious hardware in the bed, stealth inventory and hard entry kit. If we had to use them, we were probably screwed.

  Father Luke came out to the truck and leaned in past Etienne with some paper bags. He’d packed the bottoms of the bags with a few of our specialized Cocktails; on top was a plowman’s lunch. I was really getting tired of green apples, but the drugs were welcome. He also had a pack he put in the bed, a Field Translator cobbled together from my quad. That was one of my stipulations. Our implants didn’t have near the bandwidth. If we were going to get inside the enemy’s decision cycle, we needed to be fast and backed up. Father Luke gave us a cross sketched in the air in front of him. "Go do God’s work and protect his people. Those of us who know will pray for your success" He stepped back and waved goodbye. It was a good, quick Blessing. I was afraid he would linger by the truck too long and orbital eyes would make something of it.

  Etienne drove us out as night settled more closely. We had a few extra hours to shake surveillance. In the treelined roads near Akron we changed directions a few times and killed the lights when crossing open ground. Etienne donned his imager glasses and made good time through some dark, twisting lanes. I had to put mine on to fight carsickness. We parked for an hour under dense trees near a crossroads. The Plowman’s lunch tucked away with a tab of Nocturne. Our eyes dilated and hearing became more acute. It did something to biorhythms too, because a surge of energy lifted us up. Time to run the border.

  Brian and Tashida were waiting for us near some four seat sandrails. A guerrilla I didn’t know was cradling an auto rifle. My old pal, Tanaka, was cuffed to Fumiko. She was sporting a head bag, but I recognized the nails, cherry red and chipped. I said hello and lured Brian away from Fumiko with a hooked finger. She would know it was us soon enough, but other intel was not for her ears. Like how this crossing would work.

  They transferred the cuff to Rafe. He would sit on her for the near future. Tanaka got in the front. That left Etienne and I in the other big rail. We tied down our duffels and strapped in for the ride. Tashida had a wild gleam in his eye and these sandrails looked pretty fast.

  They took the low road at speed. Night vision let them push the envelope down a series of gullies. The electric drives made no noise but the tires hummed and popped. I remembered this route took a little jump over the fence, about the time we got airborne. Only three wheels hit on landing and I nipped the inside of my cheek. Etienne got hit in the head with a kicked up rock. By the time they got us near the farm, we had gotten used to our injuries. Our ride stopped about a kilometer out. We deployed in the dark and wrestled with Fumiko and the luggage. Brian gave us a pickup time, I picked which day. Whether we showed or not would depend on several things, like if the response team being sent to where we just broke quarantine found Brian on his way back. Coyote chances.

  We started walking up the farm path. When Brian was out of sight, we drifted to the road leading into the farm. I flashed my light up the road. A truck flashed back. The city Christians had come. Instead of meeting the farm Coyotes, at some danger to us, Rafe liked getting picked up by our own network right away. The Christians would work for free and keep their mouths shut. I had no problem signing off on that.

  We sat in the back of a windowless delivery truck. It advertised housecleaning on the side. The drivers spoke Japanese with a little Cantonese thrown in, "You go safe. Take you safe place." They both dressed like laborers, but flashed silver crosses worn around their necks. They looked at Fumiko in her head bag and said nothing. For the drive back, they stared out the front windshield and continued to say nothing. They had good instincts for this.

  We arrived at a dark house. They had the keys, but must have worked there. It was a fairly large place with sheets over the furniture. They gave me the keys and left. There was water, but the lights didn’t work. We had to walk around with the imagers on. Rafe switched his cuff to Fumiko’s other wrist around a bedpost. She called out our cover names and demand
ed freedom. We ignored her. Rafe slapped a patch on her neck and held her legs until she quit moving. "Nighty, night, Princess."

  I set up my Field Translator. We got a new sandbox Fumiko. This one filled us with little details about the Guerrillas. Saint Peter sent updates from the original Fumiko, speculations on the Belter’s and the Cartel. He prescreened a viral release of his Fumiko interviews for us. It was a compilation of different versions that looked jerky and authentic. The spin sounded good. There were about twenty versions to see, I went to sleep before getting through four. The Japanese gave me a headache.

  Our ride came back at dawn, same housecleaning van, different guy. We got Deacon Cho. He ran the housecleaning service and was very well thought of at the Lutheran church. That and he was a can-do Fixer with a crew of amateur spies. Father Luke researched and recruited him, but it made it riskier to conceal that we had Fumiko. More in the know was more risk, so Rafe kept her out of sight. I wanted her gone tonight or we would have to get the two quiet guys again.

  Etienne and I went for a ride. I told Deacon Cho we were investigating the Prion disease for the church. We tried to look sufficiently capable without saying we were Templars, but I think he knew. I gave him a story about Cornucopia Co. already having a cure. He was suitably outraged. He would use his housecleaner connections to get us into a few executive homes. As he dropped us at the first house, he wished us well. We waved back in our Cho Housekeeping jumpers and called him Bosu. Boss.

  Executives that lock their stations every time they leave the office would tolerate all kinds of sloppiness in their home terminals. Some were better than others, but most would accept a peripheral that connected them to Saint Peter. We gained access while the cleaners worked the houses. But access wasn’t all we needed. Eight of these houses belonged to targets. Two more were marked as casualties. I slipped Seekers into their seat cushions, an old prank with a twist.

  A Seeker is a sophisticated stealth delivery system for Nano. A filament wire forms a climbing line for Nano in a bulb base. It is so thin, most people never feel it enter the skin. The Seeker part is special pathfinder nano at the top of the bulb. If they saw the right molecules, they would lead the attack Nano up the wire. The whole thing looked like a hair with a thick follicle. In three days, it would consume itself and leave dust. The attack nano used was a variant of the prion folding bots. Ours still lived three days and flushed out of the body, but this version replicated at high speed. During the three days, it would rapidly and irretrievably destroy brain cells. We also had a lethal version that replicated at a higher rate for our two casualties. They were technicians from the genetics lab, advanced Nano designers who certainly had a hand in the attack. They would also be two of the few who could have fought a Nano war. The other eight targets were executives in the chain from the lab. Once they sat in their chairs, they would be making no more important decisions, ever.

  Saint Peter had sanctioned forty one casualties and sixty two targets. No more Christians were expected to die. The Eye for an Eye protocol also demanded an economic response. We used a percentage of wealth calculation to evaluate that. Saint Peter believed we could fulfill the goal politically. I was relieved, poisoning dumb livestock was distasteful. We had started a clock. The targeted would exhibit symptoms within a day or two. The casualties would just forget how to breathe a day after infection. We needed to get to the other ninety three quickly. That would be tomorrow. Tonight we needed to sell Fumiko.

  Saint Peter had made contact with the Guerrilla’s Belter contact. He was called Devin Munson, a grain trader who sidelined as a spy. Saint Peter had sent a version of the Fumiko interrogation designed to fit his motivations. Saint Peter’s avatar for these negotiations arranged delivery at a crossroads away from our safe house. Under the guise of a guerrilla sleeper team, we sold Devin a Cartel spy for his own use. Rafe handed her over while we covered from the fields. I left a message for the guerrilla’s that we had made delivery and were working on the video. The fat envelope of money from Devin was a nice plus. Always have our overhead to consider.

  We got up before dawn and dropped a focus Cocktail. While we assembled our kit, the night’s feeds were reviewed. Saint Peter saw indications that Fumiko was being moved out to the Belt. She would likely be offered sanctuary for cooperation. It only mattered that she be kept away from her old employers. Our videos could be released without her.

  Six of our future casualties and targets were found to be backed up. They could Transfer to an earlier version and completely escape retribution. Saint Peter was working on a plan for them, but would need a little time to game favorable odds. I took that to mean it was a suicide mission now. I hoped he came up with something fast.

  Saint Peter told us the munitions were ready. Rafe pumped the air with his fist and gave Etienne a wicked grin, boys and their toys. He gave us an address for pickup. Our shuttle, parked at the airport, had turned itself into a Battlenet HQ. Saint Peter directed the assemblers and stock in the hold to fab up supplies for the cause. He also social engineered our network of friends until he found an airport worker. The man had family at one of the outer ranches. One of them had received prion treatment, but they might still lose the ranch. He was approached by Mr. Cho and after some negotiation, would work out of gratitude and deliver for a chunk of cash. A robot loader from the shuttle had piled boxes in the hangar. He just had to pick them up and drive them out of the airport.

  At first light, four cars pulled into the driveway of the safe house. Three drivers exited, then entered the fourth car and drove away. Christian businessmen had donated to the cause. We had clean wheels for the day. After that, they were stolen property.

  We convoyed to the pickup address. It was a shipping company. Our man was parked in a truck near the dumpster. I shook his hand, pressing an envelope into his palm. We didn’t exchange names, he thought we were guerrilla sleepers and there was a possibility we would kill him. He hooked his thumb at the bed of his truck and hopped back in the cab. We shifted the crates and left in separate directions.

  My crate contained a needler palm gun. The payload was prion bots bonded into two millimeter darts. It could spray fifty of them in a few seconds, or shoot one quietly about fifteen meters. A hit would feel like an insect bite, at first. I also received a few special grenades and a briefcase pulse-thermal bomb. To go with the toys, I got networked contact lenses, targeting would be greatly enhanced. In the bottom of the crate was an ID theft kit; makeup, documents and field samplers. I dropped a combat Cocktail and checked my schedule for the first target.

  The three of us became a nuisance to security for the next few hours. Calls came in from all over about someone with an air pistol shooting people. That was the few who didn’t shrug it off as a bug bite. We would shoot them in their driveways or stopping for breakfast or in traffic. Saint Peter had employee images and schedules lifted from Security’s own surveillance system. Whenever I had one in sight, my contacts would color code the target and positively ID them against employee records. I shot a dozen. Rafe and Etienne got similar numbers before knocking off for a break before lunch. Saint Peter would update while we ate. We were going to get very busy for lunch.

  Security was having a hard time getting leads on the spree shootings. By the time the few victims got checked out, there was no needle to find. Toxin screens were negative. Speculation ran from aggressive insects to ice projectiles. The victims did all work for Cornucopia Co., but so did thousands of people who were on those same commuter routes. Detectives were assigned to canvas for witnesses, the victims were treated and released. These colonials had not experienced Nano drive-bys before. In a few days, they would realize they had.

  I tracked my lunch target carefully. He had the misfortune of looking pretty close to me, handsome devil. My ID theft kit would make for a closer match. He went to lunch with a young intern at a sit down deli, same as last week. He failed to return from the restroom; instead being busy getting grabbed, drugged and walked out the b
ack to the trunk of my car. I had the keys to his car now, the better to get through the gate with.

  I moved his car to the back parking lot right after putting my double in the dealership car trunk. I wanted to hide it from the intern. Then I finished prepping. The samplers lifted prints, retinals and cells. He wasn’t a target for field justice, so I padded him comfortably and kept patches on him to keep him sleeping. By tomorrow, security would get a stolen car report and pick him up. I wiped the car down and got into my new ride.

  He had a plush sedan with all the popular luxuries. As I was driving away, I saw the intern come outside and spot me driving off. I gave her a little wave. From a distance, she still seemed pretty upset. I’m sure my double would be able to patch that up mañana, after security and medical released him. He was a handsome fellow with a story now.

  I dropped by a charge station restroom to finish changing. Old style business wear with some deceptively tactical dress shoes. The suit was cut around my toys by Etienne. He learned tailoring from his papa. Papa’s shop was popular with plainclothes Garda, who were a bad influence on Etienne. Good thing papa had another son.

  Touched up the makeup in the mirror. The hair looked good, just like my ID photo. My name now was Markus Greico, Accountant III in the research division. I had surveillance data, HR records and a private investigator report retrieved by Saint Peter to get me into character. What he couldn’t provide me was a good escape plan.

  The problem was those backed up targets. Rafe was set to scramble the databank here in the city. The mirror databank was in the orbital station. We only had one sure way to deploy to orbit and I was not going to send Etienne on a suicide mission that I was better suited for. A tab of special Cocktail gave me a better outlook. I was looking forward to going overt in our enemy’s home. Live fast, die young and leave a pile of ash.

  The gate looked pretty imposing, four meter chain link with cameras and armed security. The car chip proclaimed my right to parking and the security badge let me slide through without much scrutiny. Their size and hierarchy worked against them, too many people to process in and out for lunch and some of them signed the guard’s checks.

  I got out of the car at my assigned spot in the parking garage and grabbed my briefcase and a computer backpack with the Field Translator. In the lobby, two guards stood at a scanner arch. Flashing my ID got me around that. They checked everybody going out to stop espionage, but employees could just breeze right in. My office was on the third floor. I would go nowhere near that, for fear of meeting coworkers. What I wanted was the sixth floor Director Office. My ID took the elevator to the top.

  I stepped into an impressive teak and brass reception area. Cameras and locked doors kept it secure. A well groomed lady wearing a headset sat behind the low counter to vet entries. She enjoyed no special security. Saint Peter whispered in my ear that her computer enjoyed no special security either. Now that the Field Translator was in range, he was worming into the local network using her pass codes.

  "Markus Greico for Mr. Isklander. I have a presentation to make." She gave me a smile that was hard to read. "Please have a seat and I will announce you." I gave her a winning smile back and said "Arigato." I knew Mr. Isklander wasn’t going to get the call in his office. Instead, Saint Peter buzzed me in with a convincing Isklander approval. I smiled at the receptionist again and went through the door.

  I didn’t need Isklander just yet. I dropped my ID card in front of his door. Down the hall was the key coded entry to Director Mushashi’s lair. Anyone wanting to pull strings at the genetics lab would have to pass through that door. I stopped at the knob and waited for the click. The phone rang inside a little before the door unlocked.

  Mushashi was seated at a large desk across ten meters of patterned carpet. He stopped talking when I came in, but I could hear Saint Peter doing his spiel on the speaker. He wanted a guest at a luncheon for Shacho Ishikawa. He was presenting himself as a media reporter. Mushashi said, "Hold on a minute please" and switched to the handset. He held that against his chest as I approached the desk. "And you are?" he said with an irritated look on his face. I introduced myself as Markus Greico just long enough to get to his desk and put my briefcase down. Then I stepped around the desk and pulled him backward out of the chair in a choke hold.

  He was very surprised. It was his first brush with violence in a long time and I was pretty pumped up with my special Cocktail. I rolled him on his stomach and pinned him for the few seconds it took to choke him unconscious. Then I hooked him to the Field Translator. Saint Peter immediately uploaded the file and started the Seven Hells. He added the seventh to get the keys to the network. Running the simulations full out in quantum space gave me a verdict in five minutes. Guilty. Casualty sentence. I saw target icons light up in the surrounding offices. My network contact lenses were accessing Saint Peter’s newly hacked company net.

  I contemplated my moves for a second and got out a small, silenced automatic. This had to look like Daimyo’s guerrillas. The killing shot I put through a folder from his desk. That would keep me clean and presentable. I put his ID in my pocket and retrieved the briefcase. His legs thrashed a moment when I got to the door. I was glad I wouldn’t have to remember that.

  I went from door to door. Most were casualties. I used the small silenced pistol. The one who was just a target I had a drug patch for. The Prion Nano was added to it. I picked up my Greico ID and clipped it back on, straightened my clothes and checked for blood. My targets were all gone on this floor, so into the lobby again looking a little worse for wear. The receptionist was used to that reaction from underlings on the way out. I gave her a weak copy of my previous smile and got back in the elevator.

  Down to the fourth floor I went. Network Services. They had the computers that ran everything of value in Research. My Mushashi card opened any doors that wouldn’t yield to the Greico ID. The technicians stayed out of my way, mostly due to my suit. I looked like an auditor. When I connected the Field Translator at a monitor station, I looked even more the part. Saint Peter dived further into their network. I placed a few EMP grenades around the mainframes. Saint Peter could trigger them when the moment was right. The rest of my targets were in the lab, sixteen geniuses who formed the backbone of Cornucopia medical research. I carried my briefcase back to the elevator. The Field Translator stayed, it had another EMP charge and I wouldn’t need it anymore.

  Down to the lower level I went. Security was much more immediate here, an armed guard sat behind a desk. There was a retinal scanner to his left next to a vault-like door. Cameras recorded everything that happened in this alcove. I strolled over to the scanner. The guard kept a ready eye my way; he seemed fit and well trained. But he wasn’t a target and I was glad to bypass any violence against him. Professional courtesy whenever possible is a Garda regulation I always appreciated. The Cocktail howled in my head, showing killing moves.

  I put my eye to the scanner and immediately lost vision from it. Saint Peter was using the network contact lens to simulate Markus Greico. He had even filed a surprise audit meeting with my targets, to collect them and allow cover for my entry. The vault door clicked and swung inward.

  I cycled through an airlock hallway filled with strange lighting and chemical smells. If I had still been carrying Prion Nano, an alarm would have sounded and I would be trapped in a steel box. It didn’t care that I was carrying metal objects or had propellant residue on my hand. The next vault door opened inward before I got to it, sensing my ID transponder. I took a small sprayer from my pocket and stopped in the doorway, spraying strings of Fast Set into two of the bolt jambs before moving into the lab. When the door shut, it would bond the bolts and then no one would be disturbing us without heavy equipment.

  Entering the conference room, I was assailed by three casualties with concerns. They wanted to know what my audit was about, of course. I deflected, asking where I could plug in at and expressing a desire to say things only once when everyone got here. They were ac
customed to a certain haughtiness from accounting. Two took a seat and started munching on bags of Agemochi, the third left the room, presumably to round up more casualties.

  I plugged the briefcase into an outlet at the conference table. It began a low humming as I slid it beside a chair. I pulled out the chair and sat down next to the bomb. To pass the time, I contemplated Shakespeare’s "As You Like It" monologue, the one about the world being a stage and we the players. It gave me a placid, thoughtful expression instead of the fierce grimace the Cocktail was trying to get me to wear. My contact lenses were showing me casualties, tracked by their badges, coming to the meeting. I felt like a spider, watching flies.

  I waited an extra ten minutes until all of them got there. For scientists, they had a little better than the average time sense. Cornucopia Co. must be a demanding employer. I know they had no problem accepting a mandatory attendance meeting sprung on them by Finance.

  I got up when the last had entered and closed the door, using my body to block their view of the Fast Set I sprayed in the lock. It was about containment now. I strolled back to my chair and placed my hands in front of me. Several regions of my brain were in overdrive, time slowed and rage began to creep into my face. The Cocktail was going to burn me up soon. I saw confusion in the faces of the casualties. They were moving so slowly I could practically read their minds from telegraphed body language, "We must have really screwed up this time."

  I felt compelled to say something, although I probably spoke too fast for their complete comprehension, "Yes, you really screwed up this time. People know what you did. The survivors have sent me to explain how things are." The confusion increased on some and turned to horror on others. One casualty in the back got over to the door and started jiggling the knob. The sound brought a guttural moan from many. "Even if convicted, most of you are too valuable to waste. You would find yourselves sealed in a lab somewhere, working for the wrong people. For free!" More rose from their seats and moved to the door. They were getting panicky, a siren started up out in the hallway. "Rather than have you become slaves to your murderous patrons, I am here to give you release from this vale of tears." The briefcase had become uncomfortably warm, next to my leg. I thought about the trigger.

  The energy stored in the capacitor released like a flood to power the laser and magnetize the donut raceway in my briefcase. The donut filling was cesium, flashing to plasma under the laser’s touch and spinning within the magnetized loop. Room lights exploded from the intense EM field. Both sides of the briefcase blew out with a muffled "whumpf", spreading a fine white cloud of powdered aluminum throughout the room. Then the plasma containment field failed explosively, igniting the aerosol and sending a thermal shockwave through the lab.

  ****