Daisy's Gambit Page 5

  Sergeant Franklin scanned their path a moment, though she knew it was all for the young man’s benefit. The tin soldier knew full well exactly where they were to within a few dozen meters.

  “Your estimate seems about accurate,” he replied. “In fact, if you look to the left of that knoll up ahead on the right, you’ll see the top of the main building poking through the trees.”

  Everyone shifted in their seats to get a better look. Indeed, the shape of what appeared to be a grain silo peeked through the tree line.

  “Okay, we’re close,” Daisy said. “Sergeant Franklin and his men will lead the approach. There used to be a low-tier AI operating the surface facilities. We don’t know what countermeasures it may control, or if it is still operational, for that matter, so we’ll let the professionals make first contact. Any questions?”

  “If there is an artificial intelligence operating, would it not be easier to connect it to the one who sent us on this task directly?” Thomas asked.

  “Good question, son,” Sergeant Franklin replied. “And we will be connecting with Joshua to walk us through the ingress sequence, but the thing is, the facility was air-gapped and firewalled to ensure security in the event of an attack. If there is an active AI, and if it didn’t either melt down or go mad in the past few centuries, it may be able to provide us some information, but access was a separate system.”

  “But if the men underground were sealed from the surface, wouldn’t they have survived the plague that ravaged the planet?” Thomas asked.

  “Not in this case, sadly,” Sergeant Franklin replied. “In a simple alert situation that was not a condition-one attack scenario, the silos still had rotating shifts. In the absence of a pending physical attack, the crews rotated every week. Unfortunately, the seeming defeat of the invaders was, as we now know, a decoy. The plague they unleashed silently took hold, and when shifts changed, those who took up their posts inside were already long-infected as well.”

  “Hadn’t thought about it till now, but what about submarines, Daze?”

  I’m pretty sure their comms would have reported the situation up top, but even a self-contained sub needed to surface eventually. And even if their air could be purified and recirculated indefinitely, their food would eventually run out.

  “So they would have surfaced knowing to do so was likely fatal.”

  Probably did a torpedo tube lockout, swam up, gathered supplies, then swam back down. At least as long as they could do so in sealed dry suits with hard hat rigs, they’d be safe. Not a great way to spend the last years of your life. Daisy suppressed a small shudder at the thought.

  “What are we likely looking at, George?” Daisy asked. “Electric fences? Automated defenses? Um… other things rhyming with ‘ences’?”

  “There would likely be some basic deterrents, but the whole point was to keep the facility off-radar and as innocuous as possible. Electric fences and auto-cannons kind of scream, ‘Top-secret military base,” don’t you think?”

  “So nothing to look out for?”

  “I’m sure there are a few subtle countermeasures in effect, like sonic repellant and olfactory decoys.”

  “Wait, olfactory what, now?” Tamara asked, sniffing the air.

  “It was a classified deterrent system, but given our mission, and the fact the people we were protecting our systems from have been dead for centuries, I’m not too worried about spilling the beans,” Sergeant Franklin replied. “Most facilities had a two, or even three-tier system to simply make it uncomfortable for people snooping around.”

  “But not fatal?” Tamara said.

  “No, not fatal. Couldn’t go killing hikers and the like willy-nilly, now, could we?”

  “Good to hear. We’re getting pretty close, now, and I wanted to make absolutely sure of that before it was too late. Go on. You mentioned sonic as well?”

  “Well, the sonic element was much akin to what has been used for pest control for centuries, only in this case, the frequency is one designed to be inaudible, yet cause an unsettling sense of unease.”

  “Like the infamous ‘Brown Note,’ eh?” Daisy quipped.

  “Brown Note? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that one,” Sergeant Franklin replied.

  “Oh. I figured you’d have heard of it.”

  “Why brown, Daisy?” Tamara joined in. “Sound waves don’t have colors.”

  “Heh, yeah, about that,” she began. “You see, in the beginning there was an unsettling note used in old horror films to add to the experience. The Exorcist was the first, so far as I know of. Apparently, theater workers even became ill from being subjected to it for multiple screenings.”

  “When was this?” Tamara asked.

  “Late twentieth century.”

  “And you know all of this, why?”

  “Vince and I watched a lot of old films, is all,” she replied.

  A shadow fell across her spirits. Vince may have been a not-entirely organic man, but no matter how uncomfortable that made her, she had still loved him. Now, with his onboard AI wiped after being infected with the AI virus, it was all he could do to cling to life back in Los Angeles. Unconscious, unresponsive, and quite possibly gone forever.

  Daisy shook herself free from the thought.

  Not now, Daisy. Stay on task. We’ll worry about that when there’s time.

  “For once, I agree,” Sarah chimed in.

  “Anyway,” she continued, forcing the frown from her face, “the Brown Note was a low bass note, ninety-two octaves below the lowest E-flat. It was a sound that allegedly caused instant diarrhea.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Well, you would be shitting you, technically,” Daisy said, a slight flush of amusement creeping past her flash of sadness. “I’ve never tried it myself, of course. I only hope the silo doesn’t employ it.”

  Sergeant Franklin stared at the two women silently a moment longer.

  “I have no idea where you dig this stuff up, Daisy, but I assure you, the sonic defenses are not of that variety.”

  “And the olfactory ones?”

  “A simple misdirection. Enter any prohibited space, and a fine aerosol replicating the foulest decaying corpse stench imaginable is emitted into the area. Testing showed that for all but the most hardened operators, it was enough to make most intruders immediately leave the area.”

  “Hopefully you can interface with the system before we get too close and help us avoid that bit of unpleasantness,” Daisy said.

  “That’s the plan,” he replied. “And speaking of which, it looks like we’re here,” he said as they slowed to a halt.

  The fence had long ago fallen, the sprawling wild reclaiming the soil until no sign remained. The trio of buildings, however, were intact. Weathered, and looking worse for wear, but intact.

  The vehicle rumbled slowly forward and pulled to a stop fifty meters from the structures. The grain silo, which actually had been designed to hold grain––though merely to complete the deception––was in decent condition. The farmhouse and barn, on the other hand, looked far rougher.

  “Everyone, stay here,” Franklin said. “My men and I will do a quick scout of the area and deploy the AI virus scanner before we attempt to connect with the surface facility AI. If it is still active, and not infected, hopefully we’ll be able to gain intel that might make our ingress somewhat easier.”

  The trio of cyborgs quickly fanned out, the makeshift detectors in their hands scanning every time they neared a local communications junction. Ten minutes later, they returned to the waiting team.

  “Good news and bad news,” Franklin said.

  “Spit it out, George,” Daisy replied.

  “The facility AI was infected by the virus during the initial attack. Its systems are fried, and all connecting links are likewise damaged beyond repair.”

  “And what’s the good news?” Tamara asked.

  “Oh, that was the good news.”

  “Why did I know you were going to
say that?” Daisy grumbled.

  “Because you’re a particularly clever woman, I suppose,” he answered. “In any case, this all means we don’t have to deal with any active countermeasures in the entire facility.”

  “But?”

  “But that also means we have absolutely no access to the silo from anywhere but the main doors, and those are sealed tight, down at the bottom of an elevator shaft. One with no power.” He paused.

  “And?” she asked, not wanting to hear the rest.

  “And partially flooded.”

  “He wasn’t kidding about the bad news.”

  Seriously.

  “So what do we do? We can’t turn back.”

  Daisy thought quietly for a moment.

  “How much water are we talking, George?”

  “At least twelve feet deep.”

  “Contained solely in the elevator shaft?”

  “Affirmative. The doors are hermetically sealed. I’d wager the elevator must’ve lost power with the topmost doors open a crack. During the snow melt-off, it likely filled up.”

  “At least the silo door at the bottom of the shaft is sealed.”

  “Correct.”

  “So, the facility is still intact inside. That means the mission is still on.”

  “Ideas?”

  “We get that shaft open, jury-rig a siphon to start pulling the water level lower. Once it’s mostly drained, I’ll drop in and begin working on the door mechanism.”

  “But he said the power was out,” Thomas said.

  “Up top, yes. But sealed facilities run off of their own independent power. I’d guess geothermal and maybe some solar for this particular site. Should be more than enough to operate the door. But first, we have to get to it. Hit the stables and farmhouse. We need hoses, buckets, anything we can use to empty the shaft.”

  The team fanned out in a hasty search of the buildings. Whatever resources they could find, it wouldn’t be easy.

  “You could always have them do a bucket chain,” Sarah suggested.

  I could, but that would not only take forever, especially hauling the water up one bucket at a time from thirty feet below the surface, but it would also wear out an already tired team.

  “The cyborgs aren’t tired.”

  No, they aren’t, but we can’t expect them to do all of the work. Who knows, we might get lucky.

  “Wishful thinking.”

  Sometimes it’s not a bad thing.

  “Hey, Daisy! Come check this out!” Thomas called out.

  “What is it?” she asked, trudging toward the shed he was digging through.

  “I don’t know, but it looks like some kind of pump.”

  “Pump?”

  You were saying about wishful thinking?

  Daisy’s eyes fell on a filthy oil cloth, grease long ago soaking it into a nasty mess.

  “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Thomas pulled the material back, the damp burlap letting out a sticky suction sound as it came free.

  “Holy shit. Is that a sump pump?”

  Yep. And a hose too.

  “Packed in grease. It might actually be functional.”

  Looks that way. Sealed up and protected from the elements for all this time.

  “Someone did us a solid a few hundred years ago, Sis.”

  Yeah. Now let’s see if we can scrape all that gunk out and get this thing operational.

  The pump took a good half hour to clean and make functional, but once the grease had been removed and the surprisingly sound hose run the thirty feet down the shaft, it made relatively quick time of the water at the bottom.

  “You sure we’ll have enough charge to drive back?” Daisy asked Sergeant Franklin as he monitored the power cells feeding the pump.

  “This unit draws a very small charge, all things considered. We should be fine to get back, barring any unseen complications.”

  “One hell of a spot of good luck,” she said, allowing herself a little grin.

  “Indeed. After this, however, it’s all up to you. Are you sure you can get past the security protocols? It is designed to be impenetrable, after all.”

  “With the workarounds Joshua gave me, unless there’s something he didn’t know about, I should be able to get us in.”

  “Timeframe?”

  “Less than a day, more than an hour?”

  “So, you don’t really know.”

  “No. But this is just grind work. Not so much a puzzle, as a lengthy series of interconnected keys and ciphers. So long as I follow Joshua’s instructions, eventually, it should work.”

  Eventually was a full seven hours after she began the task. With the sun well below the horizon and the rest of her team taking a much-needed nap, Daisy finally felt the click and hiss of the silo’s elevator door as it strained against centuries of neglect.

  “George!” she called up the shaft.

  “What is it, Daisy?”

  “Wake the others. We’re in.”

  In just a few minutes the entire team had descended the shaft and was standing beside her inside the silo’s subterranean doors.

  “Okay, spread out and find those keys. You all know what we’re looking for,” Daisy said.

  “What about weapons?” Thomas asked.

  “Anything down here is far too outdated to be of much use against the aliens,” Franklin replied.

  “Yeah. What we need is modern arms,” Tamara added.

  An optimistic smile teased Daisy’s lips.

  “Hopefully that’s being taken care of,” she said, then strode into the dimly lit hidden facility.

  Chapter Seven

  The Chithiid munitions stores were attended by two fervent loyalists, Craaxit noted as he crossed the barracks toward the weapons storage depot. He didn’t know them by name, but seeing as how the Ra’az faithful had their own quarters, it wasn’t surprising. He knew there were spies tucked away in the regular barracks as well, but he learned long ago to never say anything of importance within those walls.

  He approached the guards, confidence in his stride. As it had been each time he had run his little scam––always at different depots––it would not be easy, but a little bluster could go a long way. Given the new situation with his unlikely human allies, the gains, he thought, far outweighed the risks.

  “Craaxit, sir,” the nearest guard said in greeting as the older Chithiid approached, his posture not softening in the slightest. “Your work team has already checked out their allotted weapons and pulse charges for the day. Why have you returned?”

  “One of our pulse packs was distributed to my team with a reduced charge,” he replied. “I have brought it back to replace with a properly charged unit.”

  The guard bristled.

  “Are you saying we distributed inadequately charged equipment?”

  “No, of course not,” Craaxit replied, diplomatically. “I would not make that accusation. However, given the recent disturbances within the work area, should my team be forced to utilize their weapons, a reduced charge could potentially endanger them.”

  “It is a dangerous job,” the guard replied with a little sneer.

  “You are correct, it is a dangerous job,” Craaxit replied, a thin, cold flash of steel sharpening his words. “And if productivity were reduced due to an avoidable oversight, the Ra’az would certainly wish to know the reason.” He stared unflinchingly at the loyalist. “If you wish, I am perfectly willing to file a requisition report and send it through Ra’az command, of course.”

  The guard remained expressionless, but a slight twitch in his eyes betrayed the concern hiding beneath the surface.

  “But really,” Craaxit continued, “there is no need for us to burden them with unnecessary reports over something so easily rectified, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The guards glanced at one another, knowing full well any disruption in productivity would not only reflect poorly on the team in question, but also on any who may have played a role, however small, in the
problem.

  “How low is the charge?” the guard finally asked.

  “Not very,” Craaxit replied. “It is currently at seventy-two percent.”

  “Well…”

  “It is just a single pulse pack. I would be inclined to say it is just a defective unit, and no fault of any one individual. There is no need to lay blame over something so insignificant.”

  The guards looked at one another, their body language saying what their mouths would not.

  “Give me the defective unit,” the guard finally said.

  Craaxit did so, graciously accepting the fully charged one returned to him.

  “Thank you for your professional handling of this unforeseen situation. May the remainder of your shift be uneventful.”

  “And may your work detail be safe and productive,” the guard replied.

  Craaxit tucked the full pulse pack into his pouch and walked back to gather the rest of his gear from the barracks, moving slowly and deliberately as he did. Only once he was out of their line of sight did he allow himself the slightest sigh of relief.

  The pulse packs handed out that morning had in fact all been fully charged, but Craaxit and his small group of hopeful rebels had been scavenging damaged, depleted, and just plain lost packs for years, swapping them for topped-off units whenever possible.

  Their hidden cache was still nowhere near enough to support a full-fledged rebellion on their own, but the weapons thought lost in attacks had accumulated to a respectable number over the decades. If Daisy was true to her word, the time to use them in support of a larger assault could very well be coming, and quite soon at that.

  The barracks were cool, now that the majority of their Chithiid residents had vacated for the day’s work details. The remaining few dozen were enjoying some rare downtime. Even conscripted workers needed time off, though it was infrequent, at best.

  Eyes turned toward Craaxit as he walked to his storage locker. He acted nonchalant, gathering his tools and heading out the way he came in. He didn’t dare hide the pulse pack anywhere within those walls for even a minute. Prying eyes could be watching, and more than one worker had been discovered to be a Ra’az loyalist in the past.