Munitions crates being trundled by dolly carts in the case of projectile rounds or by heavy load lifter in the cases of laser battery packs, missiles and the big refrigerant bottles for ice weaponry. Flamer tanks would be done later with the path cleared for extra fire crews because you didn’t want one of those getting punctured by accident, not while welding work was underway.
Personnel hurried between bays, carrying an array of tools, circuit boards, spare parts or just requisition slates, each to their own task of keeping these hundreds of behemoth machines in fighting order, every part a vital link in keeping their pilots alive for just one more second to take one more shot.
He keyed his wrist communicator to patch in to the base loudspeaker system and raised the band to his mouth.
“Attention!” blared the wall speakers, relaying his words. “All pilots, briefing in the ready room in ten minutes. All ordnance and spares requests must be submitted by 0400, nominal mech readiness report filed by 0600. Requisitions to be filled and delivered to bays no later than 1300 and final readiness checks to be concluded by 2100. I want those engines spun up and green lighted by no later than 2200. Loading begins at 2300. That’s all people, move it like you have a purpose!”
He didn’t need to add that the drop ships would be dusting off early tomorrow morning. Everyone in the base was aware that this was the final day of post war repairs and final preparation for a foray into the Uncharted Zones and continuation of the clean-up operation in case Drake had managed to evade the clans. Again.
Taking one final glance and noting that people had turned away from the speakers where they had been listening and were redoubling their efforts in whatever duties they were performing, he turned smartly on his heel to head to the ready room so he could be there early for the pilot briefing.
And collided with a mechanic who was directly in his path.
The pair went down in a clatter of tools that escaped from the half open satchel the mechanic had been carrying. Toenjes took a second to get over the shock and rolled onto his stomach to get back up, only to find he was already being pulled to his feet by the technician.
The guy was obviously embarrassed, head lowered with the slouch cap covering his eyes as he pulled an oily rag from his pocket and attempted to dust the colonel down with it. Toenjes was struck by a few things, first being the stench! This guy needed a shower badly and the sweat could be seen standing off him, running down overweight jowls to drip from his chin. Definitely carrying around too much excess baggage to have been working for long in the hanger where the work was hot and heavy. Must be new influx he thought fleetingly as he attempted to fend off the engineers attempted clean up.
Toenjes stepped back, mumbling his own apologies and attempting to put some distance between himself and the tech. Head still down, the man started to gather his tools and Toenjes left him to it, hurrying to get to the ready room while inspecting his own clothes for damage and stains.
The technician glanced around as he gathered his tools and stowed them back in the bag. A few people had stopped to watch the event, but minor accidents were ten a penny in the vast hanger space and none offered to help. In fact within seconds, all had gone back to their own tasks and the incident had been all but forgotten, allowing the tech to shoulder his satchel and head off into one of the hangers and disappear into the forest of mechanical legs.
Had anyone thought to observe him in particular among the throng of activity, they would have noted that instead of busying himself with a maintenance task on one of the mechs, he stole a quick glance around then ducked into a small storage room. Making sure he was alone, he strode quickly across the room to a grille in the wall leading to the huge base’s air conditioning ducts. With deft fingers he undogged the latches for the panel, lifted it aside so he could clamber in and pulled the panel back after him. Pulling a micro manipulator from his overall pocket, he poked it back through the mesh to do up the latches again.
Now in the dark, he worked mostly by feel, crawling a good five meters to disappear around the first bend in the ducting then pausing to carry out his next activity. The overalls and cap were stripped off to be placed in a re-sealable bag, along with the inflatable corset that made him appear fifty pounds heavier. A quick struggle and a wince and the check implants followed. A quick wipe down with an alcohol solution got rid of the fake sweat and odor, the rag following the rest into the bag that was sealed and tucked out of sight. He then changed into the skin-tight black thermasuit he had pulled from the tool bag, retrieved some other items from its recesses and then the satchel too was tucked away.
Satisfied that he had everything, the figure disappeared along the duct.
****
He waited, suspended above the ceiling tiles of what was itself a suspended ceiling. Checking his wrist unit, he noted that the countdown had hit thirty seconds.
There had been no movement at all in the corridor below for over an hour. His quarry was safely tucked in his quarters; that much was certain. He had not checked visually, but neither did he have to. The small thumper transceiver that was connected to his wrist unit turned any of the ceiling tiles into a makeshift sonar dish when laid upon them. A single tap had sent an inaudible pulse down into the corridor any time he had heard movement below and although it didn’t have the definition to discern facial features, the signal was good enough to detect sizes and shapes.
Especially if the shape was wearing, for instance, a cowboy hat.
The one called Chong would be on duty in the comm/sec center. And in around… twenty seconds now, he should see one of his security screens flare and die. Chong would try a few things but would have to send the duty tech to see where the problem was. After all, there was no way he was going to be able to remotely fix the wire that was burned through with the small timed thermite charge that had been planted almost a day earlier.
It would however keep his attention from another screen on the opposite side of the display bank for a few minutes, so he wouldn’t see what was happening….
Now.
The ceiling panel was lifted and a hand snaked through to clamp an over sized display to the front of the camera unit above the corridor’s entry hatch. The display would show a continuous image of an empty corridor and was large enough to block sight for the integrated motion detector.
The figure belayed itself to the floor on the lightweight cord then unhooked and let it retract, whipping up and past the ceiling tile that obligingly dropped back into place. A pause to ensure the small amount of noise had gone undetected.
Padding along the corridor, the figure was already searching through pockets in its harness webbing and readying items for the next part of the plan. Halting outside a particular door, it peeled the backing from an adhesive medical plaster and gummed it over the pinhole speaker of the electronic security lock. A flask appeared from a waist pouch and the bottom was unscrewed to reveal a hidden compartment. An eyeball was produced from within, fingers grasping the optic nerve so it dangled like some gruesome pendulum. It was presented in front of the scanning plate and the tell-tale went from locked red to green and there was a slight whoosh as the adjoining door slid open.
The figure quickly and silently stepped through as the door closed behind then stopped dead as the overwhelming smell hit them. Not the expected odors of a single mech jock’s room; all sweat, socks and perhaps the lingering odor of vomit from the aftermath of another near death celebration.
This was very different. A dark, musty smell. The odor reminded the intruder of something. It was a distant childhood memory, only smelled once, but it was a particular time and place… where the hell was it? A childhood holiday? Old Terra… that’s was it, a museum. Somewhere called Alexandria.
The calm quiet was sundered abruptly by the slide and click of heavy duty sidearm having its first round chambered. “Give me one good reason why I don’t blow your brains out all over the wall?” a voice growled.
Mac relaxed and turned toward the voice.
“I can give you two. First, blood is extremely hard to get off… paper? At least without leaving a mark or otherwise damaging it. I’ve heard that brain matter and fluid is absorbed even more readily.”
Colonel Toenjes activated the bedside illumination panel and squinted at his unwelcome visitor. “And the other?” he rasped, throat dry from sleep.
Mac smirked and shrugged. “Your gun’s loaded with blanks.”
BLAM!!!
The noise was deafening in the confined space and the acrid stink and smoke of propellant added to the already dense atmosphere.
Toenjes regarded Mac, standing now in shock but definitely otherwise intact. He raised the gun and inspected it. “Well whaddaya know, you were right.”
Mac finally found his voice and squawked, “You could’ve shot me!”
The colonel shrugged non-committaly and responded, “You could’ve been lying.” Then, with a frown and final glance at the weapon he asked, “So how did you manage the swap?”
Mac was scowling, still trying to shake the ringing from his ears. “You collided with a tech earlier today down in the hanger bays?” He jabbed a thumb towards his chest and continued, “Me. I swapped the magazine out then.”
Toenjes snorted grudgingly. “Hmmph. Not a bad trick. How did you know I didn’t have another gun though?” he gave Mac a questioning look.
Mac shrugged and made a palms up gesture. “You either did or you didn’t. Fifty – fifty chance. Sometimes you just need to take the gamble. I couldn’t be sure until I heard the sound of the slider to know it was the same gun.” He twisted his mouth wryly then added, “Plus I had one other piece of information that skewed things in my favor.”
“Such as?”
A slight smile played across Mac’s face. “Your legendary frugal nature. Why own two guns when one will do.” He looked around the room, able to take in the surroundings now there was light to see by. “I can see now what you spend the money on”.
Every wall was covered in bookshelves and every shelf was overflowing, in places spilling on to the surrounding floor space. In a universe where electronics had ruled for centuries and the complete literary works of mankind could be stored in a space no larger than a briefcase, collections like this were all but unheard of.
Mac’s inspection was interrupted by pounding footsteps in the corridor, an emergency override code being bellowed and General John Fuller barreling into the room. He was waving his own personal sidearm in front of him which was at odds with the fluffy slippers and moth eaten dressing gown he was wearing. Unlike most pilots who used a large caliber semi-automatic as their last ditch weapon of choice, Fuller used a machine pistol with a high capacity magazine. It raised eyebrows at first, but few who had seen it on full auto in the shaking hands of a terminal caffeine junky doubted its ability to hit at least something downrange.
He pulled up short and raised the barrel towards the ceiling. “Mac?” he queried, certainly not expecting to see this particular pain in the backside in his colonel’s quarters.
Mac beamed back at his commander’s nonplussed expression. “General, do come in. I have a report for you.”
“Sure, both of you just make yourself at home in my personal quarters,” Toenjes grumbled to the world at large from his bed.
Fuller ignored him, eyes focused on the standing figure. “What the hell are you doing back here Mac?”
“Doing an overview of our security, just like you were informed,” replied the pilot. “Suffice to say, it’s pitiful,” he added mournfully.
Adjusting to the fact that the situation may be strange but was non-threatening, Fuller thumbed the safety catch of his sidearm back on. “Ok, how do you make that out?”
Mac shook his head slightly and his smirk held little in the way of mirth. “Because I just got within a split second of assassinating your second in command and succeeded in taking you out,” he replied, then added, “Without any of you knowing, and without using any of my own security credentials.”
Fuller’s face took on a skeptical countenance as he looked the pilot up and down, then looked at his weapon, then back at the pilot who to all intents and purposes appeared completely unarmed. “How the hell do you figure you killed me?”
“Next time you’re in the cockpit, check under the seat. There’s a sticker with the word BOOM on it. Think what that represents,” Mac winked as he responded.
Fuller and Toenjes glanced at each other. Any sign of sleep vanished. “OK, you’ve got my attention. How did you do it?” Fuller prompted in quiet concentration.
Mac shrugged again and began his account. “I came in with a delivery of munitions. Carried one of the crates straight out into the hanger. So many people were around, so much getting delivered and offloaded, nobody challenged me. We are too used to that sort of mayhem before every drop. Snuck away and changed into mechanics overalls and I was already a part of the base.”
He shook his head at the recollection of his actions. “The backup crews are so big, nobody knows everyone’s faces. They just assumed I was part of somebody else’s crew, but I had the right to be there because I was in the exact place a mechanic should be at the right time.” He paused to point over at Toenjes, still prone in his bunk. “Even the Colonel collided with me and didn’t bat an eyelid.”
“As for personal access codes, like the door there, what everyone seems to have forgotten is that there are so many clones… hell, even just body parts left around battlefields for each of us, that any kind of biometric scan is useless,” he concluded.
Fuller exhaled deeply at the news. “OK hotshot, so what the hell do we do?”
Mac chuckled. “Short term? Get some good old fashioned padlocks. That’s at least going to slow somebody down a little. And you could try the old school password and counter sign for really secure stuff. It’s better than what we have.”
Fuller looked green. “That’s not much,” he stated.
“It’s better than nothing,” spat Toenjes bitterly, then addressed the elephant in the room. “The one thing it doesn’t address is whether anyone has already got in.”
Mac shook his head while agreeing with the statement. “No, it doesn’t. This is only going to mitigate new infiltration and any outside aid, isolating anyone already inside. Flushing those ones out is something I’m still working on.”
“How the hell are you supposed to flush them out when they could be, and let’s call it like it is, probably are identical clones. Just the same as the original?” demanded Toenjes.
Mac considered for a second, then put in, “Ah, that statement may not be entirely accurate Colonel. For example, as mech pilots they aren’t as good as the real thing.”
“How do you work that one out?” Toenjes demanded hotly.
“Because we are beating them at every turn when we face clones in battle,” replied Mac reasonably.
“Horse shit. The two don’t add up. Drake’s got clones by the plenty, but the mechs he has scraped up are third rate at best. There’s the difference you’re seeing.”
“With due respect Colonel, you were there when Don Fugate took down two Aspis and a Regent class with his Red Ants, so we already know that meat trumps metal. But during the last clone war, I faced a Don clone backed up by both the Retherfords, Penner, and what looked like the lion’s share of the rest of the Zeon ‘Colony Drop’. I didn’t even slow down.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Sure,” he continued, “they look identical and have the memories up to the DNA harvest point, but there has to be something in the way the maturation process works... or doesn’t… that means they maybe don’t have the time to build up the same reflex muscle memories, or hone the same combat instincts we have.”
The Colonels mouth was already open to disagree but he brought himself up short and clamped it shut. His head tilted to one side for a few seconds as he processed what Mac had said, then turned his face towards his commander.
“Mac’s appraisal of the situation is sound,” he concluded. “It may not be much, but I can start by checking back through training runs and simulator recording to see if I can spot anything.”
Fuller nodded once and said, “It’s a start at least. We still need a way to work out if support personnel are real though.” He then turned back to the pilot and asked, “So what’s your plan from this point?”
Mac grinned and shook his head. “With due respect boss, at present the only person I know I can truly trust is me. Either of you two could be a clone or sleeper.”
“So could you,” replied Fuller reasonably.
Mac chuckled aloud this time. “Very true. And the concept of more than one of me is a truly terrible nightmare… glad I’m not going to be the one having it. And on that note General, I’d suggest you go and try to get some sleep. The shows over here for now. I just need a private word with the Colonel.”
Fuller took a second to look questioningly between the other two, but seeing no response forthcoming, he nodded once and left the room.
The door had swished shut and a few seconds had crept by when Toenjes quietly broke the silence. “So what’s so important that you can’t say it in front of the General?”
Mac’s demeanor was cooler and more business-like with just the two of them present. “Good manners,” he said eventually. “I’m not going to talk about your personal weaknesses in front of the boss. It’s not the done thing.”
Toenjes snorted derisively. “Bull. I don’t have any. Now if there’s nothing further you can get your ass out of my room and let me sleep.”
Mac ignored the instruction and ploughed on. “Yes you do,” he paused to wave a hand in an inclusive gesture around the room. “These books.”
“What do you know about them?” the Colonel growled dangerously.
“Individually? Absolutely nothing, Mac stated truthfully, raising a finger to make his next point. “But I can smell valuable. I don’t need to be an aficionado to know that nobody uses paper any more, and you only get collections like this either on a period tri-D drama or in a museum. Which makes them extremely valuable,” he concluded with a jab in the air to emphasize the point.
“I’m saying nothing to a crooked bastard like you, but what if they are?” sneered the Colonel.
“They’re a weak point,” Mac stated flatly. “You already knew about the chance of collateral damage, which is why you questioned an unknown intruder instead of just blowing me the hell away. And that hesitation puts you at a disadvantage.”
“I can live with that!” Toenjes shot back.
“You can die with that too, especially when you are being a stubborn ass!”
Macs voice was starting to raise in volume, and the Colonel matched him.
“So what do you want me to do, torch them?” he spat, but a note of panic was starting to creep into his tone and Mac pulled up short.
He considered the officer for a few minutes, then said in low, precise words, “No. you’re going to ship them the hell off base.” He let out a long breath to calm himself and continued in a slightly more conciliatory manner after reaching into his pocket and throwing a small data key on the bed. “Look, this has the details of a secure storage facility. It’s pre-paid, and as soon as you start using it, it’s good for a month. That will give you enough time to find somewhere more to your liking for a permanent home. Just make sure to have them shipped out before the month is up, because the clean-up crew will ensure there is no trace of contents or contact details as soon as the time is up.”
Mac was mentally preparing himself to have to explain what a ‘burner’ storage facility was and what exactly he may want to hide out of site for a short while until he noticed that the expected hostility was not forthcoming. Instead, peering across the room in the dim light of the bedside glow panel, he noted that the Colonel was starting to sweat, even shake a little.
“But I.. I mean, I might want to read something…” the Colonel mumbled.
Mac’s eyebrows shot skyward as he realized what he was dealing with. This was full blown addiction! Granted, not the usual substances that a mech jock suffering from one too many dump shock episodes could get involved with, but the symptoms were all there.
“Okay,” he started slowly, “then we go to Q and we get him to make you a travel box… that can fit maybe… five? Five books,” he stated in a tone that brooked no argument, then continued more softly when he saw the crestfallen look of his officer. “Maybe ten if we can scrounge enough battle steel. Then we can make it damn near impervious to anything hand held and most weapons mech mounted for a package that small… then when you get the chance you can always swap out the ones you have with others from your… what do you call a collection of manuscripts anyway?” he queried.
“Library,” sniffed Toenjes.
Mac rolled his eyes. This was more like dealing with a pre-schooler. “Your library… but most importantly we make sure that your hand gun can’t penetrate the box, so the next time somebody tries to sneak into your room you can unload the full magazine and not have to worry, yes? And if you’re really lucky, it might even be me.” That brought a watery smile to the Colonel’s face.
“See, I knew there had to be a way to cheer you up…”
Sheesh… the things I do for this outfit, thought Mac.
Submitted by David McCallum id# 701548