“Shit. If they’re using war tactics, that means things are really bad. Some of the enclaves probably got hit. They must be panicking.” I bring us to a halt and bang on the rusted metal shutters, the sharp raps echoing a little too loudly. “Johnny! Open up! It’s Ash!”
Seconds pass, then the thin slats rattle upward, just enough for us to duck under, uncomfortably low. I give a grim smile. Johnny’s still got traces of the Dubs in his system, just like Mom.
I squat my way underneath, vulnerable to a strike from above, hands out to my sides, clearly empty. When I stand, Johnny’s leaning against the wall, one hand picking at his hair, the other holding a medium-caliber handgun at his side, thumb switching the safety on. He nods at me, and I nod back. The others follow me in, and Johnny’s eyes widen fractionally when Jase ducks through, but he taps a finger and the shutters rattle back down. When he speaks, his voice is a little huskier than normal.
“It’s good to see you, son. Didn’t know if I’d get the chance to say that.”
“It’s…” Jase pauses, looking every inch his sixteen years in age. “It’s good. To be back. Dad. There. There was. The rig. It was—”
Johnny steps forward, pulling him into a hug, pistol hand patting him on the back. Jase melts into muffled sobs, shuddering against Johnny’s chest, and I wish I could join him. This isn’t the Game, no matter how similar the encounters feel. This is the real.
“I understand, son. I understand. I can’t promise it’ll get better in time, but you’ll find a way. To come back to those who need you. Even if it breaks you.”
He says the last words staring at me, his eyes tight in his dark face, and it’s almost more than I can bear.
Mom.
Almost. I am Ashley, Ash, Ashura, Ashura the Terrible, and if ever there was a time to don that mantle, it’s now. Do the job, because there’s no one else to do it, and you find a way, even if it breaks you.
Just another encounter.
I pat Jase on the shoulder and take a seat on one of the stools.
“He did good, Johnny. Real good. Any chance we can get some noodles? It’s been a long day.”
Johnny hugs Jase close one more time, rubbing his head, then walks behind the counter, sliding the pistol underneath. He hands me a medical kit, motioning toward my ear.
“Sure thing, Ash. I’m going to want to hear that story, though.”
The familiar clang of metal wok on porcelain stove fills the air, oil sizzling above the heat.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I groan, forcing my muscles to finally relax, “you’re going to get to hear how the world ends. Whether you like it or not.”
Three bowls of Johnny’s finest and a hastily applied first aid dressing later, I slump back on my stool and belch contentedly. Slend leans against the wall on her corner seat, idly sipping on a cup of water, while Wind digs into her fourth bowl, chopsticks flashing from food to face and back. Jase stares at the wall with his chin on his hand, not seeing anything other than unwanted memories of the past twenty-four hours. Johnny tilts his chair back, boots propped on a shelf underneath the counter, hands folded across his stomach, toothpick bobbing up and down in time with his words.
“Hell of a story, Ash. Hell of a story.”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin, feeling the tingle of garlic and spice against my lips.
“So, we’ve got Sawyer’s data, but, it’s just, I don’t know, Johnny. That asshole was an asshole’s asshole, and I know you and Mom had history with him, but… shit. What if he was right? What if we are the only ones who can stop this?”
Johnny rolls the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
“Hate to say it, but he was right. Getting some socials from old friends, ones who took the Enclave package.”
“What,” Jase squawks, his interest momentarily piqued. “How are you getting info from the global ’Net right now?”
Johnny barks out a laugh.
“Did you forget who taught you how to put those things you broke back together, son? I may not have been born with an aptitude for much more than cooking, but if you were going to learn tech, then I’d be a poor father if I couldn’t guide your hands. I’ve got some back doors I don’t want you using until you fully understand the risks.”
Jase’s eyes regain their thousand-yard stare, and Johnny nods.
“Reckon you might be just about ready to understand those risks.” He looks at me. “It’s not looking good, Ash. South ’Lanta’s mostly gone, along with Missansas. Seems like the local defense squadrons got overrun by unknown assailants, garrisons wiped to a man, and gummies insist on keeping mainline battletanks for ‘peacekeeping.’ Not much that’s going to stop a squad of heavies in the middle of an Enclave once they get rolling. Gummies ended up shifting an orbital over.”
“On their own cities? They used kinetics on the dryburbs?”
My voice is awed, almost disbelieving at first. Then I think back to Sawyer’s scorn for the Theocrophant, and reconsider what lengths I might imagine the gummies capable of going to if sufficiently frightened.
“Seems they felt like there was no other choice,” Johnny replies slowly. “Nothing more dangerous than a true fanatic with nothing left to lose. Sawyer knew that. Naomi too.”
“That’s…” Wind’s voice trails off. “That’s insane. Their own people.” She looks over at me. “What are we going to do, Ash? What can we do?”
I drum my fingers on the countertop.
“Let’s look at what Sawyer gave us first. Jase?”
Jase looks over at me, eyes regaining their focus.
“Yeah… yeah. Old man. You got a projector?”
Johnny pulls a small half-sphere from beneath the counter and slides it over. Jase taps a couple buttons on its underside, then puts it down. A display appears on the wall behind me and I swivel my stool around, leaning back on my elbows. Jase starts moving his fingers, accessing Sawyer’s data. Words and charts flicker across the wall in bursts of light, too quick to follow.
“Okay, there should be an overview in here somewhere… got it.”
A stark document appears, three lines of text on an official-looking page, each branching out with links to other portions of Sawyer’s trove. Slend gives a low whistle, and my eyes widen.
“Fuck me.”
Wind reads the terse sentences hanging in front of us out loud.
“Threat level—catastrophic. Utilize Operation Dragonslayer. All measures authorized. Signed by the Theocrophant.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Jase, what’s in that ‘All measures authorized’ section?”
Half the screen fills with a list of military assets. Most glow an ominous red. Wind nearly chokes on a mouthful of noodles.
“Holy shit, Ash. Those are nukes. Sawyer was going to use nukes.”
“Yeah,” I respond grimly. “He was. Jase, what was he going to use them on?”
The laundry list of death shrinks away, replaced by satellite images of a circular dome surrounded by forest, a winding road leading away from its western flank. A small scale at the bottom right puts the dome at nearly a kilometer in diameter. Basic wireframe grids overlay it, architectural plans of what’s underneath, each stamped with “LAST KNOWN DATA. LIKELY INCORRECT.” They paint the picture of a sprawling compound composed of multiple buildings all jammed together, a seething hive of corporate scheming. A list of security forces scrolls by on the left, an estimated company of silkie ex-military forces with support elements.
“So there’s the ‘what.’ A fucking WGSK fortress. Now the question is ‘why?’ Jase, you find anything?”