Simon stared at the brilliant light glowing from the ice. It was blue-white, without heat, and so bright it almost hurt to look at. “How long will it last?” he asked.
“Each bullet glows for approximately five minutes and dims out gradually.”
Max looked at the gun with awe and trepidation, almost as if it was his first time holding a weapon.
“It worked beautifully as a tool of exploration. Became the standard for excursion teams all over the network, I’m told. But it wasn’t until two years ago that one of these was used on a person.”
Max looked up as if waiting for him to continue, but Nastasia was the one that asked. “And so what happened?”
“You can only imagine how grotesque the effect was,” replied Lucas. “I’ve heard stories of entire bodies glowing, bones and all. It was just too…it was more than they wanted. Energy release and hydrostatic shock made them instantly lethal. You don’t get wounded by one of these ray guns. You get killed. There are no grazes or flesh wounds; you blow up like balloon of blood set on fire. In an instant.”
“How does the technology work?” Simon asked with a boyish curiosity.
“The bullets are the key. I’m not a specialist in materials, so I can’t tell you.”
“Are you serious?” asked Max.
“You bet I am. You saw the bullets fly out of this thing. What you heard was the sound barrier breaking.”
Lucas chuckled at the look of pure amazement on Simon’s face. “This is why I wanted to show it to you, Simon,” he said. “You can take a set, of course, and all the ammo you can carry. But that’s not the point. The point is, this is the stuff they threw away. As incredible as it is to you, it is yesterday’s news, out of date and out of favor with Vector5.” He casually handed the unit to one of his assistants as they headed for the main tent, ready for an evening meal made primarily from Spector supplies, and an actual night’s sleep.
“The technology being used here is light years ahead of the rest of the world. You literally have no idea how advanced Vector5 really is-you couldn’t, but one thing is certain: you are facing one of history’s most technologically advanced military machines. If you survive the journey, you will witness it for yourself. But you can’t possibly plan for it.”
He slapped Max on the shoulder and smiled. “Now let’s grab a quick bite, and I’ll explain where you need to go and what you need to do.”
OPERATIONS BAY 32
Eric Schultz had an advanced degree in mechanical engineering and an international award for his work in quantum alloys. Robert Pallaso had two doctorates, one in industrial chemistry and the other in high energy physics. Each of them had worked for less than two years at jobs in Antarctic Station 9 for UNED and a series of companies with names no one could pronounce when they were “recruited” to the deep research stations on Shelf 1 within a week of each other-part of a horrible storm-related “accident” that “killed” seventeen scientists and engineers and made them Vector5 slaves for the rest of their lives.
Today, these award-winning innovators and technologists were considered something less than mildly talented mechanics, assigned to the DITV operations bay, a thousand feet under the icy surface. Their assignment: to load heavy-voltage weaponry onto the killing machine’s chassis in less than ten minutes. If they did not do so, they would receive no end-of-shift meal. If they made an error, they would receive no end-of-shift meal. If they were caught complaining or refusing to contribute with the proper enthusiasm, they would simply be shot in the head. Twice.
A coterie of Vector5 soldiers formed a loose ring around the operations bay, watching impassively as the team of prisoners fought the weather and the mismatched technology to complete the task. The work was dangerous and difficult and unimaginably cold, but they kept at it. They had little choice. After all, the end-of-shift meal was one of only two given every day. Missing it wasn’t simply unpleasant; it was life-threatening.
“What the hell are they planning to do with these?” Eric asked under his breath as he tried desperately to mount the high voltage generator below the hull of the DITV.
“I have no idea,” Bob said in classic prisoner’s monotone. He could only be heard a few feet away; his mouth barely moved at all. “But it sure as hell seems like something is going on with the Black Ops team. Some kind of ambush.”
A dark look passed over Eric’s features. “Hope it’s not Lucas and the boys. They were good guys.”
“They were idiots,” Bob said bitterly. “Plain stupid to escape like they did. I mean, what the hell are they going to do?”
A Vector5 soldier at the edge of the circle banged the stock of his rifle against a pipe to get their attention. “Hey!” he barked. “Stop the chatter and move on!”
“Finishing up,” Eric said quickly and got back to work.
The vehicle was so tall they needed a special robot to hoist the generator to its mounting plate. It was perilous work, and the frozen conditions made it almost impossible, but they were motivated. Eric and Bob worked as fast as they could.
It wasn’t fast enough.
Eric was tightening the last two nuts on the generator when a five-man Black Ops squad came double-timing out of the shelter, complete in tactical gear. They rushed to the cargo doors that swayed open on their own-in response, Bob knew, to the special-status code chips embedded in their ice suits. It was virtually impossible to open the DIT, let alone operate the complex machine, without one of those s-s chips. Without its answer-back, the controls simply would not respond, the engines wouldn’t fire.
“They’re early,” Bob said.
“They don’t care,” Eric replied.
“This doesn’t look good,” Bob said and hurried to finish. He could feel the vibrations of the special team’s boots echoing from inside the hull; he knew they were stowing gear, strapping in, responding to the lash of the sergeant’s constant goading, “Move it, move it, move it!”
A heartbeat later, the main engine began to cycle up, but Eric and Bob still weren’t done.
“Robert, don’t forget the cable underneath the fuelling hatch. It’s going to catch.”
“I’ve got it,” Robert replied, and scrambled toward the back of the vehicle. The cable was lying in front of a massive, knobby twelve-foot tire; if the DITV rolled over it in its haste to depart, the vehicle itself wouldn’t know the difference, but the cable would be crushed and ruined and would have to be replaced-which meant more work, more punishment, and fewer meals for them. They just couldn’t let that happen.
As he started to jump for the cable, the engines directly over his head roared to full life. It made him flinch-just a bit-and when his boots hit the ground he slipped on the icy floor. Simultaneously, the massive hydrogen boosters whined to life, and the floor under the vehicle-under Bob-start to vibrate.
Bob shouted, “Wait!” and struggled to get to his feet.
It was too late.
He had only made it to his knees when the DITV, impatient to be on its way, jumped forward, smashed the cable deep into the ice, and rolled directly over Robert Pallaso, beginning with his knees and ending with half his skull.
He was crushed to a pulp in an instant.
Eric stood motionless for a long moment, frozen in horror, then dropped to his knees and screamed-a sound of absolute, inarticulate anguish as he stared at the pieces of his friend’s body splattered on the tunnel walls. The DITV had already disappeared into the deep tunnel, unaware and unconcerned about what it might have done. The asset loss would be logged in Vector5 files; Eric would be moved to another team, and he would continue to work until he, too, was no longer of any use. There would be no funeral, no service, no obituary. Vector5 would just…continue.
Eric couldn’t stop screaming. He couldn’t see anything but the crushed body of his friend.
One of the soldiers-the one who had shouted at him earlier-stepped close behind Eric and buried the muzzle of his weapon in the nape of his neck. The soldier knew the protocol. There was no room for mourning. The mission was greater than any one man.