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CLEA
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I thought my two rescuers were fascinating, to say the least. The woman, Lady Mara, or the Duchess as her loyal man Bonchance called her, was an enigma. She spoke like a soldier, but Bonchance treated her like a noble. As for Bonchance, he professed to be a coward and in no way a fighter, but he had displayed coolness, quick thinking, and the kind of ruthlessness necessary to survive on the frontier.
In short, they were confusing me. Now, I was riding in what was clearly an Old World vehicle with a squad of soldiers equipped with Old World combat gear, including the legendary L70 rifles, which I had only seen in a museum as no ammunition had been available for hundreds of years. Bonchance was carrying an M103 Tactical pistol as his sidearm, and they were all equipped with the advanced combat helmets and armor vests of the Old World militaries and seemed to have plentiful ammunition for their weaponry. They had even given me a vest, a Bear Armories Silver Lord lever rifle, and ammunition.
“Chance?” I said as the vehicle careened through the streets. Apparently, there was some sort of mounted weapon on the roof that roared occasionally; this made communication difficult.
“Yes?” he then took off his helmet, pulled something from his ear, and handed it to me, miming that I should place it in my ear before putting his helmet back on. “Sorry, should have done this earlier.”
His voice was clear now, even over the noise.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes. It’s set to a private channel now. So as not to bother the others.”
“Incredible…Is it a radio?” I asked. I had known that ones this small were possible; we had records of that back in the Republic.
“Yes.”
“So small. It has to be an Old World design.”
“How do you know so much about Old World technology?”
“My training. Part of my job was to look for it.”
“Your training? What is your job?” Bonchance asked.
I couldn’t help but smile, “I’m a spy.”
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Twelve years ago, when I was still named something other than ‘Clea Lindquist’, I had enlisted in the Rock Republic Army for my mandatory two-year service. Upon completion, and having no other real employment prospects, I had decided to reenlist for another four before my brains, social engineering skills, and perceptiveness were noticed by people who could use someone like me. Shortly after I was noticed, I found myself recruited by the Department of Special Intelligence and, having after setting me up in a persona as a mercenary, I had been sent into potentially hostile neighboring lands to find out just how hostile their governments potentially were.
I had been at this for six years without getting killed, though there had been some close calls, and I had found I enjoyed the work a great deal. This close call had been one of many, and I had been sure I could have escaped once I had been sold to some idiot. After all, getting captured had been part of my infiltration strategy to the Dark Warriors’ higher command. I knew what I looked like, and I knew that I would have fetched a price only the richest could afford.
Now, that plan was gone, but I really didn’t mind as I was thinking about how interesting the Duchess and her man were…
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BONCHANCE
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“I’m a spy…”
Mara’s voice cut in, calm and collected, “Of course. I should have recognized that.”
“A spy for who?” I asked. “This Rock Republic?”
“Yes. And I thought you said this was private? How is your Duchess hear this?”
“It was set up as a private channel between she and I...”
“Ah! That’s who you speaking to at the gate. I thought you were communicating with the fairies at first.”
“No,” Mara said. “He was speaking to me. What was your mission?”
“Our people were being stolen. I was sent to find out who and why and, if possible, to eliminate the threat. As you are on the same course, I decided that aiding you would improve all of our chances.”
“Reasonable,” Mara said in that very calm voice. “And afterward?”
“I think our two realms are distant enough to not interfere with each other for quite some time.”
“But,” Mara replied, “you simply knowing about my Duchy’s capabilities makes you a serious threat.”
Cutting in, I said, “Can we discuss this a little later? We have arrived.”
Cal had rammed the front gate, giving us access to the palace, and Lawrence was on the roof-mounted machine cannon, which fired the same monstrous ammunition that the anti-material rifle or the Howler’s or the Assault Drones’ guns did but at a far slower rate than those airborne rotary weapons. Inside, we could hear the chugging thump as he fired.
The side doors opened and Cal and his team exited, with Clea and I directly behind them. Wallace’s Gut had parked broadside to us, and his men, not counting the sniper team we had left at the wall, were providing covering fire against the now regrouping city guards and overseers as we breached the entrance.
The door was locked, so I stepped back and punched right above the handle with my gloved right hand. It took three punches before whatever was barring it shattered. Kicking open the door, I stepped inside, Cal, Clea, and the rest following me.
“That was impressive,” Clea commented. “Would you mind informing me how you did that?”
“Perhaps later.”
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HARI-9
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
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HARI-9 heard the turret gun and L70 fire from outside as she finished loading the rifle she had just recovered while evading the blows of the combat-borg. The brief exchange she had had with Bonchance and, especially, Clea had caused her to spend part of her processing time on considering next steps. Malcolm then interrupted that by hurling the remains of the desk at her, as he was having very little luck actually engaging with strikes and grabs since his guards had been neutralized. Still, she needed to distract him.
“So, who are these gods? Where did you meet them?”
Malcolm laughed, “I was cast out…my power offended those who led my village, and in return, they banished me. So I was cast adrift in a blasted and dry land. No food…no water…and as I was moments from passing, they came in their silver chariot and carried me away to their palace underwater. There, they saved me and gave me the strength needed to manifest their desires!”
She released the bolt, chambering a round, but held fire as he ranted, “What desires? What did they want you to do?”
“Let all that attempted to rule here fear me; give them cause them to weep and moan as they cried my name and demanded that I show them mercy!”
“So they wished you to be a target while they did whatever they really needed to have done. They used you as a distraction… a stalking goat…a fool.” HARI-9 shook her head, “One of my aspects would say something like,” she switched to ‘Mara’s’ voice, “‘I feel like I’m kicking a really stupid-ass puppy.”
With that, she held down the trigger and, with her strength, was able to keep the full magazine stream of bullets aimed precisely at the side of his throat. The thirty 6.8mm caseless rounds all hit a patch less than two centimeters across. Their sequential battering relentlessly drilled through the composite plate designed to take only one bullet strike at a time, and the fragments of the bullets’ jackets and steel core, along with the remnants of the armor plate, sliced into the reinforcing weave around Malcolm’s carotid artery, jugular vein, and his trachea; rupturing the vessels which started immediately assisting the iliac/femoral damage in draining his vascular system. This time, the blood fountaining out of the damaged carotid was pouring into the hole in the trachea and filling Lord Malcolm’s lungs.
The combat-borg tried to howl, but he had no air. He felt himself getting light-headed and dizzy as the blood left his brain, with his vision turning gray, and then he collapsed.
HARI-9 looked around and saw her people coming up the stairs.
“I see we were unnecessary,” Bonchance said as he looked at the bodies scattered around.
She swapped the ‘Mara’ overlay in and shook her head, “No, you will always be necessary. Status on the outside?” she called over comms.
“Fending off a few rushes, milady!” Wallace replied. “Master Lawrence and my team have it well in hand.”
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BONCHANCE
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I watched Mara nod as she spoke to Wallace, then looked at Cal and his team, “This building is secure; assist Wallace, Lord Bonchance, you, and…Lady Clea remain; I will need your assistance.”
Cal nodded, and he and his men headed downstairs.
“What is it?” I asked.
Mara nodded at the huge body, “He’s a combat-borg. He had physical augmentation on all four limbs and internal armor, but he still had an organic brain and most of the rest of him.”
“Like…” my eyes flicked down to my right arm.
“Not like that…not exactly. It was more heavily integrated into his skeleton.”
“So he’s full of Old World technology?” Clea asked.
“He is, and we’re going to need to take his body back with us,” Mara replied, then looked at me. “He also had this,” and displayed the L70 in her hands. “Now, what else could possibly be here?” She looked at Clea, “I’m thinking you know how to search for hidden loot?”
Clea grinned, “I’ll start on the first floor.”
“Good. Bonchance, you have the top floor; I’ll take this one.”
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CLEA
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I headed downstairs, first looking for a guard room. If there were heavy weapons or Old World technology, it was a good place to start looking. The room was easy to find with the door standing wide open, probably when that Duchess started the incredibly brutal battle on the floor above. Over the years, I had seen all scales of fights, from small back alley punchouts to actual army maneuvers, and the level of violence that had occurred here was on the more massive end of the range.
From her cursory glances at the corpses, chests had been caved in, skulls crushed, and limbs shattered. There were holes in the walls as if a human body had been used as a projectile, and though the Duchess’s clothes were in tatters, she looked and moved as if she was completely uninjured. Another question I really needed to find the answer to.
The guard room had six bunks, a table with cards and money scattered across it, and a rifle rack that had several self-loaders. Picking one up, I checked the balance and the action. On the whole, I prefer a lever gun, but these were nicely made, and it looked like they were using the same cartridge as the Bear Armories rifle I was carrying. Searching for a bag, I loaded it with all the ammunition I could find and the money from the table, as well as any from the footlockers I forced the hasp on.
There was also a small lock box securely fastened to the wall. After hunting around, I found a couple of pieces of wire for picks, and using the tip of a nasty-looking knife as a wrench, I began picking it.
It was not a lock of the finest workmanship, but this far out in the frontier, what could you expect?
The lock clicked, and I swung the door open, revealing six egg-shaped objects.
“Old World grenades?” I gasped. These were even rarer than the ammunition for an Old World rifle.
Slipping one into one of my pockets and the rest into the bag before continuing to search, I found the only other items of interest were several bottles with dubious-looking alcohol, so, leaving this room, I began to search the rest of the ground floor.
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HARI-9
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When the other two had headed to their respective floors, HARI-9 proceeded to the concealed compartment she had detected. Jamming her fingers into the wall, she ripped the concealing panels away, revealing a safe that would have been unremarkable 400 years earlier. Unfortunately, she had no means of opening it with her; this would require the tools at the bunker. Bracing her feet against the two studs on either side of the armored box where they fastened to the sill plate, she grabbed the safe and pulled hard. With a loud crack, she tore it free. Standing, she lifted the eighty-kilo box and pausing to recover her pistol from the floor, descended the stairs to drop it off by the front door. Then she returned up the stairs and dragged Malcolm’s corpse down as well. Clea saw her moving the 250-kilo corpse and walked over.
“Do you need some help?”
HARI-9 looked at the spy, “No. I can handle this. You find anything?”
The spy reached into her pocket, “Six of these…You know what they are?”
“That’s a S14 High Explosive Dual Purpose grenade. Where were they?”
“In a lock box in the guardroom. Lady…Do I really have to call you Lady Mara or Duchess?”
The ‘Mara’ overlay felt amusement, “No…I’m just Mara, Mara Edgerton. The others…well, some actually mean it. I think Bonchance just does it to annoy me.”
“He hides it very well, but the man has depth.”
HARI-9 nodded, “He is very good at hiding what he can actually do.”
“Like you or me?” Clea asked.
“Better, I think.”
“I think you’re right. So, who are you?”
HARI-9 shrugged, “It’s a long story, and now is not the time.” She nodded at the sounds of gunfire from the street.
Clea sighed, “You are probably correct.”
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BONCHANCE
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My arm made breaking locks simple. I wondered what this felt like to Mara? This sensation of untiring unlimited strength. I had gone through three doors on the top floor, all secured. One had revealed a ladder to probably a roof hatch. The other two were storage rooms full of what I guessed was loot. Fabric, various weapons including every type of action: snaplock, self-loading, lever, bolt, revolvers… everything, bags of coins, jewelry, books…
Anything interesting?” Mara asked as I stood there standing and staring.
“Well, the Ducal treasury will be sated,” I replied, pointing at a box full of coins.
“I see, Master Wallace; what is the situation outside?” she seamlessly shifted to her commset.
“Anybody stupid is dead. Anybody smart is running from a large quantity of ex-slaves that came pouring out of one of the buildings.”
“Good, Cal, we need to find some carts and oxen. There’s a lot of stuff here, and we need all of it.”
“I’ll send a couple of boys out to go hunting.”
She turned back to me, “Anything left up here?”
“Just that door over there.”
“Well, let’s just see if it has anything interesting behind it.”
Walking over, she simply kicked it in, revealing a bedroom. There was a large bed, a desk, and a large metal cabinet with its door standing open. Inside were several Old World items: a stack of L70 magazines, something that looked like a shotgun, several pouches of shotgun shells but with their hulls made of an Old World composite instead of paper, and a pair of data glasses. However, the glasses looked different than the ones I was used to.
“Now,” Mara said, “who made you?”