Embers After Flames, Chapter 8.9 (Patreon)

8.9

+++

Despite how the last five or so years had felt like they were just flying by, it was only now that I felt like I didn’t have enough time.

A little ridiculous, to be honest. I was, if anything, overprepared by now. Yet, knowing that 621 is on the way and everything currently happening is going to come to a head... It’s a heavy feeling.

Anticipation and concern in equal measure, I think.

December was reasonably quiet, as far as things went. Balam and Arquebus shifted into another recovery period, ceasing to grind against each other so much as the both of them moved to stem the bleeding and rebuild their forces a bit.

Hostilities restarted in January, but it was... Well, ‘Stilted’ would be the best word for it. It was enough of a shift in their expected behaviour that I immediately doubled the Antigens I’d sent to spy on them. It was, after all, fairly obvious that they were planning something. Two weeks of subterfuge later, and I’d called in Flatwell on the matter.

The Megacorps were preparing a joint attack on the RLF, both of them seeking to steal the RLF’s knowledge on the Coral. Neither Megacorp was yet sure on the details, who was doing what, how the duties were divided, or what they would do if they uncovered a useful supply of Coral, however, and so they were still in the process of negotiating things.

Flatwell had smiled after I’d filled him in. He’d had a plan for precisely this situation, he claimed, and he could get ready to implement it now.

Things were still being hashed out by the megacorps in February, but they were making progress. I had no doubt that their probing would expand into larger-scale operations soon enough.

That was not, however, everything that happened this month.

“How joyous it is to see you actually contact me for once.” I spoke. “Usually, the initiative belongs to me.”

“Drich.” Raven’s Operator greets. “My apologies, but this is not a social call.”

“But of course.” I spoke. “And how may I help you, dear idealogues?”

“We need stealth.” She speaks, clear and concise. “The PCA is not allowing this. We want to fake Raven’s death in battle, and use the opportunity to go to ground. Achieving this will require a diversion.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” I said. “We can help with that. What kind of timeframe and scale are you looking for?”

+++

“You want to use the Contaminated City for this?” Flatwell asked.

“It’s probably the best spot for it.” I spoke. “It’s part of the outer perimeter, but it isn’t one of the actually important locations, so we can afford to pull out of the area in the aftermath of a PCA assault. The PCA doesn’t know about our presence there thanks to the fact that it’s hidden under the 134-136 umbrella, and so they won’t send anything big. We can leak the info to the corps in order to get a raid from them, but they also won’t send too many big things. It’ll be a clusterfuck and we can hide Raven underneath all of it.”

Flatwell’s head tilted to the side. After a few seconds, he nodded. “Agreed. If you’re baiting a trap, though, you’ll want the experienced...”

+++

“Hey, quick question.”

“Hi Carla. How are you? Me? Oh, I’ve been doing great.”

“‘Hi Carla’.” The woman echoed, a hint of mocking in her tone. The way this woman acts, I swear. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Listen, I know you keep a hand on the pulse of things happening on Rubicon. Is there anything happening involving mercenaries in... lets say, six-to-eleven days?”

... Well, that’s a very easy way to direct 621 to where I need them to be.

“Hypothetically, it’s rather likely that the Contaminated City underneath the Grid 134-136 canopy umbrella is likely to see mercenary activity in approximately eight days, four hours, and fifty minutes. You know, if nobody finds out about such a thing beforehand because of a loud mouth or two.”

“I’ll have you know that I run a tight operation here!” She paused for a moment, then sighed. “Fine, thanks.”

“You’re most welcome.” I said.

+++

It was the day of the plan to fake Raven’s death. Every element was in place.

The RLF had sent a company of MTs out to the Contaminated City. This particular group was made up of volunteer veterans, well armed and well equipped to be dealing with a lot of bullshit. They had been informed that the PCA, the Corporations, and Mercenaries, were all likely to engage them in this area. None of them had backed down in the face of that threat.

The info that the RLF had set up shop here had shortly been leaked to the Megacorps, who, predictably, responded by sending in their own forces. G7 Hakra was sent by Balam with his own entourage of MTs. Arquebus, owing to their distance from the location, had instead simply hired two low-ranking Mercenaries that were nearby, one Thomas Kirk and one Monkey Gordo.

Very low ranked. Thomas had rank 27 in ALLMIND’s little Arena, but Monkey Gordo hadn’t even generated enough interest to be worth the inclusion at all. Since the Arena was the theoretical top thirty of every AC pilot on the planet, that wasn’t a complete disparagement of his abilities, just that he wasn’t that high.

Between the three factions, it would have been messy already- but then Raven went into the area, and dragged the PCA with them.

Instant clusterfuck was one word for it. Gordo died first, perhaps appropriately to his rank, to a PCA missile strike that Raven had dodged and Gordo hadn’t. Hakra died next, killed by Thomas after a stroke of luck left the former distracted, though Thomas himself fell shortly afterwards to the RLF’s coordinated defence. The whole host of Balam’s MTs, and a significant proportion of the PCA’s forces, had also fallen, with the RLF taking approximately thirty percent casualties during the entire mess. The fatalities, fortunately, were less than that.

I kept an eye on the battle, but to be honest, most of my attention was aimed at the skies above. I had Antigens seeded throughout the area, and I’d also infiltrated the systems of all three surrounding Grids, and between them, I had quite the number of eyes looking upwards.

It meant that I had little trouble spotting the ship heading towards Rubicon.

It was a spectacularly small thing, really. Little more than a priority cargo transport refitted to carry an AC block rather than standard interplanetary shipping containers. Back in the heyday of the Rubicon Research Institute, they’d built these things by the hundreds of millions, and disposed of them just as easily.

Its small size was the only reason that the Closure Satellites didn’t shoot it down much earlier. Rather than being removed from existence the moment it fell into the high-confidence strike zone of the Closure Satellite, it was instead struck after it had begun to enter the atmosphere.

The Closure Satellite only hit it with a low-charged shot, too. It sent the transport tumbling as it tried to correct, before it ejected the pod and came apart in mid air.

For the pod, it was a drop from just below the Kármán Line, at a speed of ‘holy fuck’. It bled the velocity quickly, but it was already damaged from hasty ejection, and the damage from the ablation of the re-entry itself certainly didn’t help. The pod automatically disassembled at approximately thirty kilometers in the air, releasing the AC inside to fall the rest of the way.

Still, that was all it needed to survive.

The AC’s trajectory took it straight through the gaps of the Outer Shell, where the tougher megastructure would have seen it collide a bit more brutally. Instead, it hit an interior section, punching straight into one of the internal piping and chemical refining areas of Grid 135. Painful, dangerous, and causing no small amount of damage... but survivable.

I rerouted the systems to get around the damage, and then activated the surviving internal cameras so I could get my first look at the new arrival.

And there they were. A muted shade of tan and grey, pulse blade in one hand, rifle in the other, missile launcher on the shoulder... The newest of Walter’s Hounds, 621.

Though, this time around 621 had one of Carla’s LUNCH ACs rather than the C-2000 Frame of AC6. That only made 621 more dangerous, though, not less.

I felt the signal come in, and it took me only a moment to intercept and decode the communications link coming in from the outside. Standard COM interface.

“Your position is Grid 135.” Walter spoke over the link. “Off target, but within permissible range.”

The lights on 621’s AC flared, and then the AC itself rose from its kneeling pose in a single, smooth motion that spoke volumes of the pilot inside.

It reminded me of Dolmayan and Raven.

“You’re on a time limit, so you should hurry. There’s a catapult nearby. Use it to close the gap.”

621 moved. It wasn’t a simple matter of speed, it was... everything. Boosters ignited at the exact same instant the actuators activated, stillness becoming motion in a way that I would be extremely hard pressed to come up with a way to make more efficient. One leg raised slightly, and the pipe that was sticking a quarter of the way out of the ground became a step as as the AC pushed up into the air, motion and terrain both perfectly met and matched, utilized for exactly what the pilot intended.

I was forced to discard my earlier comparison. Dolmayan and Raven did not have this sheer... ease of movement that 621 demonstrated. It was a blend of organic and mechanical motion that was exquisite to see.

I immediately started making calls to the RLF. I needed to make sure that they weren’t in 621’s way, because if they were...

They weren’t coming back.

It took 621 barely twenty seconds to get to the catapult. With no MTs to slow them down, 621 navigated the environment with a level of speed and efficiency that I genuinely wasn’t sure I could match.

Onto the catapult 621 went, and then catapulted off they were. It tossed 621 a good couple of kilometers away, bringing 621 into the proximity of the Contaminated City.

“Looks like the intel was good.” Walter commented as 621 approached, moving to the edge of the cliff overlooking the city. “Several ACs fell here recently. We’re illegals, and you need to scavenge one of their licenses.”

621 wasted no time, boosting off the cliff and heading towards the left towards the closest. Kirk’s, actually.

“No good. It’s already expired... 621, wait. Before you go to the next area, stay unseen for a moment.”

Again, 621 literally wasted no time, boosters flickering as the AC moved to settle in a crevice in the burning building around them.

A few seconds later, the RLF transports went straight overhead, already hauling ass out of the area. Good. Less potential casualties this way.

“That was the RLF, the only people on this planet who know where to acquire Coral aside from the PCA. We have contacts with them, and they’re not the sort of relationship we want to sour. Keep going.”

621 did. Hakra’s AC was next, suffering from electrical faults and paralyzed, standing at the edge of a street. Walter dismissed that one, too, since it was a corporate license, and then did the same for Monkey Gordo’s when 621 went to it shortly afterwards.

That left only one, and shortly afterwards, 621 was standing over Raven’s AC, resting in a crater, surrounded by the exploded pieces of numerous PCA craft.

“Hmm. A near match for your own AC... Good. It’ll be easy to disguise yourself- wait, contacts on the radar! Look out, 621!”

Of course, the PCA hadn’t taken the destruction of the army they’d sent after Raven lightly. The last report the army had sent was that Raven had been shot down, and it was only now that the scout sent to confirm it had arrived.

An AH12B descended into the area, curving around the structures under the Grid. Pulse Shields were flared and active, missiles ready to go, weapons bristling with malicious intent.

“PCA? But why... no matter. Take it out, 621. We can’t let it report back.”

What followed could not be called a battle. The word ‘battle’ implied... an exchange of force, a contest with a back and forth, a competition. What 621 did to the AH12B was none of those things. I couldn’t, in good conscience, call it ‘butchery’ or ‘slaughter’ either, since both of those words would imply some degree of... harshness. Cruelty, perhaps.

621 did not fight the PCA’s helicopter. 621 simply ended it. A pulse blade strike took off a shield and then the rifle blew up the emitter. With one gap in the shielding opened, several more shots made it wider, before a final blade strike peeled away the armour of the machine.

A point-blank missile strike against that newly made weakspot ended it, with a total engagement time that hadn’t even reached halfway to twenty seconds and paint that hadn’t even been so much as fucking scratched.

License acquired and all evidence gone, 621 was quick to leave the area.

I sent a message to Branch, containing the file and given the subject line of ‘Looks like things didn’t go quite to plan’, and then I got right to work.

Because this?

We needed this on our side. We could not allow the megacorporations to turn this against us.

Not when 621 lived up to the hype.