Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

“Do you still have it?” he spoke in a hushed tone. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue. Wiped her nose with it.

“And if I do?”

“Listen…” he leaned in close, “I’ve still got friends in some indy circles who might be able to do some good with it. Maybe even—”

“No fucking way, Corey. You saw the look on his face! Kirnden knows I was in there. What do you think happens when a recording of the whole damn thing suddenly surfaces on the Net? I get suicided, is what. Probably in some Sway overdose in my apartment or a ‘tragic mechanical failure’ that crash-lands me in the Slums to be dragged away for god-knows-what!”

“Liani, it could save thousands of lives!”

“Bullshit, Corey. They’ll find us, discredit us, kill us, and bury the truth. And I’ve had enough martyrdom for one day.”

“Shame,” Corey said as he stood up, “so what then? I guess you’ll destroy it…”

“I—I will. I just…”

“Why not now? Get rid of the thing and save us both.” Corey stared her down as she reached into her purse. Her fingers closed around the memory stick. She withdrew it and looked up at him. In a heartbeat, she stood up on her high-heels and stormed off toward the Superway platform. He trotted after her.

“Li, wait! Please!” She didn’t turn or break stride until she reached the edge. The 76-story drop from the GloboMetro Plaza to the ground below made her head swim. She staggered back a step, the memory stick clenched in her fist. Corey caught up and steadied her by the shoulders.

“Christ, Liani! Come on…” Corey said. She trembled in his hands, clutching the chip. It would be so easy to just toss it.. Forget the whole thing. But the plastic stayed glued in her palm. She bit her bottom lip. The low hum of another superway train approached. It rushed up beside them and stopped.

“I’ll take it, you don’t have to—” he stopped as she jerked out of his grasp.

“No,” Liani said, tucking the chip deep in her purse, “No, I have to think about this.” She turned as the train doors opened. Stepped inside.

KABBARD FELT LIKE he was on the wrong side of the briefing. He should be sitting out there with the officers, leading one of the squads…not standing up on the platform next to Commander Gorman. But that time had passed. And all the gym memberships in the world hadn’t kept Kabbard from losing his edge. This is my place now . He took a breath at the silent reminder. The hangar of EXO HQ filled with the nervous chatter of the men as they sat with their squads. Pilots, infantry, medics, and specialists. More than a few leaned to each other in whispers, pointing at the former Sergeant.

He’d had some oversight through the planning stages of the Raid. Basic goals, timing, structure… But the commanding officers had reluctance to listen beyond that, and he didn’t blame them. Better that the missions be scoped by the ‘boots on the ground’ than the ‘suits in the Tower.’ I’m a suit in the Tower… The soft, designer jacket and slacks suddenly chafed him.

“Easy, John,” said the Commander, privately, “This is necessary.”

Kabbard nodded. The data the Commander had shown him was conclusive. The T99s had been busy, setting up labs all over the Slums. And not the Sway-cooking variety. Bombs big enough to disable Border towers had been confiscated over the past weeks. A clear threat. So why the fireworks in my gut? It must have been all the rookies.

The labs were so spread out and so heavily defended that the EXOs didn’t have the numbers to pull it off. Not all at once. The only way to fill the ranks had been to fast-track a few hundred kids out of Red Gate Academy. Their young, eager faces filled the crowd, jawing excitedly as they sat equipped in full Aug kit. It’s reckless… they need more time.

“TEN-HUT!” said one of the acting Sergeants as Commander Gorman crossed to the podium. Kabbard stood up out of conditioned reflex. Noticed that the entire hangar stood too. Vets and rookies in perfect unison. Part of the weight lifted. Discipline was a start, but it had to be proven in the scrap, ashes, and dirt. And blood.

“At ease,” said Gorman. Officer Vaughn took his seat with the other recruits. His pale skin throbbed softly beneath the humming Augmentors. He’d worn Full Kit thousands of times back at the Gate, but here, the hyper awareness seemed to spread his heartbeat through every nerve.

At the far end of the hangar, the engineers prepped the IG-8 dropships and A39 fast-mover gunships in a din of noise. Vaughn ran a trembling hand over his fresh head of grunt stubble. Scratched the back of his neck. His grades were never that great, and he was decidedly average in the exit physical. What am I doing here? He couldn’t help but think it over and over. A sudden tap on his shoulder actuator snapped him out of it.

“ Hey man ,” one of the other recruits whispered behind him. Vaughn turned. An over-caffeinated junior classman. The squad readout in Vaughn’s Neural placed the name ‘Dreivan’ above the kid’s ridiculous high-and-tight hair.

“Look! It’s him!” Dreivan said, pointing to the stage.

“Him who?” Vaughn whispered back.

“Kabbard! Sergeant John . Fucking . Kabbard!” said the kid. Vaughn squinted at the stage. There he was, alright. The man who basically wrote their textbooks in addition to having been the most notorious EXO on the force since the Border Offensive. A legend in the flesh… though there was more flesh on the man now than in the archive pictures and vids.

“ SHUT THE FUCK UP! BOTH OF YOU! ” hissed Sergeant Shima, whirling in his seat. The man looked like an psychotic jack-o-lantern when he was pissed. Vaughn snapped his eyes front. This vet had a reputation too. A hell of a temper, and a tendency to go just a little nuts on certain missions. Luckily First Sergeant Mason had also been assigned to their squad, presumably to keep things level. Vaughn had ended up in one of the only squads with two vets. The fact soothed his jangling nerves. Sort of.

Vaughn’s Neural beeped a notification in his inner ear, and a vast glowing map of the Slums appeared overhead. Big enough to hover over the entire regiment. Vibrating lines of light rendered the topography and major neighborhoods of Rasalla. Commander Gorman cleared his throat.

“This, as you know, is the Rasalla District. The largest single district in the Slums, separated into thirteen major zones. Tonight, we’ve gotta hit ’em all,” Gorman said. One to three sections of each zone were the target areas, highlighted in yellow. Thirty squads for thirty targets. A ‘smash and grab’…on the whole damn District…

“Each squad,” continued Gorman, “will be simultaneously dropped via RaDVert into their GPS designated target area at 0400 hours. Once on the ground, you will have fifteen minutes to get into position and wait for the Big Go. By 0430, primary prisoner and ground-force extract should be completed! The longer we stay, the greater the risk of casualties. The name of the game today is prisoners, boys. Live, undamaged ones. We go in with spurs, drop the suspects, load ’em up, and get out.”

“Sir!” Sergeant Shima raised his hand. The Commander sighed. Nodded.

“Sir, are we to understand that we’ll be hitting Rasalla without live ammo?” Shima asked. A low muttering wave spread over the men. The lack of respect rubbed Vaughn the wrong way, but he wanted to hear this too.

“Calm down, Shims,” said the Commander, “ No one goes into the Rasalla District without brass jackets, but they are last resort, End-of-Times only! This goes ugly if the metal starts flying. 0430 hours. Drill it into your skulls. Now, each target will require specific, dynamic tactics to neutralize, so pay close attention to your vets and squad leaders. God bless you all. Dismissed!”