Dangerous Data (The Meridian Crew Book 2) Page 2

“Just get in the vent. I’m about to drop into the garage.”

  But before Benkei could respond, he noticed the arm of the first soldier move. Walking over to him, Benkei observed the splayed-out troop.

  After a moment, his body shifted again.

  “Am, these troops are still alive,” he said.

  “What? You hit them both point-blank, right?”

  “Yeah, and they’re both down, but not out.”

  “What the hell kind of armor are these guys wearing?”

  “A worryingly tough kind.”

  “Hm. Well, let’s see how this thing handles them.”

  “You there?”

  “Oh, I’m there.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll get in the damn vent,’ said Benkei, casting one last glance at the unconscious troops.

  He then approached the still-open vent, cast a wearied glance down the length of it, and took Madchen off of his back. Tossing the rifle into the vent, braced himself for the squeeze ahead.

  CHAPTER 3

  Amelia’s eyes were wide, a smile spreading across her lips as she looked over the massive bulk of the mech. Around fifteen feet tall and loaded with period-accurate weaponry, it was everything she had hoped it would be. The only the matter that remained was getting into the thing.

  She slithered out of the vent and landed silently onto the floor of the large garage. According to the feed, there were only a couple of troops patrolling. While Amelia knew that this normally wouldn’t be an issue for her, she realized that if what Benkei said about the armor was true, then she was going to have her work cut out for her.

  But as soon as she landed softly on the garage showroom floor, the sounds of several pairs of feet alerted her to the presence of more than a couple of guards. Many more.

  The garage was filled with all manner of antique war vehicles. Aside from the mech, which stood in the center of the tall-ceilinged, metal-walled garage, there were battle rovers, single and double-pilot mechs, even tanks from the recent Sector War. Amelia ran with careful steps behind the nearest showroom piece, counting the footsteps in hopes of getting a sense of just how many troops were in here with her. The room was nearly as a large as the hall. There could easily be a full platoon.

  She counted. One, two, three pairs of footsteps. But there were more. Continuing to count, she was able to see there were at least a dozen heavily-armored solider-mercs in the room. She cursed her luck, realizing that they must’ve arrived during her time in the vents.

  Amelia darted from piece to piece, using the weapons as cover.

  She heard the clanking of armored footfalls through the space, and wanting to avoid a fight, she moved stealthily. Her suit keeping her movements quiet, anticipating the movement of the soldiers, her steps soft and silent as she moved. The gold body of the mech towered in the center of the room, and Amelia gradually made her way toward it.

  “Am, you there?” asked Benkei, the comms channeling his voice into Amelia’s ear, inaudible to anyone nearby. “I think I’m gonna explode out of this vent.”

  Amelia said nothing, staying still and silent as a pair of troops met up nearby.

  “Anything from Martel?” asked one.

  “Nothing. The idiot won’t crack.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I can’t blame him, I guess. I’d be a little hesitant to give up the passcodes for all of my liquid assets if I were him.”

  “True, but what good’s money if your brains are splatted on the wall of your damn throne room?”

  Amelia said nothing through this exchange, her back pressed against the smooth, durasteel plating of the tank she was hiding behind.

  “No kidding. And I can’t get over that room. Totally ridiculous."

  “Ridiculous is right. Every idiot magnate with too much money thinks he’s a king now that the Federation’s gone.”

  “Too much money and not enough taste.”

  “Well, we’ll have control of Titan before too long. Then we can let these wannabe emperors know who’s really in charge.”

  “Can’t come soon enough. I’m ready to start showing some muscle. These shakedowns of every CEO in the area with more money than brains are wearing thin.”

  “Well, if this Martel asshole gives up the goods, we’ll be ready to buy some serious firepower.”

  Amelia considered this conversation, wondering just who these mercs were. She knew right away that they were too well-armed to be just any company of ex-Federation soldiers. And their tech was cutting-edge. She found herself wondering if serious militaries were starting to coalesce beyond the belt, rather than the tin-pot dictators with a few hundred ragtag pirates at their command.

  She put these thoughts out of her head as the two soldiers split up. Moving from the tank to a rover, she found herself near the mech.

  “Am, you there yet? I don’t know how much longer I can hold out in here.”

  Taking one quick scan of the area, she saw that the path was clear. Amelia rushed over to the sturdy, thick legs of the mech, scanning the bottom for the power switch. Spotting it near the upper-right thigh of the mech, she turned the dial, initiating the fusion power supply, which thrummed to life, still good to go after over a century.

  Crouching, Amelia moved in front of the mech, shaking her head at not only the tasteless gold finish of the vintage craft, but that now that she was closer to it, she could see that it was studded with rows of precious gems. Diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds lined up and down the hard angles of the thing, giving it the appearance of the chalice of a particularly ostentatious king.

  Grabbing on the rubber handles of the space below the cockpit, Amelia pulled herself up and into the mech, sliding into the seat, the hard rubber having been replaced with soft, plush leather. She looked out through the polygonal window of the craft, now able to see the slowly pacing troops of the garage.

  “Amelia!” called out Benkei. “You there? I think my ribs are about to crack.”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” said Amelia as she looked over the cockpit displays. “I’m in the mech.”

  “Oh? Good. So, what’s the holdup?”

  “Give me a damn second here,” said Amelia, flipping dials and checking the ammo.

  “Now, tell me this brilliant plan again,” said Benkei, his voice strained.

  “Plan is, uh, I shoot my way in, like I said.”

  “Do we have a signal for when I’m supposed to go in?”

  Amelia felt the power of the mech increase, the humming of the engine sounding louder and louder. Within seconds, the soldiers in the garage noticed that there was someone in the mech, and were beginning to gather around, their weapons at the ready.

  “Signal is a giant explosion,” said Amelia, the blood-red reticle of the targeting computer drifting like a feather on the wind to the nearest solider.

  “But, uh, not this one.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Amelia pressed the small, red button on the handle that controlled the right arm of the mech, a missile bursting from the launcher, the mech to lurching in place as it discharged its payload. A swirling white contrail curved from the mech, slamming into a nearby rover and erupting into a huge, orange explosion that sent pieces of shrapnel flying from the antique vehicle, not to mention launching the two nearby soldiers into the air.

  The remaining ten or so troops took cover behind whatever vehicles were nearby, and after the one who appeared to be in charge gave the command to fire, opened up on the mech with their rifles, the air in front of the machine filling with crisscrossing bolts of red.

  “Warning, incoming fire,” announced the placid voice of the onboard computer.

  “Am, you okay in there?” asked Benkei.

  “Yeah, fine, fine,” she said, flicking the metal switches to activate the Gandiva projectile cannons on both sides of the mech.

  Taking in a slow draw of breath as she attempted to steady the reticle at the left-most solider, the mech shifting and groaning from the impact of the laser rifles, she move
d her hands to the twin handles that controlled the arms, her fingers settling on the triggers. The chrome, black-fronted helmet of the soldier in her sights, she squeezed the triggers.

  A deafening sputter of rounds fired from the mech, lighting up the solider with an onslaught of bullet fire. He stood in place for a moment, his body making wild, waving gesticulations as the hundreds of rounds shredded through his armor before sending him spiraling backward and into the tank behind him. Dragging the reticle over the soldiers, Amelia sprayed them down with a steady stream of twelve-millimeter rounds that punched through their glistening, chrome armor instantly.

  Within a minute, the room was clear. The troops were all dead, their bodies tossed among the wreckage of the nearby vehicles. Amelia settled her legs into place, and with a grunt, took her first step. The mech was responsive, though, the movements weren’t nearly as fluid as those of the more recent models. She stepped with her other leg, the limb of the mech landing on a piece of bullet-riddled metal from an antique supply truck that was shot into scrap.

  “What’s the story?” asked Benkei.

  “I think this’ll work,” said Amelia.

  “Well, good, but make it fast,” he said.

  A smile crossed Amelia’s lips as she aimed at the large, durasteel garage door. A few flicks of the weapons system later, and the dual missile batteries were armed. With the press of the two buttons, a pair of fusion-tipped missiles flew screaming at the door, whizzing through the air before connected and blasting the thick durasteel to glowing shreds.

  Though the smoldering frame of the now-destroyed garage door, Amelia could see into the corridor beyond. Lifting the mech’s legs high over the rubble, she stepped out of the garage and into the main corridor, a long stretch with walls of dark wood and decorated with art as tacky as she was beginning to expect from Martel. Troops who were in the middle of patrols were now taking cover behind expensive, antique furniture as Amelia pointed the mech toward the large doors at the end of the corridor that led to the main hall where Martel was being held.

  More laser fire connected with the mech as Amelia moved forward, the stomping of the legs of the mech causing the art on the walls to shake and fall as she approached.

  “Hull integrity at ninety-one percent,” said the onboard computer.

  Amelia trained her sights on the nearby troops, opening up on them with the Gandiva cannons and blasting them, the wall behind them shredding into splinters. Looking down the hall, Amelia watched as dozens of troops poured in from the various adjacent rooms, the sleek chrome of their armor a sharp contrast to the carpet-and-wood décor of the corridor. Putting one soldier after another in her sights and squeezing the triggers long enough to take them out, Amelia continued forward, the mech lurching with each step, the impact from the laser fire now forming black-signed cracks in the cockpit display.

  “Hull integrity at seventy-six percent.”

  “Shit,” hissed Amelia, sending a stream of rockets at a trio of soldiers, the rockets exploding, blasting the troops to pieces and punching a hole through the dark wood molding.

  “I heard that one,” said Benkei. “Am I good to go now?”

  “Uh, bigger explosion,” she said, firing another spray of bullets at another of the seemingly endless stream of troops.

  “Hull integrity at fifty-two percent.”

  Steam now hissed from one of the joints of the mech, and looked down from the cockpit, Amelia could see charred black streaks of the laser fire on the gold hull. Up ahead, Amelia watched through the crisscross of laser fire at a pair of troops as they set up a small tripod, mounting a tube-shaped object on top of it. After a moment of through, she realized what this was: a concentrated fusion cannon. She knew that once that thing was set up they’d be able to fire a solid beam of white-hot energy that’d cut in seconds through her mech- and not to mention, through her.

  Another shot from a laser rifle hit home, and the mech lurched once again, the display panel in front of Amelia now lighting up with warning signals of bright blue.

  “Warning: hull integrity below fifty percent. Please bring the unit to the nearest service station for immediate repair.”

  Looking ahead, Amelia saw that she had nearly closed the distance to the massive, arched doors to the main hall. The troops in the corridor were thinning, but she knew that if she wasn’t able to take out that tripod she’d be done for. She aimed her reticle at the pair of troops, who were now making the final hurried calibrations to the canon.

  But just when she was ready to take them out with a blast of machine gun fire, a rocket screamed in from the end of the hall and slammed into the mech, the vehicle rocking back, and balancing on one foot before regaining its posture. The impact rattled the ship, and Amelia felt as though she could sense her brain rattling around in her head.

  “Warning: hull integrity below twenty-five percent. Please exit vehicle immediately,” said the computer as red warning lights strobed the interior.

  Whipping the reticle over the rocket, she saw a single trooper hastily reloading a black projectile into the end of the multi-chambered launcher. With a quick, frustrated spray of machine gun fire, she pocked the trooper full of holes before turning her attention back to the pair of troops who were on the verge of the killing blow.

  Then a thought occurred to her. She’d fired the fusion cannon many times before during her time as a Federation Geist. She knew how much power it could deal out, and, what’s more, just what it looked like before it fired. If she could time a grenade just so…

  The end of the cannon began to light with such intensity that its almost blinded Amelia, as though she were looking directly into the sun. She knew that the cannon would take about three seconds to fire once the charging process began, as soon as the gun prepared to fire, she started counting down.

  Right when she hit zero, she launched a grenade, the lopsided, gray projectile landed with a thwomp. The grenade landed right next to the pair of troops and the cannon, and with a crashing explosion, diverted the beam of superheated light into the door, which it punched through within seconds. The cannon then erupted into a crackling fireball, which ripped through the now-weakened door. The ornate, gold set of doors now hung limply on nearly destroyed hinges, the expanse of the great hall visible beyond.

  Amelia sprayed the last few troops in the corridor down with machine gun fire, the guns whirring to a halt as she expended the last bursts of ammo. After they were dispatched, no sound remained other than the alarms of the interior of the mech, the display of which was alight with flashing messages, warning her of everything from low fuel to low ammo, to the fact that the mech was about a gentle shove away from collapsing into scrap.

  “Was that it?” asked Benkei.

  “I think that should do it,” responded Amelia.

  “Okay, off I go, then.”

  And with that, the doors fell off their hinges, hitting the ground with a deafening crash. The doors gone, Amelia was now confronted with the hall full of troops, who raised their weapons at her in unison.

  “Too late to surrender?” she asked, raising the hands of the mech, one of which fell from its joint, slamming into the wood floor of the corridor with a dull thud.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded a stern, woman’s voice, from the area near the throne of the hall.

  Amelia looked in the direction that the voice spoke from, and saw that it belonged to the soldier in the tall, bulky power armor, the one who was threatening Martel. To the woman in armor’s right was Martel, a look of horror on his face.

  “My station!” he called out in an accent that was both American Southern and aristocratic. “My mech!”

  The armored woman turned to Martel and silenced him with a glance.

  Amelia opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, she spotted Benkei at the far end of the hall, his massive body attempting to squeeze out of the vent, Madchen at the end of his extended arm.

  “Uh, I think I took a wrong turn somewhere…” s
aid Amelia, her voice projecting out from the mech’s built-in speaker system.

  “Amelia Durand?” called out Mertel, Amelia wincing at hearing her name being said for all to hear. “Is that you?”

  “No, no,” said Amelia, her face heating with frustration. “Just, um, the maintenance crew.”

  Amelia watched as Benkei crept closer to Martel. But she knew that once he grabbed him, they’d have to shoot their way out once again. And in the state the mech was in, that wasn’t an option. She scanned the room for options, settling her eyes on the massive window that overlooked Saturn, the planet so great in size that it seemed to be a mere stone’s throw away. She thought that if she could punch it open somehow, that could be their ticket out of there. Just the matter of dealing with deep space to worry about.

  The soldier in the largest suit of armor came forward, the stomping of his feet sounding like bassy thunderclaps. And has he walked, he worked the display on his wrist, the armor opening up from the front, like a smaller version of the mech that Amelia was piloting.

  Incredible, she thought. That armor’s essentially a human-sized mechanic suit—real power armor.

  The armor pulled back as the soldier walked, opening to reveal not a burly, scar-faced man like Amelia was expecting, but a woman with slim, long limbs, a shock of blonde hair that framed a face that Amelia could tell, even from this distance, was beautiful. She stepped out of the armor with the graceful steps of dancer, her expression imperious and severe.

  “Who the hell is Amelia Durand?” she demanded in a haughty voice. “And why the hell was she, whoever the hell she is, able to get through dozens of you?”

  “Just you average, heavily-armed mercenary,” said Amelia.

  “Hey,” said Benkei. “I’m behind the throne. Give the word and I can grab this guy. I hop you've got something planned for after that, though.”

  “Just wait for my mark,” said Amelia, lifting her hand from the speaker system controls. “And get ready to give the crash course of all crash courses in vacuum survival.”

  “I already don’t like where this is going.”