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Before Carson could query what the medic had said, pulse weapon fire erupted from within the pub, followed almost immediately by a huge explosion. The blast knocked Carson flat. Black oily smoke billowed out of the shattered building in a thick rolling cloud. Dust and debris filled the air as flames engulfed the building. Silent gunfire erupted from all sides and a high-energy maser blast ripped through one of the heavy Meks, frying its circuits and melting through the thick armour plate shielding that covered its barrel chest. The remaining Sims closed around Kolly and Carson as projectile impacts and pulse blasts exploded all around them. One of the Sims reached out and offered Carson his hand. Carson grabbed it and allowed himself to pulled to his feet. His head was full of static. All around he could see the muzzle flash of weapons fire and yet all he could hear was white noise. The world had become was a soundless hell. Through the smoke, Carson saw Coombs, uninjured, running towards them. His pistol was drawn and he was barking orders into his throat mike. At Coombs’ back, the Spider Meks opened up with their weapon systems. The thrum of energy weapons tore through the air and Carson realised he could hear again. After his blast-induced deafness, the chaos and noise was unbelievable. Carson watched, horrified, as the spiders’ hard-light cannons chopped open the buildings and brick, wood and plaster rained down into the street. When the heavy Meks joined in, the sonic bombardment from the multiple wave emitters became a monstrous heartbeat in Carson’s ears and he wished his hearing loss had lasted longer. “We need to find cover,” Coombs yelled, barely heard over the cacophony. One of the Sim troops in front of him took a needle hit to the head and fell, limp and bleeding to the street. Coombs turned and fired and, for the first time, Carson saw one of the infected as Coombs’s bullets struck home. Carson realised if he concentrated he could make out a blur of movement through the smoke. Another Sim fell, bleeding, to the ground: the white gel stark against the black Bucky-Carbon armour, as its Blastex plating was pierced in a dozen places. Coombs fired again. “Go,” he said, pointing at a nearby building. “Get out of here.” Carson grabbed Kolly and ran for cover. Over his shoulder, as he dragged Kolly through the doorway and flattened himself against the wall, he saw another heavy Mek go up in flames and one of the spiders was reeling from the barrage of projectile and pulse fire it was receiving. “Make sure the floor is secure,” Coombs shouted over the noise at Sims, as he took up position at the entrance. “Thermals say it’s clear, but pulse anything that looks even remotely weird.” Two Sims peeled away. “Once we’re clear,” he bellowed after them. “Launch the flag.” From outside another explosion rent the air and forced Coombs to duck behind the wall for cover. “Jesus wept,” he cried out. “The fuckers just took down another heavy.” Flames danced in his eyes as he looked out and fired his pistol, the sound flat and dull and somehow seeming all the more deadly for it. “What's the flag?” Carson asked, looking at Kolly. "It’s a massive comm. burst,” Coombs answered, firing again. “When it goes up, it'll cut through the camp's signal suppression and flag up a pre-coded transmission." "Like a flare?” “Exactly like a flare,” “It tell them to come get us?" “Fuck no,” Coombs said. “It tells them the shit has hit the fan and their fear over these freaks’ babies destabilising their power base is the least of their worries. They'll need more than the Herod Act to keep a lid on this one.” “The Herod Act?” “Forget it Carson. You don’t want to know.” “Tell me it’s not what I think it is?” “You don’t have clearance, Carson.” “Fuck you, you god damn spook. Tell me?” Coombs turned away from the doorway and looked at Carson. “You really want to know?” he asked. “You really think your bleeding heart, Sim loving mind can take it?” “I think the people have a right to the truth.” “The truth?” Coombs sneered, “They don’t want the truth.” “Then what’s the point of all this?” “The point? Public relations. Spin. Call it what you want. You’re a known commodity, Carson, a name. The people trust to tell them the unvarnished, undistorted truth.” “And that’s just what I’d do.” “Of course you would.” “There’s no way I’d doctor my reports.” “That right?” Coombs said, mocking. “How would you even know?” “Of course I’d —” Coombs laughed at Carson’s expression. “What, you think you’re safe from them? You think being a journo will protect you, or that daddy will step up and save you? Don’t make me laugh. They’d disappear you in a heartbeat if it suited them, and daddy would help them do it.” “Was
it all a set up?” Carson asked. |