The last thing Henry Pojade wants to do right now is right in front of him to be done right now.
Jacob Hergenrather’s second ‘announce & validate’ tone sounding inside his head seems somehow, impossibly, more strident than the first.
His first exchange with the NexUS Deputy Director had been brief and he had not bothered to step into virtua for it. Before he could open his mouth, Hergenrather was talking.
“Where are they, Henry?”
“We haven’t reacquired the target.”
“You’ve had over five hours!”
“Let me work. I’ll talk to you when I have something to tell,” Pojade had said and ended the audience. Just like that.
That was almost a minute ago.
Pojade weighs the potential costs of not responding at all and limiting this contact, at least until the vehicle has been found. That, or endure further maddening interaction with the demon Beelzebub. It is a difficult choice.
He engages as before and, this time, says without preamble, “I know you understand, Jacob, this is no longer a surveillance mission, if it ever was one. The legacy routine that ran when the Sandia files uploaded and started this…” he struggles to find a descriptive word and settles for, “… clusterfuck, also smoothed some of the way upstream here considerably. Still, it took nearly as long for me to explain what happened to the first drone I misappropriated as it did to acquire and reroute another one to find that roller again.”
Long silence. “And?”
“The reassigned eye is another half-hour from the target area.”
Somehow, Hergenrather’s silence feels hot.
“Understand me,” Pojade says, “I want to find that vehicle and its occupants as much as you do.”
“I doubt that.”
“Their transceiver is disabled. Unable to transfer to a trac route, their range is dramatically limited. That, and we have a profile on the current owner.”
“You know where they’re going.”
“With high probability, if they’re not already there.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Do you remember when Gerzier offered his G-cell package deals to those little ‘mom & pop’ villages that began to spring up before the End Times?”
Pojade pronounces the celebrated recluse’s name with the proper French-Canadian articulation, rather than the typical American bastardization popular among those who disparage him.
“And then, when the Rebuild began and he was energizing cities like Seattle, Portland, and the Medford/Ashland String, he continued to offer more of the same small change deals. Nearly limitless power for a compact community in a tight package. If the government hadn’t stepped in to limit their spread, they’d be all over the place. Like a rash.”
“I said don’t keep me in suspense, Henry.”
“There were three of the surviving eighteen RFAs spread out from there to the Sea of Angeles within their range when we lost our drone. Our AI-IC’s found a connection.”
“Transfer the coordinates for that location to Center,” Hergenrather says. “Then you can go ahead and stand down. We’ve got this.”
“I can’t do that, Jacob.”
“You can’t do what?”
“Earlier,” Pojade says, “while utilizing our resources, you ordered me not to interfere with your plans for these persons. You called them ‘walking dead’ when we first spoke of them. At that time, the instructions of the legacy program that brought us together in this gave us a supporting role only, and I was willing to help move this incident to resolution with you.
“However, linked to the disturbing Sandia Pueblo incident, the destruction of a high-value Homeland asset by one of these persons has altered our involvement here. Whatever jurisdiction has been granted you, my AI-IC agrees this is a Homeland matter now as well. And regardless your legitimate claim to them, those occupants are going to answer our questions first.”
“What the delusional fuck are you babbling about?! You don’t seriously expect us to stand down and step aside while you blunder into something you don’t understand, do you?”
“I understand you have strict priorities of your own in this, Jacob. Please understand me with absolute clarity. Neither you, nor your people, will interfere in our apprehension of these individuals. Your recourse from that point will be straightforward, but it will come after our interests have been satisfied.” He pauses, a period at the end of his statement. “Are we clear on this?”
Another hot silence.
“Jacob?”
“That was good, Henry. Sounds like there’s someone there you need to impress. I hope they are because I know I am. Here’s the thing.
“Your attempt to redefine the authority already vouchsafed us regarding the disposition of the vehicle and its occupants is transparently thin. Vapor, in fact, and you know it. The legacy program’s instructions are specific and Homeland’s authority ends exactly there. Ends. There. Your AI-in-charge can suck my ass until my head caves in.
“But I will offer you this, Henry. You can ask all the questions you want of any survivors after we intercept them. How’s that?”
“I have teams enroute.”
“If you care about them, keep them out of the zone.”
“In the event the enclave is enveloped, we will enforce access without an incident.”
“We don’t need your help and I relish a good incident. Are you saying this hive has null capability?”
“Ostensibly, any of them have the potential for it. That specific functionality certainly figured into each clave’s individual contractual arrangements with Gerzier. Of course, as you might imagine, Homeland doesn’t have access to Gerzier’s records.
“So far, we’ve identified only four of them with the capability. The one in question is in some rugged terrain and is an unknown, although my AI-IC now gives it high probability.”
“Perfect.”
“And, you know,” Pojade adds, “if the field is active, it’s difficult to detect without flying into it. I can’t spare another eye.”
“Sounds like you’re just dancing around to give your teams more time. I cannot protect your people. Understand that. It’s up to you to do that. Keep them back, transfer the coordinates to Center, and let’s get this incident started.”
A pause stretches out. Sweat trickles through the matted hair between Pojade’s shoulder blades. He feels it seeping into the furry curve of his spine. He cues the technician beside him and her fingers tap out an uninterrupted paradiddle and a half.
“Whatever comes, I’m committed here too,” he says. “What I will do for now is stand by and record until this doesn’t go the way you think.”
“Whatever,” Hergenrather says. “While you were talking, Sonder scanned the likely target RFA from orbit. You confirmed the location. The vorp is already developing detail. The drop teams are on approach. If you want to bring yourself inside, you can watch. I’ll have three teams on-site in less than two minutes.”
“Think that’ll be enough?”
. . .
The most maddeningly unlikely bogie on the ground in his broad experience, when viewed from space, seems insignificant. Closer up, however, it still doesn’t look like much, but the degree of magnification and focus is impressive.
Also, the new, real-time, AI-assisted night vision images are first rate, just like daytime. The AI’s viewing angle adaptive feature is still in beta, however, and insufficient to verify the license plate’s legend from orbit.
But how many battleship gray-primered retrofit vans might one expect to find within the specifically-targeted area at any one time? A few smaller, sleeker, personal rollers belonging to enclave residents are stationary nearby the box on wheels.
Hergenrather glances at the vorp and back to Pojade. “What do you think, Henry? That the one?”
“It’s a match.”
“Well, there you go. The drops are a minute out. Let’s see if the place is inside a bubble or not. Shall we?”
“You mean, before your teams hit an active field?”
“Won’t matter.”
“If there is one, is anyone inside likely to know it’s been breached?”
“Pfff. Hard to say. I don’t really care. I’ve been itching to try something new and this looks like the place.”
He presses three points on the back of his left wrist in sequence, then all three at once, and favors Pojade with a Joker’s grin. “I think you’re going to like this.”
Pojade watches an object fall into the vorp, from his point of view, into an area between structures, among the other, smaller runabouts near the target vehicle. It’s a small thing, and it breaks apart on the ground.
There is no blossom of power. No shockwave of force. Only darkness filling the vorp. Impenetrable darkness.
Street and lot lighting, structure illumination and signage, none of it is visible.
Pojade’s consternation is written in his features as he rounds on Hergenrather. “Where…? What the Hell happened?”
“Dimmstone.”
Pojade blinks. “What?”
“Dimmstone. There was a fragment of it inside the projectile and, even better, there is a null field in place there. The mechanism holding the shell together failed when it penetrated the field, exposing the fragment. And now, contained within the null field, true night has come to Jeopardy, all the way from Hevn.”
“I… don’t understand what you’re saying, Jacob.”
“I know.”
◄ ~ ~
The last thing Henry Pojade wants to do right now is right in front of him to be done right now.
Jacob Hergenrather’s second ‘announce & validate’ tone sounding inside his head seems somehow, impossibly, more strident than the first.
His first exchange with the NexUS Deputy Director had been brief and he had not bothered to step into virtua for it. Before he could open his mouth, Hergenrather was already talking.
“Where are they, Henry?”
“We haven’t reacquired the target.”
“You’ve had over five hours!”
“Let me work. I’ll talk to you when I have something to tell,” Pojade had said and ended the audience. Just like that.
That was almost a minute ago.
Pojade weighs the potential costs of not responding at all and limiting this contact, at least until the vehicle has been found. That, or endure further maddening interaction with the demon Beelzebub. It is a difficult choice.
He engages as before and, this time, says without preamble, “I know you understand, Jacob, this is no longer a surveillance mission, if it ever was one. The legacy routine that ran when the Sandia files uploaded and started this…” he struggles to find a descriptive word and settles for, “… clusterfuck, also smoothed some of the way upstream here considerably. Still, it took nearly as long for me to explain what happened to the first drone I misappropriated as it did to acquire and reroute another one to find that roller again.”
Long silence. “And?”
“The reassigned eye is another half-hour from the target area.”
Somehow, Hergenrather’s silence feels hot.
“Understand me,” Pojade says, “I want to find that vehicle and its occupants as much as you do.”
“I doubt that.”
“Their transceiver is disabled. Unable to transfer to a trac route, their range is dramatically limited. That, and we have a profile on the current owner.”
“You know where they’re going.”
“With high probability, if they’re not already there.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Do you remember when Gerzier offered his G-cell package deals to those little ‘mom & pop’ villages that began to spring up before the End Times?”
Pojade pronounces the celebrated recluse’s name with the proper French-Canadian articulation, rather than the typical American bastardization popular among those who disparage him.
“And then, when the Rebuild began and he was energizing cities like Seattle, Portland, and the Medford/Ashland String, he continued to offer more of the same small change deals. Nearly limitless power for a compact community in a tight package. If the government hadn’t stepped in to limit their spread, they’d be all over the place. Like a rash.”
“I said don’t keep me in suspense, Henry.”
“There were three of the surviving eighteen RFAs spread out from there to the Sea of Angeles within their range when we lost our drone. Our AI-IC’s found a connection.”
“Transfer the coordinates for that location to Center,” Hergenrather says. “Then you can go ahead and stand down. We’ve got this.”
“I can’t do that, Jacob.”
“You can’t do what?”
“Earlier,” Pojade says, “while utilizing our resources, you ordered me not to interfere with your plans for these persons. You called them ‘walking dead’ when we first spoke of them. At that time, the instructions of the legacy program that brought us together in this gave us a supporting role only, and I was willing to help move this incident to resolution with you.
“However, linked to the disturbing Sandia Pueblo incident, the destruction of a high-value Homeland asset by one of these persons has altered our involvement here. Whatever jurisdiction has been granted you, my AI-IC agrees this is a Homeland matter now as well. And regardless your legitimate claim to them, those occupants are going to answer our questions first.”
“What the delusional fuck are you babbling about?! You don’t seriously expect us to stand down and step aside while you blunder into something you don’t understand, do you?”
“I understand you have strict priorities of your own in this, Jacob. Please understand me with absolute clarity. Neither you, nor your people, will interfere in our apprehension of these individuals. Your recourse from that point will be straightforward, but it will come after our interests have been satisfied.” He pauses, a period at the end of his statement. “Are we clear on this?”
Another hot silence.
“Jacob?”
“That was good, Henry. Sounds like there’s someone there you need to impress. I hope they are because I know I am. Here’s the thing.
“Your attempt to redefine the authority already vouchsafed us regarding the disposition of the vehicle and its occupants is transparently thin. Vapor, in fact, and you know it. The legacy program’s instructions are specific and Homeland’s authority ends exactly there. Ends. There. Your AI-in-charge can suck my ass until my head caves in.
“But I will offer you this, Henry. You can ask all the questions you want of any survivors after we intercept them. How’s that?”
“I have teams enroute.”
“If you care about them, keep them out of the zone.”
“In the event the enclave is enveloped, we will enforce access without an incident.”
“We don’t need your help and I relish a good incident. Are you saying this hive has null capability?”
“Ostensibly, any of them have the potential for it. That specific functionality certainly figured into each clave’s individual contractual arrangements with Gerzier. Of course, as you might imagine, Homeland doesn’t have access to Gerzier’s records.
“So far, we’ve identified only four of them with the capability. The one in question is in some rugged terrain and is an unknown, although my AI-IC now gives it high probability.”
“Perfect.”
“And, you know,” Pojade adds, “if the field is active, it’s difficult to detect without flying into it. I can’t spare another eye.”
“Sounds like you’re just dancing around to give your teams more time. I cannot protect your people. Understand that. It’s up to you to do that. Keep them back, transfer the coordinates to Center, and let’s get this incident started.”
A pause stretches out. Sweat trickles through the matted hair between Pojade’s shoulder blades. He feels it seeping into the furry curve of his spine. He cues the technician beside him and her fingers tap out an uninterrupted paradiddle and a half.
“Whatever comes, I’m committed here too,” he says. “What I will do for now is stand by and record until this doesn’t go the way you think.”
“Whatever,” Hergenrather says. “While you were talking, Sonder scanned the likely target RFA from orbit. You confirmed the location. The vorp is already developing detail. The drop teams are on approach. If you want to bring yourself inside, you can watch. I’ll have three teams on-site in less than two minutes.”
“Think that’ll be enough?”
. . .
The most maddeningly unlikely bogie on the ground in his broad experience, when viewed from space, seems insignificant. Closer up, however, it still doesn’t look like much, but the degree of magnification and focus is impressive.
Also, the new, real-time, AI-assisted night vision images are first rate, just like daytime. The AI’s viewing angle adaptive feature is still in beta, however, and insufficient to verify the license plate’s legend from orbit.
But how many battleship gray-primered retrofit vans might one expect to find within the specifically-targeted area at any one time? A few smaller, sleeker, personal rollers belonging to enclave residents are stationary nearby the box on wheels.
Hergenrather glances at the vorp and back to Pojade. “What do you think, Henry? That the one?”
“It’s a match.”
“Well, there you go. The drops are a minute out. Let’s see if the place is inside a bubble or not. Shall we?”
“You mean, before your teams hit an active field?”
“Won’t matter.”
“If there is one, is anyone inside likely to know it’s been breached?”
“Pfff. Hard to say. I don’t really care. I’ve been itching to try something new and this looks like the place.”
He presses three points on the back of his left wrist in sequence, then all three at once, and favors Pojade with a Joker’s grin. “I think you’re going to like this.”
Pojade watches an object fall into the vorp, from his point of view, into an area between structures, among the other, smaller runabouts near the target vehicle. It’s a small thing, and it breaks apart on the ground.
There is no blossom of power. No shockwave of force. Only darkness filling the vorp. Impenetrable darkness.
Street and lot lighting, structure illumination and signage, none of it is visible.
Pojade’s consternation is written in his features as he rounds on Hergenrather. “Where…? What the Hell happened?”
“Dimmstone.”
Pojade blinks. “What?”
“Dimmstone. There was a fragment of it inside the projectile and, even better, there is a null field in place there. The mechanism holding the shell together failed when it penetrated the field, exposing the fragment. And now, contained within the null field, true night has come to Jeopardy, all the way from Hevn.”
“I… don’t understand what you’re saying, Jacob.”
“I know.”
◄ ~ ~