Whistling Past the Graveyard (12 page)

Prospero leaned on the cane. “Thank you, my dear.”

“And how do
you
feel?”

It took a moment for Prospero to answer that. He turned and stared at the dissembled mechanical monster. While it was clear that he was physically exhausted, his face came alight with a complex series of emotions. He cut a quick look at the Joes standing nearby and then touched the woman’s cheek.

“I feel
wonderful
!” he said. “Young and alive.”

Doc cleared his throat and entered the little bubble of their private conversation. “I’d like to give you a brief post-action exam, Doctor.”

Prospero stiffened. “Nonsense. I’m perfectly fine as you can see.”

“You’re flushed and perspiring heavily and—”

“The suit was hot and I just ran four miles,” interrupted Prospero.

“—and you’re seventy-four years old.”

Prospero laughed aloud and nodded toward the machinery. “Not when I’m in there! It’s very much like sky-diving, or driving a formula one. After a while you can’t tell where you end and the machine begins. It’s so exhilarating. I was a
god
out there!”

Doc nodded. “Sure, but you’re not in there all the time. And right now it looks like your blood pressure could pop rivets out of plate steel.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Prospero met Doc’s eyes and the moment stretched around them. Professor Miranda shifted to stand next to the old man, using body language rather than words to show her support.

Flint watched all of this and very nearly stepped over to stand beside Doc, but that would turn the moment into bad drama. Instead he said, “The test was pretty amazing, Dr. Prospero; and you have a right to be proud of the Caliban exosuit. Consider me a fan. However our friends in Congress aren’t paying us just to watch. Our team is here to evaluate everything, and that does mean
everything
. If Doc Greer wants to examine you, then let’s all put it down to dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s.”

Prospero opened his mouth to say something, and from the taut pull of his lips it was likely to be something biting. They had been warned that the old scientist was a cantankerous SOB, but Flint wasn’t interested in enabling cranky behavior.

It was Professor Miranda who broke the tension of the moment.

“We understand completely, Chief,” she said with a smile, touching Prospero on the arm and then turning the full wattage of her smile on Flint. She stepped closer to him, pitching her voice as if they shared a private conversation. “Chief Warrant Officer Flint, as a soldier with significant field experience you must be familiar with the exuberance that comes with combat exertion.”

“Somewhat,” Flint said neutrally.

Professor Miranda stepped a bit closer, looking up into Flint’s eyes; and Flint was suddenly very aware of how truly beautiful the professor was. He made his face turn to stone.

“All those juices flowing,” Miranda continued, “the awareness of your own power. The understanding of your potential for great things.”

Flint cut a look at Doc, who was trying so hard to hide a smile that the effort looked painful.

“Um, yes, ma’am,” mumbled Flint. “I suppose I do.”

“Call me Elsbeth, Chief
Flint.
” She loaded his name with enough hidden meanings to sink a battleship.

A few feet away Scarlett softly cleared her throat. She had been watching with amusement and professional interest as Miranda attempted to dazzle Flint. She shifted her posture as a way of breaking the trance through distraction, and in a very businesslike tone said, “If everything plays out the way it looks like it will, once we crunch the numbers…I think we can safely say that you just changed the face of warfare for the next generation.”

Professor Miranda began to say something else, but Flint stepped sideways―out of the potent energy of her personal space―and angled himself to address both she and Prospero.

“When Doc is done with his exam I would love to sit down over coffee and hear everything about what went on out there.” He looked at Prospero. “I’ve never seen
anything
like that.”

Prospero studied him for a few moments, clearly trying to determine whether he was being ‘handled’ or if the praise was genuine. Then a smile seeped slowly onto Prospero’s mouth as he considered those words. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, deflating the ball of tension he’d been holding in his chest.

“It’s encouraging to know that you are a person of vision,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” said Flint. “We’re all certified soldier geeks. We love gadgets.”

“You have no idea how much,” Scarlett said under her breath.

“So,” Flint concluded, “this stuff is straight from heaven.”

Prospero’s smile became genuine. He nodded and offered his hand to Doc.

“Forgive my terseness.”

Doc’s hand was only a microsecond slow in responding, but they exchanged a firm grip.

“Perfectly understandable. Just watching you had my own blood pressure nearly off the scale.” He gestured toward the side corridor. “Shall we?”

Doc and Prospero walked away together. Professor Miranda lingered for a moment, giving Flint an enigmatic look and a very appealing pink-lipped smile. Then she turned and followed. The tech crew finished their work and piled back into the golf cart and vanished, leaving Flint and Scarlett alone in the observation chamber. Silence filled the room, and they turned and walked slowly over to the window. The fires had burned down to embers out there on the sand.

“How’s
your
blood pressure, cowboy?” asked Scarlett.

He laughed. “Don’t start.”

“Me?
I
wasn’t starting anything, but you looked like you were ready to drop down on one knee and propose.”

Flint snorted. “She’s cute, but her only interest in me is in how much she can run interference for Prospero.”

“So, you’re not smitten by the geeky brunette with glasses?”

“I think we all know what a slippery slope
that
is.”

Scarlett gave him a knowing wink and sat down on the edge of the desk. “I think Miranda is every bit as formidable as her boss.”

“Agreed. Which means everybody needs to keep their eyes open at all times.” Flint tapped the topmost button on his uniform shirt. “You get all that, guys?”

“Every word,” said a man’s voice.

The receiver bug looked like a freckle on the inside of Flint’s left ear. Scarlett had an identical one on her right ear. The voice belonged to Christopher M. Lavigne. ‘Law’ to the rest of the Joes. In the background his dog, Order, gave a single sharp bark as if he, too, was acknowledging.

“I heard it, too,” said a second voice. Laser Rifleman Anthony ‘Flash’ Gambello.

General Hawk had sent a full team. Law and his canine partner were reviewing the facility security systems, with two computer experts―a Brooklyn tech-geek called Jukebox and a Japanese woman codenamed Schoolgirl―as backup. Flash had been running the drone systems from a truck parked way out in the desert, and his team included the beefy and always-grinning Australian Bruiser and Shock Jock, a sniper from San Antonio. The last two Joes here at the Nevada base were a diminutive man who was, despite the unfortunate call sign of Teacher’s Pet, a first class shooter; and Monster, a hulk of a kid straight out of Force Recon and three tours in the Middle East. They were all listening in on the call, though only team leaders chimed in on the conversation.

“Opinion?” Flint asked.

Flash said, “I think you and Professor Miranda will have lovely children.”

“Secure that crap, soldier,” barked Flint, though he was smiling. “Give me your
professional
opinion.”

“Of what?” asked Flash. “The Caliban unit? Totally kicked my ass, and that’s somewhere between very cool and very, very scary.”

“Agreed,” said Law. “I was watching the whole thing from the security office. I had the action on fifteen screens and it was scary as hell on every screen.”

Scarlett said, “On the other hand, considering that this is a military system, ‘scary’ is what we want.”

No one responded to that for a moment, then Law said, “Y’know guys, this is a pretty strange back road for anyone who’s ever been a pair of boots on the ground. On one hand we all dig the idea of replacing vulnerable flesh and blood soldiers with metal and motherboard drones. On the other hand…have these guys even
watched
science fiction? Automated systems? Artificial intelligence combat machines? That never ends well.”

“It’s not AI,” corrected Scarlett. “They’re drones. Remote operated and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Short step from remote to automated, though. I mean…it’s the next natural step in development. Congress ups the budget for Prospero and next thing you know it’s ‘
Ahll be bahhk
…’”

“Geek-centric paranoia noted, Law,” said Flint. “That’ll look good in the report.”

“So,” said Flash, “what’s
your
take on the good Dr. Prospero, boss?”

“On or off the record?” asked Flint.

“Off.”

“He’s halfway to being nuts.”

“Only halfway?” asked Flash.

Flint chuckled. “Hey, I just met the man a few hours ago, guys. Jury’s still deliberating.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting,” said Flash, “which is out here trying to figure out how one old dude in a friggin’ tin suit handed me my ass…I’m going to put my vote in right now. Guy’s scary
and
nuts. And I’ll bet a shiny nickel that he was grooving on it, too. Sitting there in the middle of all those fireworks like he was conducting the 1812 Overture.”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow to Flint. “He’s got a point. Prospero took a bizarre risk just now. He could have used a less valuable subordinate for that test. Instead he put his own life on the line to prove how effective his system is.”

“Personal pride?” suggested Law. “The Caliban unit is a major career high.”

“Maybe. We’ll go into that later.”

“Couple other things to go over later, too,” said Law. “The security systems are a little weird.”

“Weird as in vulnerable?

“Weird as in totally
in
vulnerable. I’ve never seen any system with this many safeguards and redundancies.”

“Better safe than sorry,” quipped Flash.

“I suppose,” Law said, but he sounded uncertain.

“Okay…team meeting in thirty minutes. My quarters.”

“We all going to compare our homework?”

“Yeah, and then we’ll braid each other’s hair and have a pillow fight.”

They were all laughing as the call was disconnected.

Outside, the last of the fires was out now and the desert was in total darkness.

Scarlett turned to Flint. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché,” she began, “but something about this place gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah,” said Flint, “I know what you—”

Anything else he was going to say was suddenly cut short as screams tore through the night. They whirled toward the access corridor.

“What the hell—?”

Those words were likewise drowned out. This time by the harsh rattle of automatic gunfire.

And then all of the lights went out.

-8-

The room seemed to explode around them.

“Down!” Flint and Scarlett yelled it at the same moment, and then they were diving for cover as someone with an automatic weapon opened up from the side corridor. Bullets chopped into the desks and chairs, tore jagged chunks from the poured linoleum floor, hammered into a Coke machine and blew sparks out of it, and burned through the air above their heads like a swarm of angry bees.

Flint hit the floor in a chest-first dive that sent him sliding toward the wall with the Coke machine. Soda hissed and sprayed from a dozen holes in the casing, but Flint couldn’t see it. Except for the nearly continuous muzzle flashes at the far end of the room, there was no light.

“Who the hell’s firing?” yelled Scarlett as she rolled behind a heavy desk. She had her pistol out but the barrage of rounds was too heavy to risk leaning out to return fire.

“
What’s happening?”
everyone on the com-link was yelling at once.

“We’re taking fire,” barked Flint. “We need back-up!”

“Go Joe!” bellowed several Joes at once.

Backup was on its way, but Flint didn’t feel comforted. The automatic gunfire was continuous. He kept waiting for the pause as the shooter or shooters swapped magazines, but there was no break at all. He pressed his head to the floor and risked a quick look. Almost instantly the gun barrel fanned around to chop the exact spot. He jerked his head back amid a swarm of splinters and ricocheting lead.

“That’s belt-fed,” he shouted, and Scarlett nodded. “Mini-gun on a cart I think. I can see some of it in the flashes.”

“Cover me!” she snapped, and without waiting for his nod, Scarlett got into a crouch, racked the slide on her weapon, and threw herself sideways toward another desk eight feet away. It was a powerful dive but not a pretty one, lacking her usual athletic grace. She twisted in midair as she jumped, firing toward the mini-gun, each recoil warping her flight path. In the darkness and thunder it was impossible to tell if she hit any of the hostiles.

The gun instantly pivoted to track her, but as it did Flint rose up fast and opened up on it, aiming for the shadows just above the muzzle, knowing it was where the gunner had to be. Every shot hit home, every shot was true and straight.

The mini-gun kept firing.

“The hell…?”

Scarlet landed hard and slewed around while continuing to fire. When the slide locked back, she rolled behind the desk and fished out another mag.

There was no break at all in the gunfire.

The desks behind which they were hiding were disintegrating and pretty soon it would be like trying to hide behind Swiss cheese.

Flint would have given his left hand for a couple of fragmentation grenades.

And, as if wishing could make it so, there was a tremendous explosion that rocked the entire room and a red fireball that punched into the ceiling and then flattened out. The sprinklers and the security lights both came on at the same time and it looked like red tears falling from a black sky.