“Michelle, are you filing continuous reports?” he asked tiredly.
“No, the unit is under emission control, local transmissions only.” The suit local transmission system used directional pulses of monoperiodic subspace transmissions. The transmissions were traded in a distributed network from one suit that was in sight to another, shuttling through the group in the same manner as a data packet in the internet. Since the transmission simply jumped from one suit to the next, the power was a trickle and the likelihood of detection or interception was next to nothing. If a Posleen could detect the transmission, it meant they were already in the perimeter.
“Okay,” sometimes the Posleen seemed to use direction finding, so it made sense. “Well, the first time we get in touch with higher, which will be soon, I want you to file a full report for me. Include that little tidbit. Now about the sewer lines?”
“There are no major sewer lines. There are toxic chemical dumping lines, but I discommend using them; over time they could damage your armor.”
“Well then, how are we getting out?” asked O’Neal, puzzled. Michelle had clearly indicated that she had a plan.
“Through the water mains,” said the AID.
“The system is sealed. If we break the seal we squirt out like grapes and getting back in will be a pain. Can we shut the water down?” he asked. Mike studied the schematic of the water system. The water flowed in from the ocean through processing plants along the shore. There plankton and minerals were separated from the water to be refined for further use and the purified water was pumped to the megalopolis. Although most of the products necessary for life were recycled within the megalopolis, significant quantities of water were lost in direct evaporation, thus the need for a tremendous resupply system. The tunnels flowed throughout the megalopolis, crossing and cross connecting into a continuous network.
“We cannot shut down the flow,” answered the AID, taking the questions back to front. “The Posleen have gained control of the majority of the pumping systems between here and the sea and are in the process of installing their own hardware and software controls. In addition, even if we shut down the pumping stations, we would be faced with reverse flows from the various megascrapers.”
“So how do we get through the obstacle?”
“I don’t currently have a plan,” admitted the AID, chastened.
“Well, neither do I. Cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Duncan rubbed the sides of his helmet. The external oxygen monitor indicated that there was just enough O2 for humans in the tunnel, but the platoon or so of troops would use it up rapidly if they took off their helmets. Which sucked, cause he really wanted a Marlboro.
“Gimme Sergeant Green,” he said to his AID and looked at the new lieutenant. O’Neal looked like a fucking spastic, his fingers flicking in front of his armor. It was the same guy from Division; he had been around the battalion in the last month or so as they suddenly went into frantic training overdrive. It was stupid. There was no way the battalion was going to get ready in less than two months after pissing away all that other time on the ship; it was just window dressing. On the other hand, the training that Wiznowski had been bootlegging had really helped. He wished that someone had forced the colonel to listen to him; Wiz really knew his shit.
“What’s O’Neal lookin’ at?” he asked. He had found that all the AIDs were linked and sometimes he could peek in on what someone was doing with their system.
“I cannot access his system,” the AID answered.
“What about Sergeant Green?” asked Duncan, kicking some of the rubble on the floor, the plasteel chips skittering away in the suit lights to flip off the jagged end of the tunnel.
“He is in conversation with Sergeant Wiznowski.”
“Try to break in.” He felt confident that they would let him in. During the trip his had been one of the first squads to be included in Wiznowski’s secret training sessions and they had developed a good rapport.
“Yes, Duncan,” Green asked, tiredly. The NCO’s attitude had come around, but he was still an occasional pain in the ass.
“We got any word?” he asked. He could see the two NCOs at the other end of the tunnel. They were examining the blockage there, a trickle of water shining silver at their feet in the suit lights.
“Some, I was just talking to Wiznowski about that. The lieutenant says we’re gonna get out of here through the water main. We need to break the troops down into squads. I want you to take seven, Bittan and Sanborn from your squad, and an engineer. I’m gonna give Brecker his own squad.”
The names of the troops flashed up and the suits of the troopers scattered through the tunnel were highlighted. Duncan tapped one of the names and data began to cascade across his vision.
“Okay, can do. I got one question: does that fucker,” he flipped a laser designator at the lieutenant, “have any idea what the hell to do, or are we gonna have to frag his ass?” The last was meant jokingly but came out harsh as the reality of the situation hit again. They were trapped under a hundred meters of fucking rubble and the surface was a hell of Posleen. Basically, they were fucked. And the officer appointed over them was a total unknown to everyone in the battalion.
O’Neal had stopped flicking his fingers and now stood like a gray statue. The light seemed be drunk by the camouflage skin of his suit. He suddenly shimmered out of sight then shimmered back in. The officer’s suit was apparently performing diagnostics. Green turned his body toward Wiznowski and apparently carried on a side conversation for a moment. After a moment The Wizard raised his hands palms up, as if in resignation.
“Duncan,” said Wiznowski in an unusually cold voice, “if you give that dwarf bastard the slightest problem he will frag you so fast it will flat amaze you. Briefly. Where the hell do you think I got my amazing level of training about everything in the world to do with suits?” The other NCO’s snort carried clearly over the circuit.
“Oh,” said Duncan. That amazing repertoire had been the subject of several discussions. It was assumed that he just had a better rapprochement with his AID. In every case of a question raised during the training it turned out that the AIDs had the information all the time. “How the hell did… ?” he trailed off.
“Whenever we were training, O’Neal would sit in his cabin controlling the whole thing like a puppetmaster. Hell, half the time when ‘Wiznowski’ would answer the question it was O’Neal or his AID.” The smile in Wiznowski’s voice was evident. “He was even present plenty of times. All he had to do was tell your AIDs to not ‘see’ him.”
“Damn.”
“So,” answered Sergeant Green, “yeah, the LT has his shit together. Now, why don’t you pay attention to your fuckin’ job instead of his, squad leader?” The NCO could be ascerbic when he wanted to be.
“Okay, just one more thing.”
“What?” asked Sergeant Green.
“I figured out a way to get out of here, if the LT asks.”
“Okay, I’ll pass that on. Just out of curiosity, what is it?”
“Well, we could set up our personal protection fields behind us and pop that plug,” he said gesturing at the pile of rubble blocking the tube. “That would flood this area like an air lock.”