Lincoln’s eyes narrow. “You don’t have ammunition for that, and I don’t want you out there on your own.”
“I can go with her,” Rohan says.
“Negative. We’re going to have a narrow window to deploy the starbursts. It’s going to take two to do that, and one for cover fire if the sentinel drone finds us first.”
“I won’t be on my own,” True says. “I’ll be behind Roach, and it’s capable of a better rate of fire than Rohan’s pistol.”
“Hey.”
“Truth, son. And if Roach works like it’s supposed to, the rest of us might not even have to fire a shot.”
“Tamara’s plotted a viable route for her,” Chris says. “If you want to do it.”
Lincoln gives her a withering look, but it’ll be tactically valuable if she can get in position down among the rocks. “All right,” he concedes. “Don’t make me regret this.”
True nods and turns around.
“Get ready,” Chris warns. “We’re coming up on the first drop site. Lincoln, Felice, Rohan. Your route will display in your visors once you’re on the ground. Khalid, the drop is marked on your visor.”
“I see it.”
“Ease it down to a crawl. Stop just long enough for the team to clear.”
The truck rolls beneath the swaying branches of a small grove of rough-barked trees, the glare on the windshield winks out, and Chris says, “Go now.”
Lincoln, Felice, and Rohan bail out the back doors, taking the starburst copters with them. Khalid slowly accelerates and sunlight flashes into the cab again. True looks back, watching as the team enters the trees below the road. Already they’re difficult to see as their camo reacts to the hard shadows cast by the afternoon light. The truck rounds a bend and they’re out of sight.
Miles is alone in the back now. He’s wearing sunglasses, not an AR visor, but hooked over his ear is a TINSL linked into comms.
“You’re next, Miles,” Chris says. “Get ready to give Roach the boot.”
“On your order,” he answers.
True looks ahead as sunlight strobes through the branches. She seeks out the place where she thinks the first road warrior is hidden, still a couple hundred meters away. Beyond that, she can see the road winding away along the hillsides, but she can’t see the house down in the ravine. She’ll see it soon. She’s ready to go. Her hand shakes just a little as she holds it poised above the door release.
Chris says, “Khalid, I want you to keep the truck moving slow and steady when it comes time for True to get out. Don’t stop or you’re going to make yourself a target.”
“How well can you see them?” Khalid wants to know. “Can you tell if they’re getting ready to take a shot?”
“They’re both casual,” Chris says in a soothing tone. “Just watching. Not expecting trouble. And the truck is armored.”
“Roger that.”
Chris continues his instructions. “Once True is out, gradually pick up your speed and continue at least five klicks down the road. Then stand by and wait for further instruction.”
“Yes, sir.” The sunlight flickers as Khalid looks at True. “Hey, you want to trade places?”
It’s a joke, but not a joke. She understands. Khalid is a decoy, a rolling target. Vulnerable, but out of the action. “I won’t give you away,” she promises him.
“We are going to pull this off,” Chris insists. “But timing matters, so let’s focus.”
True looks ahead, eyeing the slope above the road, the tangle of dry brush and tree shadows, trying to pick out the point where the first road warrior is hidden. Failing. She tells Khalid, “Be ready to drop the back window so I can return fire if it comes to that.”
He nods. His hand slides to the control pad on the armrest.
“Only on my word,” Chris says.
They all go silent. There’s just the noise of the truck as it jounces and rocks on the dust-dry road.
“Okay, you’re past road warrior one,” Chris says. “Maintain your speed, Khalid. Miles, you ready?”
“Roger that.”
They start around the bend in the road that comes just before the lane. “On three,” Chris says. “One. Two. Three.”
The back hatch opens, restrained by a tether so that it rises less than two feet. The sound of tires on grit, the rustle of a light wind in the trees, the smell of dust. Then a grunt from Miles as he uses his boots to shove the gray, lozenge-shape of the dormant Roach out over the back bumper. It lands with a thud as he pulls the hatch down again.
“Roach is out,” Miles says over comms, his voice low, taut with tension.
Tamara too is on edge. Anxious, frightened, and full of doubt.
She’s staffing the research desk in the command post at ReqOps headquarters. Naomi is with her. Hayden is at the front desk, managing the video feeds. Chris is pacing. His gaze is fixed on the wall monitor, palms pressed together, fingers tapping his chin in a display of anxious energy. Jameson is in the room too, standing near the door, but he’s present as an observer. Tamara is all too conscious of Renata’s absence.
She’s aware too—exquisitely aware—of the risks that both the team and the company are taking. She tried to talk to Chris about it. “We need to reevaluate,” she told him after True was recovered and the team was making its way out of Rabat. “Take a look at the risks, and weigh those against what we are standing to gain. What is there to gain, Chris? What? We’ve got True back. That’s what matters. Why go on? There’s no innocent to be rescued. No bounty. We are risking the lives of our people to take custody of a mercenary who is probably dying as we speak.”
Chris silenced his microphone before he replied. “I don’t disagree,” he said. “But we’re doing the mission. Let’s just do it the best we can.”
But how do you determine best actions when you don’t know what you’re facing?
Tamara has no idea what is under the anti-surveillance canopy or inside the target house. She doesn’t know how many enemy soldiers there are or how they’re armed or if civilians are involved. Children? She doesn’t know, because the preliminary work that would have been done on any other mission has not been done. There’s been no time.
She’s worried too because she has no eyes on Roach; she can’t see it deploy. Ideally it will have hit the road flat, with no tumbling or bouncing. Its stout, jointed legs will unfold and activate—three on one side if it needs to right itself, or all six at once if it lands upright. Lens covers will open, giving sight to the tiny cameras that stud its body. The visual data they collect will allow the onboard AI to map the fine details of its surroundings so it can navigate in stealth, moving quickly and silently, much like its namesake. While this is happening, a whip antenna, a few centimeters tall, will rise from its carapace, and then she will get a signal. The rifle barrel will not deploy. The jointed mast that supports it will remain in its cradle, allowing Roach to maintain a low profile as it scuttles downslope and into position.
Four seconds after Miles reports that Roach has deployed, the robot checks in—
Leg R1 nominal
Leg R2 nominal
Leg R3 nominal…
—a long series of reports on each of its components scrolling through a window. She shifts to a navigational view showing a scene in motion: pebbled slope padded with dry leaves and powdered with dust, dry branches slipping past as Roach moves toward its assigned position. She cross-checks its route on a map and announces, “Roach is moving into place. All components nominal.”
Rohan is in the lead, advancing quickly and quietly, paralleling a trickling stream as he follows the path projected in his visor. He carries the folded starburst copter balanced on his shoulder, loosely wrapped in camouflage cloth. Lincoln follows a few steps behind, carrying the second copter in the same way, balancing its weight with his right hand, not trusting his artificial hand to do it. Felice is in the rear.