Absolute Zero (The Shadow Wars Book 4) (5 page)

Trent waited for the airlock to cycle and thought about last night. Tristan had been very good, very enthusiastic, even very vocal. He'd worked hard to please her, because, well, it just seemed the decent thing to do. Being a lazy partner in bed was like being a lazy mercenary. Although rarely did it get you killed.

The exterior door of the airlock opened and immediately the bay filled with freezing winds and fat snowflakes. Trent and Drake were at the front of the crowd and it seemed decided that there they would remain, pulling point duty.

The pair moved down a cargo ramp and stepped into the snow. Their boots disappeared up to their ankles. They began walking, using a holographic compass on the head's up display shown over the inside of their visors to keep on point. They were just under a half-mile away from where the display said the entrance to the compound was.

Several minutes were consumed by the shrieking winds. The speakers in their helmets automatically cut down on loud sounds, but Trent turned his down to almost zero, unwilling to fully cut himself off from the outside world. Everyone communicated via radio at the moment, anyway. The group made it a little over half their journey without anyone uttering a word. Finally, Stephen broke the silence.

“How big is this place?”
he asked, his voice thin and tinny over the radio.

“That's none of your concern. We'll act as your guide once we get inside,”
Sergio replied.

“And if we get separated? Lost?”
Drake asked.

“Make sure that doesn't happen. God, I thought mercenaries, of all people, would understand the need for secrecy,”
Sergio replied.

“We don't like secrets that are tied to our well-being. I thought a corporate dog, of all people, would understand that,” Trent said.

“Fair enough, but I can't tell you anything. Just get us inside, follow my instructions, keep us safe and you'll all come out of this a lot richer and happier.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the winds. Trent looked around, but he could see nothing, save for the eternally shifting snow and ice. The sun was out, but it had been reduced to a thin gray light. Visibility only extended to perhaps ten feet. Was this bad, he wondered, or was this just an average day on Arctica?

Trent sighed and pressed on through the shifting snow.

* * * * *

“I see it!” Trent called.

Appearing like an illusion from the thick blanket of snowfall, a perimeter fence of frosted steel silver appeared.

“Don't touch it,”
Trevor replied immediately.
“It's electrified, enough to kill you even through your suit.”

“Yeah, thanks for mentioning that ahead of time,” Trent muttered.

“We need to find the entrance,”
Sergio said.
“Then we can get inside.”

They all approached the fence until they were two meters away and began walking parallel to it. Trent glanced up. The fence stretched away from him, out of sight. It had to be over three stories tall, he decided.

What the fuck were they trying to keep out?

Or in?

They followed the fence, trudging through the snow, until Trent finally found the gate. It was massive, big enough to drive a cargo truck through with room to spare. Trevor directed their attention to a smaller, man-sized gate next to it. He cautiously approached the keypad set into it and punched a button.

Nothing happened. Trevor made a small, unhappy noise and punched more buttons. Still nothing happened.

“It's not accepting my code,”
he murmured.
“Hold on.”

He crouched, pulled out a narrow case and cracked it open. Trent could see slender silver tools within. Trevor selected one and set to work on the key pad. Turning his attention away, Trent shivered. Maybe it was psychological, all the wind and snow, but he could feel the chill seeping in front the outside. He turned his suit's internal heaters up another notch and stared down the length of the fence. It disappeared after a few meters.

For just a split second, something seemed to brush his senses, his combat instincts. He began glancing around. It was something ugly, something that intended harm, something with mental teeth. He noticed some of the others doing the same.

“What was that?”
Gideon murmured.

“I felt it, too,”
Drake said.

“What? What are you guys talking about?”
Sergio now. His normally calm, professional voice now showed cracks, through which fear could be heard.

“I don't know, like we're being watched, like we're not alone out here,”
Tristan replied.

They all waited, but the feeling disappeared with a snap. It had only been there for a second, as though something had barely glanced at them.

“Got it,”
Trevor said suddenly, the gate sliding open.

Trent went through first, Drake right behind him. There was nothing but more snow and ice. Maybe it was the electric fence, but he seemed to be able to see farther. At the absolute edge of his vision, Trent thought he could see the outline of a structure. Not the main one, though, no way they'd come in that close to the drone guns.

Everyone came through. As they began walking, there was the sharp sound of the gate snapping closed behind them.

They all turned and again Trent felt like he was being watched. Worse than that, he realized. Not watched,
stalked
.

“Get that open,”
Sergio snapped.

Trevor retraced his steps back to the gate, knelt by the keypad on this side and set to work. After five minutes, he stood up.

“I can't, it's sealed shut. I don't know what happened.”

“Fantastic,”
Gideon muttered.

“We'll cut through if we have to on the way back out. For now, keep going. In between us and the front entrance is a warehouse and a cluster of shacks. I want to check them out first,”
Sergio explained. He seemed to be attempting serenity and failing.

Trent felt a small slither of fear ripple through his stomach. What was their boss so worried about? As they began making for the first structure, the warehouse, Trent turned his mind to what might be waiting for them within. He wracked his brain for knowledge, because all he kept coming back to were two basic assumptions: a rival group of mercenaries or a whole lot of automated defenses that had gone crazy.

In either case, he'd dealt with it before. Sure, it was unpleasant, but doable. Only...if it was something simple waiting for them in there, then why the secrecy, why the fear? Trent found his thoughts turning down a darker path.

There were always rumors, myths, legends, bullshit even, among the mercenary community. Just like the days when space travel was still a fantastically expensive endeavor and never went past orbiting the Earth, people believed in paranormal activity, UFO sightings, ghosts, crypto-creatures. Going into space hadn't quashed such behavior. If anything, there were more stories now than there were before.

And not all of them were unfounded.

While no contact had been made with any intelligence, there were alien plants, alien wildlife, even the ruins of alien civilizations from an ancient, space-faring race called the Cyr. There were rumors that the Cyr had been into some interesting, and sometimes twisted, shit. As far as Trent knew, officially speaking, the government had reign over all Cyr sites and technology. Of course, that didn't stop them from brokering deals with the megacorps.

Was this one such site, Trent wondered suddenly.

If so...what might be waiting for them inside?

They came to a side entrance of the warehouse, which was closed and undisturbed. Trevor opened the door with no problem. Trent and Drake went in first, ever on point, and played their flashlights across the darkened interior.

“Exterior power is cut,”
Trevor murmured.
“At least the main line. Everything must be running on reserve.”

“Fantastic,”
Sergio said quietly.

They moved slowly into the warehouse, scanning for anything that might be lurking in the shadows. The group flicked on their various flashlights and played the pale beams across the environment, cutting through the gloom.

Outside, the winds shrieked and howled ceaselessly. The interior of the warehouse was filled with stacks of massive crates and piles of smaller ones. Everything seemed quiet and undisturbed. For a moment, Trent felt that they were visiting the site of an ancient structure, one that hadn't been seen or touched in centuries.

The group split apart into smaller groups, spreading out across the interior, hunting through the little corridors and alcoves created by the piles of crates. There were no signs of conflict. No bullet holes, spent shell casings, corpses or pools of blood. Nothing was smashed or broken or tipped over. Everything was exactly where it should be.

“This is creepy,”
Stephen murmured.

“I don't think we're going to find anything here,”
Gideon said.

“I agree,”
Sergio said.
“Come on, let's check out the shacks, then we'll investigate the main compound.”

* * * * *

There were a cluster of sheds beyond the warehouse. Ten of them, lined up in twin rows in between the edge of the warehouse and the courtyard that boarded the primary entrance to the facility. The sheds didn't offer anything new, either. Like the warehouse, they were full of supplies, everything covered in a thin layer of frost, now that the heating failing. It likely wouldn't be long before it failed completely.

Trent used the opportunity to check out what kind of supplies a secret corporate research facility kept out in the sheds, but he didn't find anything useful. The crates all carried typical outpost stuff: redundant spare parts, extra clothing, tools. The contents stenciled across the sides in thick black text. They regrouped after searching the sheds.

“Okay,”
Sergio said.
“The range of the automated drone guns is just beyond the last two sheds. There's about thirty feet of open space. The shutdown switch is below them. The process for shutdown is rather simple, with this.”

He held up a small, black square device that vaguely resembled a grenade.

“What is it?” Trent asked.

“EMP grenade. Who has the best arm?”

“Me,”
Tristan said, stepping forward, her hand out.
“I pitched on a baseball team all through school. And I've got steady hands.”

“Very well. Stand dead center between these two sheds, aim dead ahead when you throw it,”
Sergio explained.

Tristan nodded and moved forward. She stood in between the sheds, spent a moment lining herself up, then hesitated. She took a step forward, then another. Trent felt tension coursing through him. If she was off by one step...

Tristan pulled back her arm, activated the grenade and hurled it.

She took a slight step forward to balance herself.

A spray of gunfire suddenly erupted. A second later there was a muffled sound and Trent's head's up display flickered, but remained. Tristan let out a sharp cry of pain and fell back onto her ass. Gideon moved forward, grabbed her and pulled her back. Everyone gathered around her. Trent could hear her panting over the radio link.

“I warned you,”
Sergio murmured.

“Shut up,”
Drake snapped. He crouched beside her.
“I can see the bullet.”

“Shit,”
Tristan muttered.

Trent studied the wound. It was in her stomach. He could indeed see the bullet. The tail end of it still stuck out of the armor. Tristan reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a field medical kit. She cracked it open and pulled out a tool.

“Let me do it,”
Gideon said.

“No, I've got it,”
Tristan replied firmly.

She gripped the end of the bullet with her instrument, hesitated, then extracted it. She let out another short bark of pain, dropped the tool and the bullet, grabbed a vial from her pack, opened it and poured the contents into the hole in her suit.

“Shit!”
she growled.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, she closed the kit back up, replaced it, then extracted what Trent recognized as a suit repair patch from another pocket. She peeled away the top and slapped it over the wound.

“Fuck, okay, that's done. I'll need to take a better look at it once we get inside,”
she said, standing up, waving off helping hands.

“Who wants to check and see if the EMP worked?”
Sergio asked.

Drake stepped up.
“I'll do it. I've always been quick on my feet.”

Trent frowned, wanting to speak up and do it himself, but once Drake committed to something, especially something stupid and dangerous, he refused to back down. So he just sighed softly and held his peace.