the Noise Within (2010) (7 page)

"On the way back, we swap," Boulton had insisted, apparently accepting Leyton's authority but still determined to underline her own at the same time. He was not about to argue the matter; so long as they got the job done. Besides, if it meant there was as much distance as possible between him and her, he was more than happy. If he were honest, Leyton hated having to work with other people - not just Boulton,
any
people. The gun and he were used to operating as a self-contained independent unit; the need to consider others while in the field could only hamper his choices and compromise his effectiveness.

A wave of very welcome heat washed over Leyton's entire body as soon as he began to move - the suit doing its job. The heating system was something else developed during the War. Throughout human history conflict had always offered one silver lining: while focusing the human mind on trying to find ever more efficient ways of killing one another, useful by-products tended to emerge, as technology took giant leaps forward in all sorts of unexpected directions. The stealth shuttles and the shimmer suits were the product of deliberate design, but the heating system perhaps less so. For this outing, the party had been equipped with the latest model of shimmer suits, which were both armoured
and
wired. The latter meant that so long as they kept moving they would never freeze, despite the worst that the local climate might throw at them.

A web of fine, flexible wires lay beneath the suits' outer skin, concentrated around muscles and joints and supporting a host of storage cells - miniature batteries. Use of muscles generates excess heat, which the system was designed to capture, absorb and store, feeding back into the body when required. Not sweltering, not fireside hot, but enough to banish debilitating cold and keep the body functioning even in extreme conditions.

Leyton's suit also had a few other advantages, courtesy of its smart nano-coating. Did Boulton's boast the same? Probably.

"All clear?" he sub-vocalised.

"I would have told you otherwise." True, the question was redundant, but being responsible for others was putting him on edge. "There is nothing larger than a medium-sized rodent in the immediate area," the gun continued, before adding unnecessarily, "and said rodent is not armed."

"Point taken."

Timing was crucial, with speed the essence of this mission, so Leyton didn't hang around worrying whether or not Black could organise the techs and his squad of half a dozen troopers in short order, trusting that the man was capable of doing so. As the eyegee rounded the bluff the sun chose to put in an appearance - a watery crescent peeking over the horizon and gracing the world with pallid light. It failed to make the place seem any less grey.

Between Leyton and the sliver of sun stood the town - irregular pillars of concrete interspersed with blocks of squat stone whose severe edges and corners were cast in stark relief by the sun's wan glow. Closest of all stood the spaceport, the reason they were here.

Blocking his path to the port there was a fence, of sorts. The thing looked to be more symbolic than functional; a statement that 'this is ours' rather than a barrier intended to keep any determined interlopers out. No harm in checking though, just on the off-chance it had been deliberately designed to give that impression.

"Defences?"

"None."

As he'd thought; presumably 'determined interlopers' were not especially common on Holt.

Leyton holstered the gun, not needing it for this and, besides, just because the fence was unsophisticated did not mean that the whole base was. The chances were that an energy weapon's discharge would register somewhere with someone. So instead, the eyegee took out a small metallic tube from his belt; an object which resembled an oversized pen. Holding his breath, he pointed it at the fence and depressed the trigger, moving his arm to trace the shape of a broad archway as he did so. Pressurised liquid shot from the tube. The fence's metal links bubbled, steamed and melted as the stream of highly corrosive acid struck home. By the time the tube was exhausted, Leyton's hand was pointing towards the very foot of the fence. He waited a few seconds and then kicked the section of meshing in front of him. It gave way, catching at the bottom on the uneven ground but, with a little more persuasion, it swung open like a reluctant gate.

A sudden high-pitched wail interrupted the silence and he froze, afraid that he had triggered an alarm despite the gun's assurances. His head snapped up towards the sound and his hand automatically reached for the gun, but it was only a night bird, or rather the local equivalent. A translucent form sailed past overhead - tapering body and wide-spread wings which rippled as if made from some form of gelatinous material. The splayed wings were completely see-through. The creature sailed gracefully on with its mouth gaping open. The screech seemed to be less a call and more the product of air passing through its body in what looked to be a crude form of jet propulsion. Leyton was tempted to ask the gun whether it had any info on the strange avian, but resisted, fearing another lecture.

As the creature vanished from sight, his attention returned to the job in hand. A series of green dots appeared in his visor, showing that the rest of the party hadn't hung around and were now close behind him. All the more reason for him to hurry onward. He set out at a steady trot - a pace he could maintain for hours if need be, even in an oxygen-light atmosphere such as this. The ground here was hard, compact and uneven - rutted by tyre tracks from long ago - but that didn't slow him.

A cluster of amber dots appeared towards the left of his visor, the colour indicating that the gun had yet to determine whether they represented a threat or not.

"Dogs," the voice supplied.

Leyton cursed. A shimmer suit might deceive the eye and obscure a heat signature, but it did nothing whatsoever to disguise scent. "Augmented?"

"No, completely natural."

Which still didn't answer the question of whether these were guard dogs or simply a pack of feral hounds living within the spaceport compound. He looked, but they weren't yet visible.

He kept a wary eye on the visor as he drew level with the hounds' position. One dot detached itself from the globular mass and began to move towards him. He looked again and could see it now. The pack must be lying down, either in a deep rut or simply hidden by the grass. But this one had stood up and so exposed itself. Leyton saw a tawny coat, long legs and spindly body. Not your regular guard dog type, that much was certain, and the dog's approach was tentative, as if inspired by curiosity rather than being an obvious attempt to intercept. Despite this, the visor dot's colour deepened towards the red as the hound drew nearer. Leyton didn't really think this represented a threat, but he readied the gun in any case. The animal stopped approaching and simply stood with neck extended and head lifted, scenting the wind. Leyton relaxed as the dog made no effort to pursue. As anticipated, curiosity, not attack. After he moved past without any further reaction, the dot slipped back to amber.

Then, behind him, he heard the sibilant
phut
of silenced weapons and the inquisitive amber dot winked out. He cursed, wondering if he was the only one here concerned about concealment, but he didn't want to risk using the radio and so carried on, hoping the other dogs wouldn't come any closer and that the soldiers weren't
too
trigger-happy.

To Leyton's relief the rest of the dots moved away, causing him to wonder whether this wasn't the first time the dogs had been shot at. Perhaps port security took pot shots when they got bored, which was probably most of the time in this miserable place.

The hulk of a derelict shuttle loomed ahead of him, the back part of its fuselage blackened by what he assumed to be a calamitous drive malfunction, but may equally have been combat damage. Leyton kept the wreck between himself and the fast-approaching buildings as much as possible. Their path had been planned to bring them through an unused part of the port, but now that he was getting close to the hangars and terminals contact with the natives was inevitable. Shimmer suits were all well and good but they worked most effectively when their wearer was stationary. Leyton was more than happy to hedge his bets by utilising whatever cover the surroundings offered.

Red dots now. In the buildings beyond the shuttle. Not many - skeleton crew only at this hour - and no indication that any of them were patrolling, so probably just your average Holtan employees doing whatever Holtans did. Why bother with security in a place like this? Leyton paused by the craft's charred fuselage, taking a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings. Two concrete blocks, each uglier than the other and each containing a handful of red dots. His path lay between them. He jogged on, passing the two buildings but stopping at their far corner, to wait for the main party to catch up with him. The control centre was in plain sight, another ugly box, five storeys high. A wide avenue separated him from it. The green dots drew closer, though two remained by the shuttle husk, presumably to provide cover for their retreat if it were needed. Good move. Leyton's respect for Black grew.

There were half a dozen red dots showing in the target building, all bar two of them in the room they were headed for. One of those two appeared to be stationary, while the other was on the move. The control centre was the one building sensitive enough that it probably
did
merit guarding, no matter how theoretical any threat might be. Those in the room were most likely systems operators and admin, but the two outside it were almost certainly guards - one on patrol and the other at a monitoring station. An important part of Leyton's job was to ensure that nobody in the control room had the chance to sound the alarm and summon reinforcements, while Boulton was tasked with running interference and ensuring that, if any reinforcements were dispatched, they didn't get as far as Leyton and the others.

His visor stripped the shimmer suits of their camouflage and he watched as Black led the two techs and the other soldiers up to him.

"Two guards," he whispered to the sergeant. "I'll take care of them. Wait here and watch the door." He then crossed the intervening avenue.

"Locked and alarmed," the gun told him as he approached the front door. Neither were problems in themselves, but the red dot at the security monitors was bound to be alerted immediately if he broke in or even opened the door, so it was just as well he had other plans.

"Windows?"

"Secured, but no alarms."

Good enough.

The building was brick-built and looked solid. He pressed the palm of one hand against the wall as a test, waiting for a second to make sure the smart skin had melded before tugging. A little dust resulted, but otherwise fine; the glove had stuck firm. Satisfied, he lifted his wrist in an exaggerated movement which pulled his palm free from the wall while pressing fingers against it, ensuring that the smart skin pulled out of and away from the bricks and cement. Then he began to climb; hand first, then opposite leg, other hand, then other leg, going up the wall like a cross between a rock-hugging lizard and some outlandishly splay-limbed monkey.

The presumed security station was on the first floor, so he was up to the window in seconds. It was also towards the centre of the building, away from any windows, a sensible precaution which denied Leyton the simple solution of shooting the guard from his current position. The window's lock was of the usual electric type, easy to short with a standard piece of kit. Clinging to the surrounding wall with toes, knee, inside of a leg and one hand, he simply placed the small device against the area of frame that corresponded with the internal latch-mechanism and waited for a click. Old-fashioned manual locks presented far more of a challenge; not that Leyton was complaining.

Once inside he moved forward along a deserted corridor, lights dimmed to the point of mimicking the greyness outside. The passageway soon turned right, taking him past a series of elevators, none of them in use at this hour. A little further and the floor opened up into a mezzanine-style gallery, with a modest flight of steps leading down to a small lobby area and the front door. Set a little back from the top of the stairs was a broad horseshoe-shaped desk, behind which sat the guard, his profile to Leyton. The man was leaning back in his chair. By the look of him, he didn't have a care in the world. In fact, had he been any more relaxed he would have been asleep.

The uniform was charcoal-grey. Now there was a surprise.

Twin banks of monitor screens bracketed the desk and inane music chuntered from a speaker somewhere beneath it, which made the eyegee's task all the easier. Holstering the gun and drawing a serrated combat knife, he slipped behind the seated figure, steadied himself, and then struck.

In one coordinated movement, he reached forward to cup the guard's chin in his left hand, covering the man's mouth in the process while pulling the head back against his own chest. At the same time, his right hand drew the knife's blade swiftly across the exposed throat, applying sufficient pressure to sever every major blood vessel.

The unfortunate guard had enough time to stiffen in shock at the sudden assault and then twitch once as he died, but that was all. Leyton eased the body out of the seat and onto the floor. One good thing about standing behind a man when you cut his throat is that the blood sprays forward and not over you. The bad news from Leyton's perspective was that in this instance a considerable amount had spattered over the control panel, and he was going to have to use that shortly.