Elic Epsilon's blog

“Gear Check!”

The team leader’s masculine voice tickles my eardrum through the communication bug stuck in my ear. Frank’s tone is clipped and all business. We call him Frank because no one can pronounce his real name. Not that we haven’t tried to say it of course. His parents must have had a wicked sense of humor.

I quickly look over my gear. The flat black armorweave cloth fits my lithe body snugly to show off graceful female curves. The stuff is thin but tough enough to keep a light weapon slug or hand particle weapon from punching a hole through me. The impact would leave a massive bruise though. Since Novus Corp Security doesn’t take chances with their operators, we have an extra 2mm plate of carbon-titanium-ceramic composite armor over our chest and back just in case we run into something like light vehicle-mounted weapons. Not that we should see those on this operation.

We are on a simple Snatch and Run Op. Frank got the assignment and picked a three-person team. The third person is Jyppso, a late 30’ish tough looking guy with sandy hair and a body builder’s physique. Jyppso’s been around a while and done more Ops than anyone other than Frank. Hell, I’m the newbie of the team. I think Frank included me to get more experience on this cake run.

The mission is simple. All we have to do infiltrate another Corp’s compound and snatch a software programmer that wants to “defect” to Novus. This sort of thing happens often. Corporations hire the competition’s personnel all the time and send a team in to get them. What happened to simply letting the people simply walk away to the new job? I swear corporations do it this way as if it was a game.

Frank’s voice tickles my ear again. “E? You ready?”

Shit. I got distracted. That isn’t good going into an Op. I hurriedly yet carefully check my Seburos. The machine pistols are old but meticulous maintenance keeps them smooth and accurate. Frank teases me to get something modern. No way. These old Seburo’s still pack a hell of a punch. Tonight they are “dirty” with attached silencers and laser sights.

I slip the pistols into my thigh holsters to keep hands free for the infiltration. “Ready.” I sub-vocalize on the tactical com.

When Frank says, “Go!” we swiftly exit the building and cross the street to the compound fence. Jyppso, our B&E specialist, makes short work of the fence’s electronic alarm and cuts a hole while Frank and I keep watch in opposite directions. At Jyppso’s grunt, we take turns slipping into the compound and dash silently to the nearest building. We pause with backs against the wall while Frank takes a moment to compare the compound’s layout to the building plan displayed on the infrared screen of his combat PA. Everything must look good because he taps Jyppso and I on the shoulder and motions for us to proceed around the corner.

That’s when everything goes to hell in a hand basket.

They wait until we are in the open between two buildings before flicking on the compound lights. A couple hover spotlights light up above us and turn our area bright and everything further than 10 meters away into pitch black. Following our training, we move until our backs are against a wall. I yank out the Seburos, snap the laser sights on, and cover the darkness to our left. Without looking, I know Frank and Jyppso are doing the same thing behind me. Jyppso will be covering the right while Frank handles the front. We won’t shoot until Frank says.

The lights are blinding. My combat glasses darken in vain trying to compensate and let me see what is beyond the lighted area.

An amplified man’s voice crackles in stereo out of the darkness all around us. They must have multiple speakers to prevent us from targeting the sound source. I bet even the damned hover spotlights have speakers.

“Lay down your weapons slowly! No sudden moves! Do it!”

We don’t move. At all. Discipline is everything in a situation like this. Frank is our team leader, not the guy giving us orders. He is silent, probably trying to figure a way out of this that won’t get us killed. There damn few options right now. We could just surrender but whom would we be surrendering to? CSF? A Corp? Perhaps even the Syndicate? Each one is dangerous in different ways. CSF is the worse because they don’t make deals. Novus can cut a deal with the Corp and the Syndicate to get us back. I’m betting it is a Corp.

It wouldn’t be cheap though.

A laser dot appears on my left wrist. I grit my teeth and bob my arm up and down slightly to make it harder for the shooter. The dot tracks easily enough to stay on target. Crap, that shooter is good. If the team trying to take us is as good, then we are in really big trouble.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS NOW!!”

Ok. Now I’m really nervous and it shows in my voice as I sub-vocalize questioningly, “Frank?”

Before he can answer, our opponents make the decision for us.

Something punches hard into my chest plate and slams me back against Frank. I don’t even register the sound of the shot because it fricken’ hurt! As the adrenaline rushes in, I panic and push off the body behind me, fingers already tightening on the triggers.

There! I see movement in the darkness! The twin Seburos alternate bursts of bullets as I drag them on target. Angry shouts come from all around us as weapons fire erupts from all sides. Frank is cursing behind me in between long bursts of his KMP40 assault rifle. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Jyppso down and not moving.

The weapons fire coming at us gets more accurate as the attackers shake off the surprise and get back to business.

Pain flares as I take a hit on the right leg that twists me to the ground and on my back. The hover spotlights beam directly into my eyes. Screw this! I snap the Seburos up and cut loose on the brightest light. It goes out with a satisfying pop. Before I can start on the second light, something smashes into my left wrist and knocks a Seburo flying out of my grip. It must be that #(^&%! shooter! Clenching teeth against the pain, I grip the remaining pistol with both hands and roll over onto my stomach, arms straight out in front of me as I try to find her.

I barely see the booted foot that catches the side of my head and sends me spiraling into darkness.

*

I wake up with a ragged gasp.

It takes a minute to remember where I am. The room is mostly dark except for the flickering holosign light trickling through the blinds. Rasping for breath, it dawns on me that I am in my bed inside a low rent apartment located within the seedier section of the city. Dressed in nothing else but an oversized t-shirt, I sit up with a curse.

Damn. Not the dream again.

How many times do I have to relive it? It has been over a year since we got caught. Is there some sort of metaphysic dream master that punishes bad deeds with reoccurring nightmares? For god’s sake, it’s over! Done! In the past!

A glance at the clock shows it is only 4:34 am. With a groan, I fall back on the worn bed and stare at the lights flickering on the ceiling. I won’t be going back to sleep tonight.

Conscience is hell. It will keep niggling at a person until it either eats them up or something happens to sooth it.

I breathe a weary sigh.

Yeah, I screwed up bad during that Op. If I didn’t panic … if I kept my cool … if … if … if …

Grr. It is done and in the past.

Maybe if I keep repeating that phrase, it might come true.

Giving myself a shake, I get out of bed and pad on bare feet to the only table in the apartment. Picking up a scuffed finger-slim pocket-sized metal object, I toggle it on.

“It has been three days since you last turned me on. Do I not serve you well?”, says the Personal Assistant’s well modulated female voice.

I sigh. “Pez … I don’t feel like bantering with you right now. Can you play something? Something … primal.”

Yeah, my PA’s name is Pez. She has an attitude. She doesn’t have emotions … no AI personal assistant does. But it is amazing what personality overlays can do now. Frank, the electronics wizard he is, did me a favor and fixed Pez when she broke seven months ago. He even tossed in a free personality overlay. Pez hasn’t been the same since.

The first strands of old standard Goa music wafts softly from Pez without her making any other snarky comments. Maybe she recognizes my mood and shuts up for once. I’m grateful. She can literally be a handful at times. I swear Frank programmed her as a curse for me.

I couldn’t live without her.

Glancing again at the clock (it reads 4:51), I set Pez on the table, move to the middle of the small apartment, and stand with eyes closed. Muscles start to relax as the music trickles soothingly through my mind. Unknown minutes pass as I stand silently, loosely, halfway in a trance.

Something changes inside me and peace settles upon my soul. With a graceful lifting arch of my arm, my body swings around into the opening moves of a slow tribal dance. The languid flowing movements are as comforting as the music.

I have hours before my evening shift at the Orion Cantina … hours to dance … hours to …

The trance fully claims me and I forget everything.