Desperate Measures: Lancers, #5

By P R Adams

When the greatest manhunt ends, will the hunter prevail or the hunted?

 

Every bounty hunter dreams of the big payday. Benji is no different. After decades living behind masks and lies, her life is coming undone. She'll do anything to complete this mission—a mission entire governments and militaries have failed to complete: Kill the man behind the most devastating war in human history.

 

But her prey hasn't evaded the hunters for all these years by being sloppy. He has connections and money.

 

When the time comes, Benji must ask herself if the price is too high. The wrong decision will cost her everything.

 

Grab the latest chapter in the thrilling cyberpunk tale of the Lancers today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Promethean Tales
• Release date: Nov 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201120122

Book preview

1

Avery Yung

---

Something about the dark made everything better for Shriya Bajaj. It wasn’t just the concealment it provided or the way every sound was amplified, although those were nice. Maybe the way the temperature had dropped once the sun finally went down helped, too. That took away the worst of the strange smells she’d come to associate with this frontier colony world—an oily creosote stench and what she assumed was some sort of desert plant life that tried to smell sweet but was closer to rot. All that remained when the sun went down were the subtle flowery notes of the blue morning plants.

They were more like indigo nights, really. The greasy leaves turned that shade in the dark and gave off an alluring aroma close to incense.

She had to stay away from those plants. The greasy coating on their leaves had potentially lethal hallucinatory properties, assuming the victim survived the nerve damage they often caused.

There were no worries about brushing against one of those leaves for now, at least. She was decked out in a skintight black bodysuit treated against low-grade chemical threats. Night-vision goggles covered the opening of the matching balaclava that hid her long, dark hair. Those goggles provided a clear look at the sandy clay between her and her objective.

Chemical threats might not be a concern at that moment, but she didn’t like the way the job felt.

A blockish shape rose in her vision, almost black against the amber wash. This was as good a place as any to stop.

Shriya dropped to her butt, back set against the block.

Her radio crackled. You okay, love? Go’s voice made her cringe.

She craned her neck to look around the blocky cover she’d hidden behind, maybe three feet on a side. Fine. I found some hard cover and wanted to take advantage of it. That’s all.

What kind of cover? Looks t’ me like you’re a couple hundred feet from the nearest building.

I don’t know. A case over monitoring instruments or something.

Yeah, yeah. Research station. Makes sense.

Beneath the balaclava, sweat trickled from her upper lip onto her tongue. She didn’t want to let Go get to her—knew that he wasn’t trying to get to her—but he was anyway.

If she hadn’t wanted people monitoring her every move, maybe she shouldn’t have demanded to be the one to check out the site.

That was a fair expectation, wasn’t it?

Still, the way he decided he should just insert himself into her tactics got under her skin. It was happening too often now—her feeling irritated, not him inserting himself. She needed to control that. I can see the closest buildings. There’s no sign of activity: no lights on, no sound, no movement.

Want me to upload the aerial imagery?

No. That came out too sharp. She’d studied the drone flyby video and hi-res photos from the day before just as much as he had, and he knew that.

He was just trying to help.

That’s what the rational part of her kept saying. Back off. He’s a decent guy. They were a team. Or maybe as Jason liked to say, they were a family.

Only she didn’t understand that concept: family.

How could someone created on an assembly line, stitched together from vat-grown organ and muscle, and saddled with artificial memories about a childhood that never was, understand what it was like to have a mother and father, siblings and grandparents?

Everything for her was synthetic, fabricated.

Shriya? Go’s voice was smooth, reassuring.

I’m going to circle the southern group of buildings. I’ll get off the path leading into the center of the facility. I’ll move west. She tagged the spot where the trail she’d been following led to a wide gap bisecting the ten buildings on the southern face of the long-abandoned research station.

He’s probably in the operations center. A white dot spread out like a ripple over the wide building on the north side, where the trail bisected the dirt path separating the northern buildings from the southern ones.

A part of her wanted to shut off the shared view she was feeding back from her optical system to the rest of the team. Sitting in the shuttle a half mile away, their second-guessing annoyed her almost as much as someone giving orders. She wasn’t cut out for this work, wasn’t meant to deal with a bunch of other highly qualified, hard-charging personalities. They’d all been ready to do the reconnaissance, even Jason. The disappointment had been on their faces when she’d grabbed her backpack and weapon and bolted for the airlock exit first.

But she’d needed this solitude, this freedom.

She pushed up from the ground and, hunched low, jogged toward the building she’d indicated. We’ll know soon enough.

Her breathing sounded loud to her, but she couldn’t mute her mic. The team needed to hear everything at a time like this: breathing, cursing, hissed annoyance. It was just part of the mix they were getting from her, along with the audio receptors on the skin of the balaclava and the optical recording devices embedded in the vision-enhancement headset covering the top half of her face.

As she neared the building, yellow outlines of the buildings became bolder, brighter. She could flip to wireframe maps of the interiors if she wanted.

She didn’t, not at that moment.

The audio receptors picked up the soft scrape of her backpack against the building’s sturdy aluminum shell. When she twisted left, the whisper of her backpack was a deep rasp.

Nothing moved in the darkness.

What had she expected? Maybe their contact should’ve left a light on to indicate he was here.

It was simple, though: Once he knew they were here, he would hit a predesignated pole with a laser they would be able to see using their shuttle’s optics.

The problem was, they weren’t going to give away their presence until they were sure the rendezvous site was safe.

Everyone was on edge, preaching caution and patience. Six months on, and they were close. This was the final piece, the contact who—finally—knew where Chad Milton Waverley was hiding out.

Twenty million was on the line.

That was the kind of money that could get even her past the rough spots in this little business she’d signed on with.

She jogged along the back walls of the five buildings on the western half of the southern side of the station, listening for anything other than the noises of the desert night.

According to available records, the research station was barely five years old, the first human presence on Juno. Two years into the research, the planet offered too many promising finds to delay colonization. Now this place was a fading memory, something not even worth reclaiming.

Oh, sure, one day some group would buy the used modular buildings to plop down onto another promising planet farther out from Earth.

For now? It was ideal for a meeting between a trusted information broker and four anxious Lancers looking to score big money.

Shriya moved along the west wall of the last building, gripping the carbine slung from her embedded tactical vest. She strained for anything to give their contact away—some noise or sight.

Avery Yung. Connected to the Intelligence Bureau. Trusted and recommended. A pro.

So why hadn’t he turned the laser on early? Why wait for Benji’s team to actually signal their arrival? No one was going to see the laser unless they were specifically looking for it, and who would be looking for it? There weren’t even half a million people living on the entire planet. It was still in its infancy.

If she’d been in his position, she would’ve turned the laser on and trusted her contacts to see it as a signal of trust. It was the smarter thing to do, the better—

She froze, snuffing out the thought. That wasn’t who she was. Those were thoughts Jason had put inside her.

No. They were thoughts programmed into her.

Either way, they weren’t who she was. She wasn’t less than a human born to a family, and she wasn’t better. A synthetic, a simulacrum, an artificial person…

Whatever she was labeled, she was still a person.

She had to get moving again before Go jumped in with his empty-headed encouragement and suggestions. He couldn’t understand the pain that stuck her in place, the sense of being an outsider.

Numbness was the only way to drive that pain away, but she’d sworn off Numbers. Jason had said it was the only way to heal: Let the pain through.

Easy for him to say. He couldn’t understand, either.

None of them could understand her pain.

Her radio crackled. Everything okay, love? Go again.

She rolled her eyes. It’s fine. I’m being careful. I don’t want to spook him.

Good call. Maybe you should come back, yeah? We’ve had a look at the place now. Reckon it’s best if we all moved in together.

I know what I’m doing.

You do and all. It’s the way our fella’s acting that’s got me worried.

He’s just waiting for us to send the signal we’re here. That’s being cautious.

A couple thousand miles from the nearest population center? A bit much, don’t you think?

I’m going to give the buildings on the north side a quick sweep.

Watch it around the operations center.

I wasn’t planning to stomp on the roof and fire off a flare.

The connection went silent. Maybe she’d pushed back a little too hard.

Tough. He was getting on her nerves.

Glancing around the building corner gave her a clear view east, down the open lane of sand-covered clay separating the northern group of buildings from the southern ones. This was what she’d intended to recon. No one was going to stop her.

She jogged north, jaw clenched.

They were going to learn to respect her—even Benji—one way or another.

2

Troubling Thoughts

---

For Jason Charles, Shriya’s behavior was just the latest in a series of bad signs that had manifested over the last six months. They’d all spent most of that time trapped aboard the Taj Mahal, which wasn’t good for the brain. The search for Waverley had dragged on longer than anyone had expected it to, and they’d all gone through some level of depression or at least elevated anxiety. Now they were close, but instead of slackening, the synth’s agitation had grown worse.

Why?

It was the question he always came back to for everything. Why hadn’t Benji learned to loosen up with the others, to share more about what was going on? Why was Go so blinded by the hacker that he couldn’t acknowledge her flaws?

And for Jason himself, sitting in the shuttle’s comfortable pilot’s chair, breathing in the cool, recycled air that somehow managed to smell like he imagined a rainforest at daybreak would smell: Why was he still here?

The memory gel shifted beneath him, pressing the smooth, durable leather tight against his warm flesh.

Comfort. He was growing too comfortable in the trappings of this life.

Months ago, on the way to Bellar Colony, he’d been sure they could figure this thing out, could crack the problematic programming fouling Shriya’s attitudes. She had every right to harbor anger toward humans, even toward the team specifically, but what she was feeling—what drove her—was closer to a sociopathic disregard for anyone other than herself.

He popped the plastic straw of his drink bottle and sipped the salty-sweet fruity taste of the sports drink he’d become addicted to. It was fine for someone who worked out intensely, like Go and sometimes Shriya. Jason was taking in too many salts for his own good.

Still, he took another pull before replacing the bottle.

Systems thrummed in the background, the electronic symphony merging with Go and Benji’s whispered exchange. They were all concerned looks, tight brows, fingers covering muted microphones.

Talking about Shriya, then, taking no chance she might hear them.

It wasn’t just the looks on their faces or the stiffness in their posture that betrayed how concerned they were. They’d already suited up in their own black bodysuits, leaving only their headgear bunched down around their throats. Their weapons hung from slings—an assault carbine for her, the magazines checked and double-checked, and a tonfa for him.

Jason looked from the open path between buildings on Shriya’s video feed to stare at the other two. You sure this Yung guy can be trusted?

Go turned at that, screwing up his mouth as the video moved across the empty space between buildings, drawing in tight against the face of the westernmost building.

The former Muay Thai champion’s thick chest expanded beneath the skintight black bodysuit as he sucked in a breath. His skin was a deep gold, somewhere in tone between Shriya’s lighter gold and Jason’s soft brown. Go was the tallest of the four—a bit over six feet—and he cut an imposing figure, even when he wasn’t in what he called fighting shape. Jason actually preferred the softer muscle tone on the martial artist. It meant softened features, which took years off Go’s face. Unlike Benji’s ageless skin, Go’s showed the weathering of a hard life.

Finally, the kickboxer pointed to the building Shriya leaned against. These are labs and storage units, yeah?

Were. On either side of the operations center.

He wouldn’t be in one of those. Nowhere to sit.

So you think he can be trusted?

After a moment, the big man shot Benji a look. The corner of her mouth quirked up into the beginnings of a sneer but never went full bore. He’s former IB.

And that was answer enough. Anyone who’d worked for the Intelligence Bureau had undergone extensive background investigations and psychological evaluations. They’d been put through intense situations that would break those of weak character. Some had allegedly undergone illegal conditioning that made it impossible for them to break under torture, all at the cost of their own sense of self-preservation.

But the key word was former.

What did it mean that Yung no longer worked for the sprawling law enforcement and national security agency that now served not just the interests of the United States but the even more important United Nations unified governing body?

As far as Jason was concerned, being IB wasn’t a selling point. They’d given the metacorporations implicit approval to create genies—genetically engineered humans.

People like him; people with no basic human rights.

All for the good of the people of Earth, apparently.

Maybe Go connected those dots, because the big man tensed for a second, then set a powerful hand on the genie pilot’s shoulder. It’ll be all right, mate.

Warmth spread out from that touch. No matter how inaccessible the big martial artist was, he made Jason tingle at times like this. Something’s off is all.

Y’think? Go wasn’t being sarcastic.

He’s a pro. Why not have the laser running to signal us everything was fine?

Pro like that, he might be cautious, yeah? Wait until the right time.

There’s a big payday in it for him. Kleigshoen vouched for him.

True enough. Might be he’s scared. Did she vouch for us? Did he see something when he researched us that put him on edge?

Although the Muay Thai champion’s eyes flashed to Benji, it wasn’t her spotty background that would have set the former IB agent off. Go had been on the run for years after choosing the wrong side during the Metacorporate War, a mistake that ate at him even after having his record cleared by Dana Kleigshoen, their current employer. Legally, Go might be exonerated for his bad call. In the quiet hours aboard the Taj Mahal, he admitted that he doubted many in the Elite Response Force and thus the closely connected IB could ever forgive him.

Jason worried that it was the big man who couldn’t forgive himself.

At times, the temptation hit hard to offer up the uncertain abilities resting beneath Jason’s conscious mind. When he’d touched Shriya’s mind months before, showing her the ugly truth beneath the surface of her seemingly healthy thoughts, he hadn’t been as sure of himself.

He was more certain now.

In the subterranean passages on Marsden Colony, the alien computer systems had inserted themselves into his head, woken something that had slumbered for years.

A sliver of the genie population had alien DNA inserted into their genetic makeup, and that sometimes resulted in special abilities. For Jason, the abilities involved electronics. He had an easier time interfacing with computers and simple electronics than he did with humans. That interfacing came at the speed of thought, with no delays from the physical world. By itself, that gift gave him an edge. But his abilities extended to humans, and not just in reading their surface thoughts.

Would Go be open to a test of those abilities?

Not likely.

He was a good man—kind and trusting and caring. He was also very private, haunted by memories he wasn’t open to sharing. Maybe it was Rosario. Her loss had left a mark for sure.

Go squinted at the video playing on the console. Give it a minute?

Seated in the co-pilot seat, Benji seemed smaller than she was. Curled in on herself, eyes dancing around, she might have been listening, or she might have been hooked into the shuttle’s computers. Her attention was always split, never on just the moment before her. Maybe that was how she could afford a luxury ship like the Taj Mahal and all the gear she had at her disposal. Playing the angles, dancing on the fine edge between crime and whatever it was Lancers were considered.

She sure as hell couldn’t have bought the ship on what she made as a Lancer. The big money was in mercenary work, and the best of those would spend a lifetime putting together a down payment for a little junker of a spacecraft in need of a complete refurbishing.

A luxury yacht? That was absurd.

It was just another mystery, like the strange vibe he got off her body: not quite organic, not really machine.

What was she?

When Go sucked in a breath, Benji snapped out of whatever she’d been up to. A minute. That’s long enough.

That satisfied the Muay Thai fighter, but his lips pressed wide. He wasn’t a fan of how things were playing out.

Avery Yung’s questionable decision? Shriya’s impatience? The way Benji’s sure thing that would net twenty million had turned into six months of eating into their operational funds?

No one was happy with that.

In six months, they should have turned around two to three jobs. That would’ve barely been enough to keep them in the green, assuming good pay.

Instead, they’d hopped to three different colony worlds, dropped considerable cash into bribes and research with disappointing payoff, and they still didn’t have Waverley.

Until now.

Yung had to come through.

A red glow flashed on the screen at the same time an alert chimed. Jason leaned closer to be sure of what he was seeing: a laser beam, picked out by the shuttle’s optic sensors. The light targeted an old, wooden, tar-coated post rising out of the ground about fifty feet beyond the shuttle.

Jason stood, zipping up the front of his bodysuit. That’s our signal.

The other two Lancers narrowed their eyes before nodding.

Go pulled his balaclava over his head. I’ll let Shriya know.

Finally, they had the signal. It meant all the bickering and sniping that had become commonplace the last couple months would come to an end. Actually getting on Waverley’s path was exactly the thing they needed.

Now all they had to do was seal the deal.

3

Rendezvous

---

Night operations were the worst. Matthias Goonetilleke—Go to his friends—preferred daylight, where he could see the filth covering his enemy. Jobs like this, though…

He wasn’t really meant for this sort of thing: spy work, wet work.

Each thump of his boots on the sand-covered clay told him he was out of his league.

Bounty hunter. Private detective. Bodyguard. He could handle those jobs.

Killing a former metacorporate senior executive was the sort of job an assassin should take on.

Through his optics, the dark of the night took on an amber hue. Bright yellow-orange lines framed the assorted buildings that made up the abandoned research station.

Breathing came from his audio receptors: his and Jason’s. Benji had chosen not to breathe for now or maybe not to let the others hear it.

Go glanced toward her, hunched forward and shuffling off to his right. Tall, lean, a slice of night. Beneath her specialized Specter suit, she was an attractive enough woman, someone who could remind him of Rosario when he needed that.

But unlike Rosario, he never had the sense Benji was ever truly naked with him, ever truly vulnerable. Even now, he had no real awareness of her scent. She might sweat in the Specter suit, and she might use a perfumed soap or cleaning gel, but those weren’t really her. They were masks, same as what she wore with her armor now.

He had his own mask at that moment: the black, armored bodysuit that hid him in the darkness. The difference was, he could take his armor off.

Could she?

To his left, Jason jogged forward, neither crouching nor using the modular buildings to provide cover from anyone inside the station. The smaller man showed no concern about the contact they were heading out to meet. He wasn’t even carrying a larger firearm.

Maybe that was the healthier approach.

Anything had to be better than the middle ground Go strode. Anxiety knotted his gut. Irritation jabbed into his thoughts. His annoyance at Shriya made it hard to focus on what was either a simple meeting with a contact or a potential combat assault, depending on who you looked at.

He finally connected to Benji, now off the trail leading into the station. Mind sharing your plans, love?

He’s former IB.

We established that, yeah? That make him a psychotic killer?

"It doesn’t make him not one."

All right. Still one guy, yeah?

Nothing would stop him from hiring people like us.

She drifted farther to the right, now fully beyond the eastern edge of the building just to the right of the entry path. Even without activating the advanced stealth circuitry of her Specter suit, he was losing sight of her.

Her excessive caution was every bit as annoying as Shriya’s impatience and lack of proper concern.

Better to err on the side of caution.

Go connected to Jason. Slow down, mate.

The genie’s head came around. Something come up on the sensors?

Nah. Call it gut instinct.

Okay.

Jason’s pace slowed, until he was parallel with Go, who switched over to a private connection with Shriya.

When she didn’t snap his head off for connecting, Go put on a smile. You picking me up, love?

Nothing.

It was as if she’d chosen this critical moment to pitch another of her fits, to make the point she wanted to be treated just like everyone else on the team.

What she really meant was she wanted to be treated differently—special.

They were all working for Benji now: him, Jason, and Shriya. That meant Benji called the shots. If that bothered Shriya, maybe it was time for her to move on. Being a member of the team meant being responsible, being reliable. They were all counting on her. That was, last he knew, how teams operated.

He sighed. Shriya? All clear out there? Still trying to get an eye on the living quarters?

Still nothing. He would’ve preferred her snapping at him.

With the high-end optics covering his eyes, Go could make out plenty of details: the buildings, the path, the boxy obstacle she’d hidden behind. But he couldn’t see the synth.

He waved his left hand to get Jason’s attention. Slow down, mate.

I did.

Slow down more.

Problem?

Something’s not quite right.

The genie matched pace. You getting anything from Shriya?

Quiet as a field mouse. Part of what’s not right.

Want me to try?

She any less pissed at you?

One way to find out.

Give it a try.

From their current position, Go could make out the laser beam source where the projector was mounted to the side of one of the western living quarters buildings. It was the only thing that wasn’t just another part of the Juno night.

So where was Avery Yung? Why wouldn’t he be standing in the open space where the paths intersected between the northern and southern buildings? The guy had agreed to the meeting, had chosen the locale and the time. He’d specified the laser signal.

It didn’t make sense.

They were maybe a hundred feet out from the southernmost walls now.

The genie shook his head as he reconnected. No answer.

Something was definitely off. Go couldn’t say exactly what, probably because it was a bunch of little things that didn’t make sense rather than a flashing—

Movement! A shape whipped around the wall of the southern building to the left. It had something long and narrow extending from its hands.

Go dove, tackling the genie. Down!

Gunfire—pops like a giant cat gasping: suppressor!

That was Go’s proof. He stayed on top of the smaller man. Shooter. Stay down.

Off to the right, a low form darted to one of the southern buildings and scampered up the wall, providing a profile for a second, then disappearing completely.

Benji’s Specter suit was activated, and she was in position.

If Avery decided on a double-cross, he had to know what he was getting into. It wasn’t just Benji, either. Shriya knew her way around guns and firefights. Maybe her official record didn’t reflect that, but she was a Lancer, Class IV, a mercenary.

Go hoped she was still alive.

He hissed into the microphone. Stay low, mate. I want to test our fella here out.

I’m not going anywhere.

Good. Jason could handle himself okay in a shootout, but it wasn’t what he excelled at. They needed to keep him alive if they were going to figure out what had gone wrong with Mr. Yung, unless the former IB agent suddenly changed his mind and came clean on his own.

Go crept forward on elbows and knees, eyes on where he’d seen the shooter’s shape before.

There! The form was now at the southern edge of the building, leaning forward, neck extended, searching the night. From what Go knew of moments like this, everything came down to slow and steady movement. Stay on your belly, imagine yourself like a snake on the ground, and if you were slow enough, it was hard to spot you.

At fifty feet out, he stopped, skin tingling, heart thundering.

The gunman was staring right at him, raising the weapon barrel, lowering it, raising it.

Maybe slow movement wasn’t enough.

Something thudded from a rooftop off to the right, and the gunman swung around, scanning the building across the path with his sights.

Benji was up there somewhere.

Go pushed up and sprinted at the guy at the same moment another sound like a rock bouncing off the flat rooftop came from where the first sound had originated.

The shooter squeezed off a short burst, twisted to bring the gun around to Go, then hesitated as if seeing something—

That was enough for the martial artist. He plowed into the guy, putting everything into the dipped shoulder that slammed the rifle into the other man’s chest. They went airborne, then landed, with Go putting all of his weight into the impact area.

Air gushed out of the other man like a popped balloon. A groan came with it.

Go didn’t waste any time, pressing the gun down with one hand, then punching the shooter in the face with quick strikes—one, two, three.

The shooter went limp.

A fourth punch granted insurance, then Go unclipped the weapon from the other man’s tactical vest before retreating back to Jason with a faster belly crawl.

The genie took the offered weapon. You didn’t have to do that.

Easier for me to count on my hands.

I think I’ve fired one of these before. It’s an old Kalashnikov, from before EEC bought them out.

Yeah? That’s good. Now, think you can stay sharp and low?

I’ve been in a firefight, Go.

That you have. The big man nodded toward the western edge of the research station grounds. I’m headed that way.

Benji?

On the east side. Reckon she’ll be providing updates on the bad guys any second now.

Jason brought the assault rifle up, flipping up his optics unit to use the weapon’s scope. I’ll cover you.

Nah. Watch for yourself.

Go pushed up and sprinted at an angle for the southern walls of the western group of buildings. He almost lost his balance, leaning forward, arms pumping, the ground acting more like a track than an open field.

As he came up on the buildings, he went into a slide to kill his speed without smashing into a wall.

A shape separated from the dark between two of the buildings, weapon raised. Go went into the guy, boots raised to take the armed man in the crotch.

That forced the gunman to shift, to hesitate.

The boot soles smashed into the gunman’s hip and thigh, knocking him back.

Go twisted on his own hip, using the last of his momentum to spin into the man’s arms as the gun barrel came back around. They wrestled for control of the weapon, the advantage quickly going to the Muay Thai fighter.

Another form came around the corner of the end building, weapon barrel coming up.

Go let out a hiss. He released the rifle to his opponent, then pummeled the man—fist, fist, elbow.

The gunman slumped back, but the assault weapon was on a sling. There was no time to pull it free of the man’s grip, to whip the barrel around and take a shot at the other gunman.

It was the sort of mistake that ended careers, ended lives. At this range, the bodysuit’s light armor wasn’t going to hold up to the heavy rifle rounds.

Time seemed to slow, to provide terrifying clarity.

Not twenty feet separated them. The barrel was dark, straight. Pointed at Go’s chest.

He braced for the shots—

—just as something flashed from around the building.

A dark shape took the second gunman to the ground, whipping the weapon barrel skyward as the shooter squeezed the trigger.

Meaty thuds came from the struggling forms as Go finished off his own target.

When Go got to his feet, the other struggle was over.

The black shape that had dropped the second gunman unclipped the gunman’s weapon and tossed it to Go. There was enough face revealed for him to identify Shriya.

In the fight, her optical unit had been pushed off. She recovered it, looked at the assault rifle in Go’s hand, then nodded. Hit squad. They’re spread throughout. Want a crack at them?

Go tried to find the weapon’s balance. He hooked the strap around his neck. Lead the way.

Without a word, the synth jogged back around the corner; he followed.

4

Double-Cross

---

Forms flittered across Benji Chan’s heads-up display. They moved with the sort of jerky motions that spoke of both professional operatives losing their cool and the stiffness from heavy armor. Their radio chatter reinforced that assessment: calls to fall back, regroup, provide cover fire.

One level of her awareness tracked the shapes, identifying their locations and numbers. They were collapsing back from the eastern and western flanks—mostly eastern.

She hadn’t killed anyone herself, unlike Shriya. At this moment, Benji wanted to know where Yung was. More than anything, she needed him alive.

Another part of her awareness blocked out the static and panicked voices.

Were any of those Yung’s voice? Was he running this ambush?

Her position on the rooftop across from the operations center gave her a look at the last of the gunmen, an idiot swinging his rifle in a sloppy arc probably meant to intimidate anyone from coming closer.

It wasn’t Yung. It probably wasn’t anyone with meaningful training.

Benji squeezed off a round, and the gunman’s head snapped back, then he slumped against the wall.

Someone dragged his body in and closed the door.

In another life, she would’ve drawn in a breath and wondered at the way things had fallen apart again. This time was even worse than the others. They’d been so close, had the chance to finally lock down Waverley’s location.

Had. Yung wasn’t going to give her what she wanted—not now.

She keyed her mic. They’ve fallen back into the operations center. Status.

Jason responded first. Clear.

A second later, it was Go. We’ve got five down. Moving from the west.

Five. Benji had missed some of that. Shriya had been working the northern buildings, leaving two gunmen in her wake. Benji had seen Go take one gunman down. She had to assume the two unaccounted for belonged to the synth or maybe the two had split the load.

The hard surface of the rooftop pressed against the Specter suit. The inbuilt padding protected her elbows and knees but did nothing for her belly. Fortunately, she could ignore the sensations, same as she could ignore the temperature and the need to draw breath or take a moment to let her muscles relax. Her android shell gave her options, and at that moment, she didn’t want to feel like a human.

She wanted the promised information on Waverley, no matter what that took.

Her HUD placed an overlay on the operations center, detailing the last known configuration: a couple offices, bathrooms, a storage area, an equipment room, and the operations center itself. That last one occupied most of the building.

Their targets only had so many options, at least if they wanted to cover the two entries. They’d have to cover both, or they’d find themselves caught in an ugly crossfire they couldn’t hope to escape.

After processing what she’d seen, she marked the most likely locations for the shooters to take and pushed the overlay out to the others.

It didn’t take long for Shriya to respond. You can see them?

That’s the most effective positioning they’re going to find.

They didn’t strike me as particularly effective.

They’re capable enough.

Seconds passed. Go indicated the back door on the northern side of the big building. The way you’ve got them set up, they’ll only have two watching this door.

Three. The third’s in a pivot point—eyes on both doors.

Yeah. I see it now.

More silence. This wasn’t Go or Jason’s area of expertise, and Shriya’s experience was simulated, the memories of someone imaginary. It was still probably better than what the people inside the operations center had, but there was a difference between lived experiences and someone pasting together computer-generated lives to make an artificial whole.

Anyway, the memories Shriya seemed to have now were more those of a miner than a Lancer.

Benji considered that.

In the dark, it was easy to convince herself that there was a huge difference between her and the other woman, that the memories of combat were real. They’d come from real combatants, after all. They’d come from lived experiences relying on those other memories. Wasn’t that the same as Benji living them herself?

She knew better. Her tactics were as sound as her memories, but that didn’t make her any more authentic than Shriya.

Still…the synth was a part of the operation. Shriya, any thoughts?

We need to hit from both entries simultaneously.

Who do you want at the rear?

A pause. Me.

I’ll come in the front. Go, Jason, I want you following in behind. I’m going to be moving from target to target. If I miss or the shot doesn’t drop them—

—we clean up after you. The martial artist’s voice was tight, annoyed.

He’d probably left the gunmen he’d taken down alive, not that they’d be getting back into the fight. She’d seen him working the punching bag aboard the Taj Mahal. He packed a wallop.

She glanced to where Jason’s systems indicated he lay flat against the dusty clay. Unlike her, he had to be feeling that. Plus, delaying didn’t make their situation any easier.

Benji rolled onto her back, grabbed the roof with her left hand, then swung down to the ground. Meet me at the front door. Stay out of sight of windows.

In her Specter suit, the gunmen wouldn’t be able to see her. The suits she’d purchased for the rest of the team weren’t at the same level. Specter suits cost too much for her to pick up for everyone. Theirs had armor and a lesser form of the chameleon system of hers.

Only she had the advanced computer systems integrated. That was her role.

Her boots barely made a sound as she crossed to the front door of the operations center. She pressed her back against the exterior wall to the left of the entry, going over the likely positioning of the gunmen again and again. Shriya, wait for my signal before entry. I’ll draw that swivel gunman to me.

All right. Annoyance clipped the synth’s words.

Maybe a few rounds punching through her bodysuit’s light armor would get her to calm down.

That wasn’t the way a team leader thought. It wasn’t how people treated people.

Benji caught the movement of Jason hustling across from a building off to the west and at the same time heard Go coming south down the narrow alley