Farthest Reach Read online

  2112

  Five years after first contact

  The Poison Lab, somewhere in Russia

  Harding pulled his hand away from the dead guard’s neck and cursed under his breath. The day had been going so well until now. He pulled off his other glove and dug around the man’s heavy coat collar, pulling down the thick scarf. In the dim light of the hallway, Harding could just make out the ligature marks on the man’s skin. What a waste.

  A soft voice in his ear. “Problem, boss man?”

  After a thoroughly searching the man’s pockets, Harding eased onto his haunches and rubbed his arms. The chill air bit into his palms, crawling up his arms, making his elbows and shoulders ache. The damned Bite is spreading. He scowled and pulled his gloves back on, covering the branching black and blue scars on his wrists.

  Fucking Russians. Would it kill them to heat this place? After defeating an invading race of cold-loving aliens, he felt some warm weather action wasn’t too much to ask for. Why couldn’t people build their secret labs on a nice sunny island somewhere? He thought about Dr. Tomoko Shimizu and her lair in the coldest reaches of northern Japan. Her efforts to synthesize the alien biomatter had proven successful this year. She’d definitely want to get her hands on what Kurilenko had been carrying.

  He looked up through the fog of his breath at the ancient security camera, the red light above the lens blinking steadily.

  “Kurilenko is not only dead, the serum isn’t on him. Does this look like a problem, Vanderberg?”

  Chewing gum snapped and popped in his ear. “Guess so. What now?”

  Harding dragged the body into a dark corner and stood. What are these kids going to do without me? “We need the serum. We don’t have it. Can you see who has it?”

  Harding flexed his arms while he waited, trying to will the bitter cold out of his bones. After a moment’s thought, he stripped off the dead guard’s coat, scarf, and hat. With his shorter stature, the coat hung a bit low but still fit reasonably well. He was fitting the fur-lined cap on his head when the gum chewing in his ear stopped.

  Harding’s senses flicked to high alert and he tucked himself into the darkened corner, whispering into his mike. “Found something?”

  The gum chewing resumed, accented with furious keyboard tapping. Harding could practically see the lanky young man hunched over multiple screens, his bony fingers flying across the equipment. “Hang on, I need to re-jigger the internal sensors.”

  Harding waited an eternity. “Come on, Vanderberg. Sometime before I die.”

  “Contact! Sensors confirm the target Ringhead energy signature. It’s a hundred meters west of your position and on the move. I’m tapping the video feeds now.”

  Harding made his way west through the hallway. Within five steps, his gait had changed to the characteristic strutting march of an elite Russian guard. Between that and the uniform, Harding was positive he could march past the base komendant without raising any eyebrows.

  Taylor spoke up, her voice tinged with hints of West Texas, taking on that faraway quality that signaled she was sinking deep into sniper mode. Knowing her, she’d probably already juiced with Glass to lower her heart rate and adrenaline response. “Ready when you are, sir. Just say the word.”

  Harding grunted. That damned Glass narrowed her vision. He needed his people to think. He wasn’t going to be around much longer the way the Bite was spreading. Taylor had the Bite too, but she had more time left if the Glass didn’t kill her first. “Maintain eyes on our exit. Despite what’s happening here, I’d prefer to leave without getting killed.”

  His boots thudded on the scuffed vinyl floor as he made his way west through the base. Who beat us here? How long has the asset been compromised? He passed a few more guards, sliding past them with a quick nod and salute. He kept his face a calm mask, the stitch in his lung worsening until it felt like a knife in his ribs. Vanderberg. He had to call the mission my last hurrah. Fucker jinxed it from the start.

  As if on cue, the gum chewing started up again. “Boss? Your heart rate is climbing and your vitals are going a little sideways.”

  “Focus, Vanderberg. Get me a fix on the package.”

  “Right. Sure. Coming up.”

  Harding slowed his pace. The hallway seemed to stretch for miles. So much for the quick in-and-out mission.

  “Found it, sir. Another twenty meters west of your position. It’s Alvarez and she’s headed for the front gate.”

  Harding picked the pace up again. “You’re positive?”

  “How many blue-skinned people do you think are in this base? Definitely her.”

  Alvarez must have heard about the auction too. This was not an optimal situation. Harding’s memory brought up the floorplan of Yasenevo base as he’d first memorized it so many years ago when he’d liberated the Star. A direct path from here to the front gate led past the main barracks and through several secured labs. Months of angling to set up the drop in the farthest reaches of Yasenevo, and Alvarez runs her ass out the front door.

  Yasenevo housed two companies of battle-hardened men and women who would crush Alvarez into a fine paste if given the chance, and then lock her away in a frozen box when their squints discovered what she was. Alvarez was going to get herself killed and Harding was going to lose the serum. He couldn’t afford either.

  “Okay, Vanderberg, I’ll get her moving in the right direction. Shift to the secondary RV.”

  “Roger that. Moving out.” The chewing gum clicked off.

  Harding kept up his rapid pace and found himself at one of the major intersections. A few soldiers stood guard at various doors branching off the intersection.

  He glanced down the corridor on his right just in time to see Alvarez come around a corner. She wore an ill-fitting guard overcoat, the coat hanging too short on her tall frame. In her left hand swung a nondescript briefcase. Even at this distance, her blue skin screamed out like a neon billboard.

  She veered off into the next hallway. Before he could close the distance, a pair of hulking men in officer bars emerged from another hallway and turned in Harding’s direction.

  Of course they did.

  The Chase

  Harding ducked into the next available door and a stale, fetid stench assailed him. He’d blundered into the oldest head in a centuries-old building. He steeled himself to enter one of the stalls and closed the door just as the two officers followed him in.

  He assessed his options and cursed Alvarez again.

  He stuck his finger down his throat until it scraped. He retched. Loudly. Violently. Enough to make his head swim and spots dance before his eyes. The footsteps of the officers left the head, a rapid staccato of their bootheels against the floor.

  Again with impeccable timing, Vanderberg’s gum chewing reentered the fray. “Boss, we’re in posi— Holy shit, boss, are you okay?”

  Harding got to his feet, chest heaving from the effort. “No, I’m not fucking okay. Sit rep!”

  Keys clacking. “Alvarez is headed to our secondary RV.”

  Taylor chimed in, “I’m in position. Any heads pop up, I can take ’em out.”

  He made his way out to the main hallway and took off after Alvarez. The pain in his arm spread throughout his chest as he ran.

  His breath came in panting gasps. “Vanderberg, which way?”

  “Left. Then second right.”

  Harding drew his flechette pistol and fished the silencer out, assembling them on the run. “Close off her exits. Make sure she gets to the RV.”

  “Roger that.”

  He sped around the last corner and spotted Alvarez headed for a heavy set of double doors. Ahead of him, a lab door creaked open, white mist spilling into the hallway. Harding sped up and lowered his shoulder. He hit the door at full tilt and it slammed closed, a startled yell cut off as the door latched. His arm was already moving, smashing the access plate with the butt of his gun.

  He bulled through the mist and gasped as the cold vapor seized his chest in a
n icy grip.

  The hallway spun and Harding tumbled, landing in a heap, staring into the painful glare of the ceiling lights.

  “Boss! Alvarez just made the outer door!”

  Harding rolled over. His head and chest throbbed, nauseating waves of cold pulsing over him. Spots swam in his vision and the hallway continued to pitch and twist. Vanderberg’s voice warbled in his ears.

  “Boss! Boss! She’s outside!”

  Taylor’s measured voice sounded stretched, like dripping molasses. “I see her. She has the package. I have a clean shot.”

  Fear, bright and sharp like torn metal, flared in Harding’s chest. He willed his arms to move, dragging himself down the hallway. The doors loomed over him, just ten feet away. He had to get outside and stop them. He tried to talk and got nothing but a feeble wheeze.

  “I repeat, I will need to use Big Blue to take her out. Do I take the shot?”

  In order for Taylor to use Big Blue, she’d have to activate alien biofilm. The Frostbite from it would take years off her life. Big Blue was designed to obliterate Alvarez from the waist up—unless her Ringhead armor bounced it. He couldn’t take the risk. Alvarez was a valuable American asset. Harding clawed at the smooth floor, struggling to gain enough purchase to pull himself forward. His sleeves pulled back, exposing the twisting maze of scars inside both arms, pulsing from blue to black with the beating of his heart.

  “Boss! Shit, Yazzie, Harding is down. I repeat he’s down. Get your ass out of the bird and get down here. We’re going in to extract!”

  Yazzie’s low voice rolled over the comms. “You know I’m next to Taylor, you freak. I’m going in.”

  Minus her spotter now, Taylor’s voice rose slightly in volume. “I have a shot. Do I take the shot?”

  Harding rolled himself over, staring up again. My god, will they ever stop talking? The doors seemed to stretch away from him, the ceiling impossibly high. There, next to the brutal bars of light, a tiny, blinking red dot.

  “Boss, Yazzie’s coming in. Taylor, cover her!”

  “We need to stop Alvarez. Harding needs the package. I’m taking the shot.”

  His arms weighed a thousand pounds and moved like his joints were made of broken glass. You better be watching, Vanderberg.

  Harding dragged his hand up and signaled to the camera.

  Vanderberg’s gum chewing boomed in his ears. “Taylor, abort! Boss is signaling abort!”

  “Fuck!”

  The comms went mercifully silent. An eternity passed and then the double doors burst open and Yazzie’s buff form loomed in from the darkness, her gun up and trained down the hallway. Eddies of snow trailed in behind her. She knelt at Harding’s side and slapped a dermal patch to his neck. A heady cocktail of painkiller and stims flooded through his limbs like scalding water. His eyes popped open and he jerked upright. His chest relaxed and he could breathe again.

  He looked up at Yazzie, the epitome of the modern soldier. She was as strong as an ox but remained stealthy for all her size. By the luck of the draw, Yazzie was compatible with the alien biofilm. It meant she could use Big Blue and all their liberated alien tech with impunity. He and Taylor hadn’t been so lucky.

  “Easy there, sir.” Yazzie grabbed Harding’s pistol from the floor and handed it to him before snaking her free arm under him and hauling him to his feet. His legs held his weight. Barely.

  Harding clutched at Yazzie’s armor and twisted himself toward the door. “Let’s go get our package.”

  They limped out the door together, into a purple-black night. Fitful security lights on the building perimeter did a half-hearted job of holding back the darkness. Harding scanned the area and spotted Alvarez, a mere hint of shadow in the enveloping black. She wasn’t moving and seemed to be waiting for him.

  Harding let go of Yazzie. His legs seemed steadier. The crushing pressure was gone but breathing still hurt. He thrust the pistol at his pilot. “Go prep the bird.”

  She gawped at him, her broad cheeks lengthening as her jaw dropped. “Sir?”

  He pulled off his belt and piled the rest of his weapons into her arms. His fingers trembled the barest bit as he tugged his sleeves into place. “Alvarez and I go way back. I fought side by side with her fiancé. He died in the Ringhead war.”

  The comms squawked, “Boss, maybe you shouldn’t go after Alvarez without taking one of the mech suits. I’ve got one primed and ready.”

  Harding shook his head. “I can deal with Alvarez without a mech suit, Vanderberg.”

  Harding headed into the darkness, trudging through ankle-deep snow, trying to shake the rust off his joints. He half hoped Alvarez would meet him halfway. “Vanderberg, lock the Russians inside and scrub their security systems for the last twenty-four hours. I don’t want any trace of Alvarez in their system.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  He could make out Alvarez’s face now, the security lights providing an unearthly glow to her mottled blue skin. Pinpricks of light danced over the dark alien armor covering her head and neck. Harding slowed and made a show of removing his earpiece, then dropping it into the snow. He raised both hands and slowed to a stop about twenty feet from her.

  “Funny running into you here.”

  She seemed to bristle at his attitude. “What do you want?”

  Harding eyed the case she held. “The same things you want.”

  “I doubt that.” She looked him over, head to toe. It was slightly unnerving.

  He fiddled with gloves to buy himself some time. His hands hurt. Harding took off his gloves and flexed his right hand. His skin was pale and the ropy veins that used to be pale blue were now such a dark indigo, they were nearly black. “We can work together. Today was an excellent example. You extracted the package. My team protected you from unnecessary exposure. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Her reply was curt. “Didn’t ask for your help.”

  Then she gestured at his hands, her eyes lasering in on the Bite marks. “You should get that looked at, soldier.”

  He grunted and put his gloves back on. Harding’s arms slowly lowered as he talked. He didn’t move any closer, but he let his hands drift toward the only piece of hardware he hadn’t given to Yazzie. “You needed my help, Alvarez. Honestly, Lieutenant, tonight was a total shit show. I thought Phillips only picked the best for the Wolves.”

  She took a half step forward, her head tilting in that odd movement eerily similar to the Ringheads. “You picking a fight with me, Harding?”

  Cam’s head had ducked into an almost reptilian sway as she focused on him. Despite himself, he felt an unwelcome primordial response within, the hindbrain sending up the impulse to step away from an apex predator.

  Harding shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back, taking the loogie grenade off his belt as he did it. “I had a deal with Kurilenko. He would get twice the credits if he handed over the serum before the auction. It was a clean buy, Alvarez. I bring this serum home and we can prepare our next wave of soldiers to use every bit of tech we can adapt from those blue bastards. So that when the Ringheads return, we’re ready for them. I’d like to think that you, of all people, would have some passing interest in that. But you blundered in, killed my asset, and took the most public way out of the poison lab as possible. Amateur stuff, Alvarez.”

  She took another step closer. Harding traced his fingers over the grenade, finding the priming pin. She stared at him, scanning him from top to bottom with her gaze. Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened.

  The hot flush of the stims was fading and the chill air bit at the sweat breaking out on his neck. He squeezed the priming pin halfway down. It had to be now; he’d probably never get a chance like this again.

  He forced some cheer into his voice. Ugh. “So! Here we are. Happily, the serum is in US hands now. My lab is ready to analyze the serum and begin synthesizing trials. In a few months, we’ll perfect Dr. Beaufort’s biofilm—”

  Alvarez hissed, the sound animalistic. “What?”<
br />
  Harding squeezed the pin and the grenade made an audible click. His arm whipped out, hurling the grenade, but Alvarez only smiled, took a step back, and vanished.

  A sudden downdraft batted the grenade to the ground, its payload of sticky, expanding proteins splattering uselessly on the snow. Fuck me. She was standing in the jumpship the whole time. The blast of air rocked Harding ass over teakettle. He stumbled on the icy terrain and fell. Yazzie materialized out of the darkness like a wraith and caught him before he hit the ground.

  He looked up into the pitch-black sky, cursing the ship he knew he’d never find. He needed to deliver that package before the Bite finished him off.

  She searched the night sky as well, a puzzled look on her broad-boned face. “Don’t think she likes you much, sir. What’s her deal?”

  Harding sighed. “She’s looking for a cure for Frostbite.”

  Yazzie turned to him, uncharacteristic emotion on her face. He knew she was thinking about Taylor, who wasn’t as far gone as he was.

  He scowled. “It’s a waste of time. We have to prepare for the next wave. It’s only a matter of time before more Ringheads invade. Bird ready?”

  “Wheels up whenever you’re ready, sir. How are we going to follow them?”

  Harding patted her formidable shoulders.

  “We don’t need to follow her, Yaz. I know where she’s headed.”

  Plan B

  Snow covered Harding’s goggles and froze his balaclava to his cheeks. He batted his palms together, knocking snow and ice off his gloves. Goddamn Alvarez for making him follow her thieving ass to the northern reaches of Japan. He’d had good reasons for avoiding Dr. Tomoko Shimizu, but now he had no choice.

  At least the scenery was nicer here. Even deserted, the derelict ski resorts had a certain charm to them.

  From behind him, Vanderberg stomped through the snow, kicking at drifts. Snow had frozen onto his blond beard, making the kid look a bit like an underfed yeti. “Boss, we should’ve taken the mech suits.”

  Harding ignored him. Vanderberg always wanted to take the mech suits. The mech suits were fun but still untested, so they stayed behind on the jet. A bigger plus, they didn’t rely on any alien tech, so no one needed the biofilm to operate the suits. For now, they would have to make do with the new exo boots.