implant nano-devices into them. Fraddo also had the bad luck to be part of Anneke’s curious support network, the closest thing she had to a family since Black had murdered her uncle Viktus.
Black smiled at the thought that, bit by bit, he was making Anneke Longshadow more of an orphan. More alone. More like Black himself Kilroy did not know about the old underground complex Fat Fraddo had deeded to Anneke. It had never been purchased by any of Fraddo’s companies or affiliates. What Kilroy did know about was Fraddo’s command centre in the Draco Quarter. And far from being underground, which might have afforded Fraddo some protection, the idiot had built it in the penthouse of a thirty-storey high-security complex.
As if height conferred safety.
Kilroy, of course, hired a floater, a noiseless transport that moved within the shifting and overlapping fields of invisibly intersected sky above Lykis Integer, much as Anneke’s pre-cybernetic ‘glider’ had ridden the repulsor field beneath Arcadia, the cloud city, when she had first penetrated Quesada.
From the floater, at precisely 12.05am local time, twenty-five black-clad meres abseiled down, riding invisible thread-like lines of force, using deflectors to cushion their landing. Once on the rooftop, the meres deployed as planned. Above them, the floater drifted serenely away. Kilroy intended leaving by drop tube; no one would oppose his forces by then.
The penthouse complex comprised the top four floors of the building, so entry would have to be effected from the outside. Disarming the multitude of alarms would take too long (aside from those they’d damped down on the rooftop before alighting) and besides, Kilroy preferred straightforward shock and-awe tactics, when the situation permitted. Which this did.
The meres hooked into computer-controlled grappling lines and positioned themselves atop the circular parapet. At Kilroy’s signal, and moving in unison, they flung themselves out into space. Their tethers flexed under software command and used the meres’ momentum to whip them down towards the windows of the twenty-sixth floor in blurring arcs. Before they impacted the unbreakable safety glass, all twenty-five meres fired specially designed laser-tipped rounds, called penetrators, at over 3000 rounds per minute.
The penetrators made short work of the glass and moments later every mere smashed through whatever remained of it, landing inside, on their feet, guns pumping out a lethal hail of high velocity water slugs. At the same time, their iris cams flipped to infrared enhanced vision. Everything leapt at them in eerie green, bright as day, except for red hot spots and flames of orange. If Kilroy had been a different kind of artist he might have admired the colour scheme.
The meres went through the command centre like a hot knife through butter. Once finished with the main control floor they moved up to the next level and then the next. The top two levels were Fraddo’s personal living quarters. Here, they encountered more stringent deflector and protective fields. Fat Fraddo was as paranoid as the next kingpin who made enemies as a matter of business.
The complex retardation fields slowed Kilroy’s meres down. He grunted in annoyance, monitoring local frequencies, unsure of Fraddo’s alliances and who might come to his aid. While he waited for his tech unit to neutralise the defensive fields, Kilroy did a body count. He’d lost six meres. Not bad. Six for nearly forty, by Kilroy’s estimate. And few wounds. If modern body armour saved you, it saved you. If it didn’t, you weren’t around to complain about it.
‘What’s taking so long?’ he growled.
‘He’s got state-of-the-art stuff here, boss,’ said one of the techies.
‘Pity he didn’t think to put that round the whole place.’
A couple of meres grinned. Then they heard a soft explosion nearby and the air currents shifted.
Kilroy glanced over his shoulder. ‘See to
Black smiled at the thought that, bit by bit, he was making Anneke Longshadow more of an orphan. More alone. More like Black himself Kilroy did not know about the old underground complex Fat Fraddo had deeded to Anneke. It had never been purchased by any of Fraddo’s companies or affiliates. What Kilroy did know about was Fraddo’s command centre in the Draco Quarter. And far from being underground, which might have afforded Fraddo some protection, the idiot had built it in the penthouse of a thirty-storey high-security complex.
As if height conferred safety.
Kilroy, of course, hired a floater, a noiseless transport that moved within the shifting and overlapping fields of invisibly intersected sky above Lykis Integer, much as Anneke’s pre-cybernetic ‘glider’ had ridden the repulsor field beneath Arcadia, the cloud city, when she had first penetrated Quesada.
From the floater, at precisely 12.05am local time, twenty-five black-clad meres abseiled down, riding invisible thread-like lines of force, using deflectors to cushion their landing. Once on the rooftop, the meres deployed as planned. Above them, the floater drifted serenely away. Kilroy intended leaving by drop tube; no one would oppose his forces by then.
The penthouse complex comprised the top four floors of the building, so entry would have to be effected from the outside. Disarming the multitude of alarms would take too long (aside from those they’d damped down on the rooftop before alighting) and besides, Kilroy preferred straightforward shock and-awe tactics, when the situation permitted. Which this did.
The meres hooked into computer-controlled grappling lines and positioned themselves atop the circular parapet. At Kilroy’s signal, and moving in unison, they flung themselves out into space. Their tethers flexed under software command and used the meres’ momentum to whip them down towards the windows of the twenty-sixth floor in blurring arcs. Before they impacted the unbreakable safety glass, all twenty-five meres fired specially designed laser-tipped rounds, called penetrators, at over 3000 rounds per minute.
The penetrators made short work of the glass and moments later every mere smashed through whatever remained of it, landing inside, on their feet, guns pumping out a lethal hail of high velocity water slugs. At the same time, their iris cams flipped to infrared enhanced vision. Everything leapt at them in eerie green, bright as day, except for red hot spots and flames of orange. If Kilroy had been a different kind of artist he might have admired the colour scheme.
The meres went through the command centre like a hot knife through butter. Once finished with the main control floor they moved up to the next level and then the next. The top two levels were Fraddo’s personal living quarters. Here, they encountered more stringent deflector and protective fields. Fat Fraddo was as paranoid as the next kingpin who made enemies as a matter of business.
The complex retardation fields slowed Kilroy’s meres down. He grunted in annoyance, monitoring local frequencies, unsure of Fraddo’s alliances and who might come to his aid. While he waited for his tech unit to neutralise the defensive fields, Kilroy did a body count. He’d lost six meres. Not bad. Six for nearly forty, by Kilroy’s estimate. And few wounds. If modern body armour saved you, it saved you. If it didn’t, you weren’t around to complain about it.
‘What’s taking so long?’ he growled.
‘He’s got state-of-the-art stuff here, boss,’ said one of the techies.
‘Pity he didn’t think to put that round the whole place.’
A couple of meres grinned. Then they heard a soft explosion nearby and the air currents shifted.
Kilroy glanced over his shoulder. ‘See to
Similar Books
