put up with since arriving at the Planet only ten days before. Things were coming along, but he’d never realized just how many inconveniences one had to suffer to get one of these places operational—the lukewarm meals, the constant need to pay attention to every niggling detail, and the dirt: everywhere, thin layers of workman’s dust clung to hair and clothes, clogging the filters… even in the control room, he’d had to take all kinds of extra precautions to keep it from getting into the central terminal. He’d had to work with three different programmers to get the mainframe running, yet another of Umbrella’s precautions to keep any one of them from knowing too much; but if the system were to go down…
Reston sighed again, patting the small, flat square in his inner pocket as the lift hummed smoothly upwards. He had the codes; if the system went down, he’d just have to call in new programmers. A setback, but hardly a disaster. Raccoon City, now that was a disaster—and all the more reason that he wanted things to go well with the Planet.
We need this. After the summer we’ve had, the spill and those meddling S.T.A.R.S. and losing Birkin… I need this.
Although it had been a unanimous decision, it had been Reston’s people who’d gone into Raccoon to take Birkin’s G-Virus—an action that had resulted in the loss of their lead scientist and just over a billion dollars’ worth of equipment, space, and manpower. It wasn’t his fault, of course, no one blamed him—but it had been a bad summer for all of them, and having Envirotest A up and running would ease things considerably.
He thought about what Trent had said, just before Reston had left for the Planet—that as long as they didn’t lose their heads, there was no need for concern. Generic placating advice, but hearing it from Trent made it sound like the truth. It was funny; they’d brought Trent in to act as trouble shooter, and in less than six months he’d become one of the most respected members of their circle. Nothing rattled Trent, the man was ice; they were lucky to have him, particularly considering their recent run of misfortune.
The elevator came to a stop and Reston squared his shoulders, preparing himself to redirect Mr. Cole’s efforts—and just the thought of making the man jump made him smile again, all other worries put aside for the moment.
Just a working-class Joe, he thought happily, and stepped out to take care of business.
SIX
There was a half-moon in the clear night sky, casting a pallid blue light across the vast, open stretch of plain and making it seem even colder than it was.
And that’s pretty goddamn cold, Claire thought, shivering in spite of the rental’s blasting heater. It was another minivan, and even with the three of them moving around in the back, checking weapons and loading clips, they didn’t seem to be generating nearly enough heat to ward off the icy air that seeped in through the thin metal shell.
“Do you have the 380s?” John asked Leon, who handed over the box of rounds before going back to loading up their hip packs. David was driving, Rebecca checking their position on a GPS. If Trent’s coordinates were correct, they’d be getting close.
Claire looked out at the pale landscape passing by the dirt track, the seemingly endless miles of nothing beneath the wide open sky, and shivered again. It was a barren, forsaken place, the road they were on scarcely more that a dirt track leading in from nowhere; a perfect setting for Umbrella.
The plan was simple. Park the van a half mile or so from Trent’s coordinates, load up with every weapon they had, and slip into the compound as quietly as they could manage…
“… we’ll find this entry keypad of Trent’s, run the codes through, and go in strong,” David had said, “well after dark. With any luck, the majority of the workers will be asleep; just a matter of finding the staff quarters and rounding them up. We’ll confine them
Reston sighed again, patting the small, flat square in his inner pocket as the lift hummed smoothly upwards. He had the codes; if the system went down, he’d just have to call in new programmers. A setback, but hardly a disaster. Raccoon City, now that was a disaster—and all the more reason that he wanted things to go well with the Planet.
We need this. After the summer we’ve had, the spill and those meddling S.T.A.R.S. and losing Birkin… I need this.
Although it had been a unanimous decision, it had been Reston’s people who’d gone into Raccoon to take Birkin’s G-Virus—an action that had resulted in the loss of their lead scientist and just over a billion dollars’ worth of equipment, space, and manpower. It wasn’t his fault, of course, no one blamed him—but it had been a bad summer for all of them, and having Envirotest A up and running would ease things considerably.
He thought about what Trent had said, just before Reston had left for the Planet—that as long as they didn’t lose their heads, there was no need for concern. Generic placating advice, but hearing it from Trent made it sound like the truth. It was funny; they’d brought Trent in to act as trouble shooter, and in less than six months he’d become one of the most respected members of their circle. Nothing rattled Trent, the man was ice; they were lucky to have him, particularly considering their recent run of misfortune.
The elevator came to a stop and Reston squared his shoulders, preparing himself to redirect Mr. Cole’s efforts—and just the thought of making the man jump made him smile again, all other worries put aside for the moment.
Just a working-class Joe, he thought happily, and stepped out to take care of business.
SIX
There was a half-moon in the clear night sky, casting a pallid blue light across the vast, open stretch of plain and making it seem even colder than it was.
And that’s pretty goddamn cold, Claire thought, shivering in spite of the rental’s blasting heater. It was another minivan, and even with the three of them moving around in the back, checking weapons and loading clips, they didn’t seem to be generating nearly enough heat to ward off the icy air that seeped in through the thin metal shell.
“Do you have the 380s?” John asked Leon, who handed over the box of rounds before going back to loading up their hip packs. David was driving, Rebecca checking their position on a GPS. If Trent’s coordinates were correct, they’d be getting close.
Claire looked out at the pale landscape passing by the dirt track, the seemingly endless miles of nothing beneath the wide open sky, and shivered again. It was a barren, forsaken place, the road they were on scarcely more that a dirt track leading in from nowhere; a perfect setting for Umbrella.
The plan was simple. Park the van a half mile or so from Trent’s coordinates, load up with every weapon they had, and slip into the compound as quietly as they could manage…
“… we’ll find this entry keypad of Trent’s, run the codes through, and go in strong,” David had said, “well after dark. With any luck, the majority of the workers will be asleep; just a matter of finding the staff quarters and rounding them up. We’ll confine them
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