Noble Conflict Read online

  Fury, hot and devouring, flared within Kaspar. The full import of what had happened hit him now that the adrenalin coursing through his body was beginning to subside. The ones who had done this were nothing more than low-life, cowardly scumbags. Kaspar’s grip on his rifle tightened as he found himself wishing that it could do more than merely stun.

  But his job wasn’t over yet. Nor would it be over until the last of the Insurgents had been hunted down. The Insurgents were a small but deadly force of terrorists made up of the fighting elite from those living in the Badlands – the Crusaders. The number of Insurgents who had based themselves among the Alliance population, within the pockets of Crusaders allowed to live in Capital City, were limited. Less than one hundred, according to the last official estimates. But they believed in making their presence felt, to say the least. Another look around and Kaspar made himself a promise. He wouldn’t rest until every last one of them had been rounded up and held accountable for their actions. He owed it to his mum if nothing else.

  This was turning out to be one hell of a first day.

  2

  On the other side of the building, a black-clad figure crouched down between the trees, waiting. Once he saw the Guardians running round to reinforce the efforts of their colleagues – the diversion working as planned – he slipped out of the shadows and darted for the back of the main building, heading towards the Admin annexe. More skilful than the assailants at the main building, he reached the security fence unseen, dug into the small rucksack on his back to remove a thick but narrow rolled-up mat, which he threw over the razor-wire, and nimbly hauled himself up and over. Each step, each movement, betrayed expert precision as he made no sound. Now inside the secure compound, he used the available cover to approach the Admin building. Unholstering a climber’s dart-gun, he fired a steel piton into the frame of a third-storey window. It pierced the window frame with a dull thwack. He rapidly climbed the spider-wire attached to the piton, his skill barely causing it to sway more than a few centimetres in any direction. At the second-floor window, he began to disarm the electronic window lock.

  Two Guardians came running round the corner of the building, about twenty metres from where he was hanging. He froze, holding on with one hand and pointing a pistol fitted with a silencer with the other. But good quality spider-wire was nearly invisible and neither Guardian looked up as they ran by.

  He swung his legs through the now-open window and dropped lightly onto the floor of the caretaker’s storeroom. So far, the intelligence he’d been given had been spot on. He opened the door quietly, but as expected the building was deserted. Through the door, turn ninety degrees right, fifteen metres true, ninety degrees left, second door, fire stairs, two flights up to the footbridge that led to the main Admin building. Two Guardians manned the footbridge as he had anticipated, but they were deep in conversation and he slipped past them without incident. Then down six flights of stairs to sub-basement B – the computer core. A deep breath later, he input an eight-digit code on the keypad by the door. The door slid open with a hiss. A blast of ice-cold air rushed out to meet him. His stance alert, his gun drawn, he took a quick look around but the place appeared empty. He entered the cavernous room that housed the local data hub. Steadying himself, he took another strong, deep breath. So far, so good.

  But everything up until then had been the easy part.

  The attack had worked brilliantly to divert the Guardians. And he had made it into the core and set off no alarms. But now that would change. As soon as he accessed the network, he knew he would be detected and they would come for him.

  So be it.

  He would have enough time.

  He sat at the operator’s console and began to search, his hands moving rapidly as he flicked through data screen after data screen.

  3

  The last attacker outside was now desperately trying to escape back behind the curtain of trees. He zigzagged while firing blindly behind him. Kaspar dropped to one knee, took aim at the terrorist’s back and squeezed the trigger. As he did so another bolt of electricity lanced out from slightly behind him, to his left. Both bolts hit their target. The fleeing man was sent sprawling into a flower bed. Kaspar looked around for the source of the second shot and saw Voss breaking out an unsanctioned second weapon, both hands now loaded. The commander ran over, still scanning for any remaining enemies.

  ‘Nice shot, kid. What’s your name again?’

  ‘Wilding, sir,’ replied Kaspar. ‘Kaspar Wilding.’

  Voss looked at the man twitching in the flowers. ‘Double stunned. He is going to feel real rough when he wakes up.’ He laughed. ‘Serves him right. Bastard.’

  Kaspar nodded his agreement, feeling not the least bit sorry for the terrorist. He steadied himself to look around again. Moans and weeping still filled the air. He pressed his thumb and index finger together in an effort to try and bank down his feelings. If he lost it now, who would that help? As silence slowly descended, an ear-splitting siren went off.

  ‘Better late than never,’ he said drily. The alarm had certainly taken its time in going off.

  ‘Damn it!’ Voss spat. ‘That isn’t the general alarm. This was just a diversion. Someone has breached the computer core!’ He started running towards the Admin building. ‘Come on, Wilding,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Or d’you think you’ve done enough for one day?’

  Kaspar sprinted to catch up. They arrived at the same time as eight or nine other Guardians, including Dillon and Janna, who charged up the steps to the main entrance.

  ‘You two.’ Voss pointed at Dillon and Janna. ‘Secure the rest of the building. The rest of you head down to the computer core and don’t let anyone slip past you or you’ll answer to me.’

  Kaspar went to follow, but Voss caught his arm.

  ‘Not that way,’ he said, dragging Kaspar away from the entrance. ‘I have a better idea.’

  Voss tore off, leading the way to a series of four backup air-conditioning vents around one side of the building, each of which measured at least two metres in diameter. He keyed the transmit switch on the CommLink located at his throat.

  ‘229 Voss to Maintenance. Shut down the power on vent 9H.’

  ‘I can’t, sir. It’s against regul—’ That was as far as the duty engineer was allowed to get.

  ‘This is Commander Voss. Kill the power on vent niner hotel. NOW.’

  If the engineer still had doubts, he kept them to himself. With a loud clunk, the fan blades of the vent began to slow down.

  ‘What do they want with the computer core?’ asked Kaspar as they waited for the fan to stop. ‘Can they get access to our defence systems through there?’

  ‘No,’ replied Voss. ‘As soon as the alarm goes off, all comms are severed. No data is going in or coming out of there now.’

  ‘How about via CommLink or a radio? Can the assailant transmit what he finds to Insurgents elsewhere?’

  ‘No, that place is shielded against all EM radiation,’ replied Voss as he started to unscrew the access panel with his Guardian utility knife. ‘It doesn’t matter what he does. He’s caught like a rat in a trap.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t know they can’t transmit from there?’ said Kaspar.

  ‘Oh, they know all right. I’d put money on it,’ Voss replied. ‘All of our data nodes are shielded against electromagnetic radiation, so why would they think this one will be different?’

  ‘So it’s just sabotage?’

  ‘That won’t do them any good either. All the data is duplicated and all the computers have multiple, multi-site backups. The stupid sods can’t achieve anything except minor nuisance value.’ Voss lifted the access panel and started to squeeze into the narrow air-conditioning duct. ‘Leads down to the core,’ he explained. ‘Hope you ain’t claustrophobic?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied Kaspar.

  ‘It’d be tough if you were,’ Voss called back.

  Kaspar peered after Voss into a pipe that rapidly narrowed until it was b
arely a metre wide. Well, if he wasn’t claustrophobic before, this experience could very easily change that. The AC duct ran horizontally for a couple of metres then disappeared. A deep breath later, Kaspar followed his boss into the conduit. It didn’t take him long to discover why the duct just seemed to disappear. It turned downwards at a ninety-degree angle. Voss had already jammed his feet against one side of the shaft and his back was wedged hard against the opposite side as he started to edge downwards. Kaspar let him get down a couple of metres, then followed. Dust flew up around them like an angry insect swarm.

  Descending, however, was easier than it looked, and both men were soon crouching in another horizontal pipe. Kaspar reckoned they were now nine or ten metres below ground. It was certainly dim, but not completely dark. Voss placed his finger against his lips, then started crawling as quietly as he could towards a patch of light about twenty metres ahead. A dust storm swirled around them, far worse than before, and Kaspar struggled not to sneeze. He’d already applied a finger to his nose three times as they made their way towards the light. He opened his mouth slightly to take in air that way instead of through his nose. The dust left an ashy aftertaste on his tongue, but better that than sneezing or coughing and alerting the enemy to their presence or, worse still, incurring Voss’s wrath.

  At the end of this passageway, Kaspar was able to peer through an air-conditioning grille right into the computer core. Row upon row of servers, patchers and communications equipment lined the room. Some of the monitors were set into the various panels. Most of the data was designed to be projected at eye level. A huge screen dominated one wall. The only door was directly across the room from the vent where Kaspar and Voss were hidden.

  Not three metres away sat the terrorist.

  Kaspar wasn’t sure what he had expected – maybe someone bigger, more threatening, possibly ranting and perhaps planting bombs. In fact, the guy he spied was his age or only slightly older, was lean to the point of being positively skinny and was at least a head shorter than Kaspar from the look of it. He sat in an office chair, calmly reading the data off the screen before him, looking uncannily like a student simply relaxing in a library. He wore a close-fitting black outfit like a scuba suit. The terrorist had taken off his hooded mask and left it on the desk to his left next to his rucksack. He reminded Kaspar of the historical ninjas he’d read about in some of his graphic novels. To the terrorist’s right lay a pistol with a silencer attached, and beside the gun was a dagger with a wicked-looking twenty-centimetre black blade that had been plunged into the desk, tip first.

  Kaspar frowned and cast a glance at his boss. If any of the Guardians had done that to a knife, Voss would’ve had seven fits. His boss turned so that he was facing the terrorist with his feet pressed against the grille. He unslung his rifle and pointed it into the room between his feet, signing to Kaspar to do the same. At that moment, the rest of the Guardians arrived outside the door. They obviously weren’t operating in stealth mode – Kaspar could hear them from across the room. Voss held up three fingers. The keypad on the other side of the room beeped as the eight-digit code was entered.

  Two fingers.

  The door across the room clicked as the magnetic locks disengaged. The terrorist stood up, and with a swipe of his fingers dismissed the screen he’d just been reading. He snatched up his knife and faced the door, his back towards Voss and Kaspar.

  One finger.

  The door slid open. Kaspar tightened his grip on his weapon. A nod from Voss and both men kicked as hard as they could. The grille flew off its mountings. The terrorist spun round, the knife in his hand already moving upwards, but too late. Kaspar and Voss fired simultaneously and the terrorist slumped to the floor, convulsing. Then the juddering stopped. The rest of the Guardians swept into the room, looking a little bit disappointed that the action was over.

  ‘Nicely done again, kid,’ said Voss as he slapped Kaspar on the back. Hard. ‘You have the makings of a first-class Guardian, like me.’

  Voss laughed at his own joke as he made his way over to the terrorist, who lay on the floor, his knife discarded beside him. The rest stood around, lightening the tension by swapping stories about who had shot whom, and what morons the terrorists were, though quickly shutting up when Voss glared at them, his face stern again.

  Kaspar walked over to the terrorist and squatted down to check for bugs and other devices. The guy had no pockets, no gadgets, no devices of any kind, not even a watch. Kaspar straightened up to examine the rucksack on the desk. There were no transmission devices in there either. Just some spider-wire and climbing equipment. He leaned over to examine the assailant’s gun. Unlike the guns of the Guardians, this was an automatic projectile-weapon, loaded and lethal. Kaspar wanted to pick it up, but he knew better than to touch it – his training had taught him about contaminating evidence. While the others were securing the area, Kaspar turned to the computer and accessed the history list, flicking through a couple of the virtual screens that had so held the Insurgent’s attention.

  What on earth . . . ?

  Why was the terrorist looking at data about Calliston Water? It was a lake several kilometres away from Capital City. No one went there as it was too isolated; you could see that much from the image on the screen. It didn’t supply Capital City with water or food and there were no dwellings or industrial bases around it – just a whole heap of nothing. Why risk breaking into the Academy’s computer core merely to find out more about it? It didn’t make sense.

  Janna and Dillon came running into the room.

  ‘The rest of the facility is secure, sir,’ Dillon announced.

  He and Janna spied the terrorist still lying unconscious on the floor, their expressions betraying their disappointment at not being part of the takedown. Kaspar used the opportunity to take another look at the terrorist. His initial assessment wasn’t far off the mark. This guy was only a couple of years older than him, if that, with buzz-cut hair and a sallow complexion that spoke of his life in the Badlands. Kaspar was struck by just how ordinary he looked. No horns or tail, no fangs, just nondescript. The kind of guy you’d walk past in the street without sparing him a first glance, never mind a second one.

  ‘Wilding, when you’ve finished staring holes through the Insurgent, perhaps you’d like to get back to work,’ Voss snapped.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ Kaspar snapped out of his reverie.

  ‘Spraining your arm from patting yourself on the back, are you?’ Janna asked without malice.

  ‘No, my arm is still working just fine. But thanks for asking,’ Kaspar replied with a grin.

  ‘Kas saved the day!’ someone across the room announced to the raucous laughter of those present.

  Kaspar accepted the congratulations and the teasing of his friends with equal embarrassment, his face burning.

  ‘Not bad, Kas,’ said Dillon, slapping him on the back.

  ‘Thanks.’ Kaspar rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the ache in it.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Dillon. ‘Did the bad guy manage to get one or two licks in first?’

  ‘No, but you did! Dillon, mate, you’re built like a tank transport,’ said Kaspar. ‘Could you not pat me on the back ’cause it hurts every time.’

  ‘Wuss!’ Dillon said without a trace of sympathy.

  Kaspar looked up at Dillon and shook his head. The trouble was, Dillon didn’t know his own strength. He was as tall as Voss but a lot beefier. His best friend spent every spare minute in the gym working out and had the muscles on his muscles to prove it.

  ‘Anyway, well done for not making a complete twat of yourself today,’ smiled Dillon.

  In truth, Kaspar couldn’t help feeling relieved over exactly the same thing. At least he hadn’t given Voss a reason to kick his butt or, worse still, kick him out. Dillon booted the unconscious terrorist, which Voss chose not to see. Kaspar watched with a frown as Dillon kicked the saboteur’s knife further away from him, just in case.

  ‘People, it doesn�
�t take all of us to guard one unconscious lowlife. Kaspar and Dillon, stay put till the criminal investigation forensic unit and the medics arrive to take this piece of garbage away. The rest of you are with me,’ Voss ordered. The commander headed for the door, not bothering to look back to make sure his instructions were being followed. He knew they would be.

  ‘Kas, what’s up with you?’ said Janna as she drew level.

  ‘I don’t get this,’ replied Kaspar.

  ‘What’s to get?’ asked Dillon. ‘Bad guys make trouble, good guys kick their arses. Bad guys go to hospital, good guys go and drink beer once their shift is over. Simple.’ Dillon didn’t do nuances.

  ‘Yeah, but why?’ Kaspar persisted. ‘Why did they arrange a diversion to get this man into the core when he didn’t even try to escape or do any damage? And he was so calm, he didn’t seem the least bit deranged or fanatical. He was just reading, about Calliston Water, of all places. What’s that all about?’

  ‘They’re all intellectually challenged, my hero, so why worry about it?’ Janna offered as explanation. A smile later, she slapped his butt and headed for the door.

  ‘Yes, but why go for his knife and not the gun?’ Kaspar asked.

  But Janna was gone and Dillon wasn’t listening.

  The savagery, the brutality, the sheer inhumanity of the Uprising was like nothing that had gone before. When the Insurgency first started, we in the Alliance had no choice but to fight as they fought. Nothing less than our very survival was at stake. We became worryingly adept at killing them, but we were paying for our new expertise with the loss of our humanity. We came to realize that we were destined to become just like them – constantly plotting, rejoicing in enemies slain, keeping score by counting bodies.