Zane Pax made a peculiarly ambivalent smell in his workshop: the odor of ozone caused by the capacitors being overclocked, of synth-oil, leftovers of the guts of drone cores he was half-repurposing, and the greasy odor of a three-day-old pizza that he really ought to have discarded. It was a gorgeous, confused cacophony of wires and holographic designs and a muted, nervous buzz of machinery, which never seemed less than one step away, at any time, at any moment, from the brilliance of a bright idea or the fatal explosion of a disaster.
At this moment, it was heading towards failure.
Flux, switching, auxiliary power to the inertial dampeners. No, not that--you are going to produce a feedback loop that is going to boil his nervous system! Is it me that I must do all by the gears? His fingers fluttered over a blazing haptic interface muttering, Zane. On the primary screen, Miguel Allen received a back and forth vitals read. His Chrono-Core was surging back to the red again.
Analysis: Subject Velocity Spider is currently running at 142 percent of the recommended output. The Chrono-Core integrity is 68 percent and declining," Flux synthesized calmly and was becoming unconcerned with the impending meltdown, totally indifferent to it.
Instead of a million-credit chrono-core he uses a disposable sock, He thinks like that Zane groaned, over in an uninjurious flush of sparks, millions of miles off in an innocent shower of sparks. He caught the sight of Miguel flinching in the midst of his running. You are welcome, sorry, buddy. Try not to time-implode today."
An incoming signal was decrypted with a heavy encryption. It was smooth and going around his main firewalls as though they were ornamental. The window opened a live view of the frozen block of the city and a spectral scan of the frozen block of the city a sort of Chrono-Venom that Miguel had just etched onto the wall.
"Incoming data stream. Source: Unidentified. Encryption: Arachno-Synthetic hybrid. Very elaborate, said Flux.
I see it, Zane replied: his curiosity as an engineer at once aroused. This was not Onyx brute force code. This was... elegant. Next, after a few seconds, a female, teasing voice broke in, addressing Miguel.
"Yare yare, Flashboy. You are letting them paint the town Jing Zhi ....
Slowly Zane leaned forward, and his face was spread with an expression of slow, gradual grin. He stood and overheard the conversation, the grumbling defensiveness with which Miguel was defending himself, and the needling manner with which the hacker was sneaking at him. This was new. This was interesting.
The Alchemax city-wide alarm was ringing and it was overwhelming them. Onyx. Assaulting the Temporal Division. Of course. It was the strongest, the most visible object. A brute-force play. It did not go with the delicacy of the frozen block, but it ensured a reaction.
The signal of Miguel flicked, and he was about to shoot away. Zane made a decision.
Flux, patch me through, to both of them. now.
A twofold ring was an open channel. Miguel, stand by, Zane said, and his voice had lost its workshop impatience, and changed to what he referred to as his field-ops calm.
No, Zane, not now, the voice of Miguel replied in an anguished tone, hurried on. "Onyx is at Alchemax."
"I heard. And you are rushing straight into what is an obvious trap. Consider the information on the stasis field. That's not Onyx's signature. It's something else. Something worse."
"Your point?" Miguel snapped.
What I mean is that you are a hammer, and this is not a nail! We need intel. We need finesse." He brought out the signal of the unknown hacker. "And I think we just found some."
You wish to introduce some random, unverified sporadic neon ghost in this? The unbelief of Miguel was experienced.
She broke into your secure comms and my work shop firewall in less than ten seconds. I would say it is quite an impressive resume. Zane had already started moving his fingers, following the signal of the hacker, not to cut it off, but to strengthen it, providing a stabilized, encrypted conduit. And now we require her specific competence. Whether you like it or not."
He established a direct contact with the hacker. "Unidentified. This is Gearspin. You are speaking, with your walking paradox of Flashboy. You have a name to a signal with that signal?
An hour of startled silence, and that teasing voice came back, with a thread of some sincerity. "Call me Arachnight Pulse. You are the one who is keeping his suit of him becoming a time-stain. Impressive work."
The salary is awful and the customer is a nightmare, I Zane dead panned. "You saw the Alchemax alert?"
"Just did. Scented like an obliteration, is it? A noisey bellsome diversion, very mighty.
"My thought exactly. Miguel, you're the muscle. Go to Alchemax and attract their fire. Live feed of the Alchemax network, Pulse. Whether you can find what they really are about in all that mess. I will organize and conduct counter-intrusion on the systems of Onyx.
In the case of Miguel an uneasy silence prevailed. Zane was able to hear the argument in his head. Time was a luxury, however, which they were short of.
"Fine," Miguel bit out. "But if this backfires, Pax..."
"It'll be my fault, I know. Story of my life. Move!"
The picture at Alchemax was pure Bedlam. Onyx onyx, with its spindley, four-armed, black metal, and glowing chrono-circuit biomechs swarmed the plaza, their movements disturbingly in time with each other. Miguel was cobalt and crimson in their midst, a storm of motion, his Chrono-Webs tore holes through metal, and held complete squads of men in-time, and his time-loops froze them as he did.
But with each one he crippled two seemed to replace it.
"They're adapting!" Miguel screamed, shifting through a focussed energy beam. Their algorithm predictors are becoming faster!
"On it!" Lyra was now purely down to business. Her digital presence, a glittering, violet fox mask, was ripping through the Alchemax security measures, what Zane could see in her digital presence in his HUD. Their command signal is going through a quantum-entangled channel. It is... beautiful, in a hideously effective manner. In making an effort to bring about confusion.
After a second, a third of the biomechs would suddenly stand motionless with their limbs frozen. Then another party began firing in every direction at one another.
"Nice!" At the same time Zane used his own Reforge Drones. The little, spider-like robots attached themselves to the incapacitated biomechs, and in a flash of quantum particles, re-roboosted their casing and arms, and used them against their previous friends. "See, Miguel? Teamwork. Makes the dream work."
Don't read old memes at me when I am being fired at! Miguel answered but there was a tone of relief in his voice.
The three took a lapsed, shaky harmony. Miguel would make an opening by a ruinous Flash-Step attack. Lyra would infiltrate the most threatening units and make them temporary allies or mere statues. And Zane would be on the battlefield above, and would push support tech, and reinforcement, and find weak points.
It was messy. It was far from perfect. But it was working.
A sudden silence was imposed on the comms as the last of the first wave burst into sparking debris.
Well, Lyra said, and her voice had recovered its heroic touch. "That was fun. You guys do this often?"
Unfortunately, he said to himself, as he landed lightly amongst the wreckage.
Zane sat back in his chair wiping a greasy fore-top. He checked three different status displays on his mainscreen: the stabilized core of Miguel, the secure and active signal of Lyra and the silence of the battlefield.
All right, guys," he thought, still a powerful but contented smile on his face. "Round one to us. What they were actually doing here before the second wave hits is another question to answer.