Chapter Twenty-Six - Red Carpet Treatment

“After the end of the second world war and the advent of more advanced weaponry, there was a noticeable shift in the way armed forces reacted. It still took some decades for what is essentially an entirely new SoP to take effect, but by the late 90s most modern militaries understood that a small number of well-equipped soldiers could be used to greater effect than large units of poorly-trained conscripts.

In many situations, a small team of well-trained soldiers could make a large, impactful difference.

Whether that is taking down a VIT or sabotaging enemy infrastructure, going in silently is not only more effective, it also allows for a degree of denial on the assaulter’s part.

The samurai generally don’t fit that bill.

Almost universally, they dislike being quiet.

Something about their mentality just does not agree with the idea that a problem can be solved without explosions, lasers, or explosive lasers.”

--Excerpt from ‘An Analysis of the Capability of the Modern Unit vs.The Samurai,’ 2029

***

I raised my hand and turned it this way and that. My nails shone pretty and rainbow. There was a bit of a holographic effect with them, little hearts in the middle that only showed up at certain angles. “Neat,” I said.

“Yes yes, very very pretty,” the old woman said.

I grinned back at her and looked at the time. It had been a nice way to spend ten minutes. I bet that Lucy would love that kind of pampering too. Maybe we could order one of those massage people in our hotel room. That was a thing that was done... probably. I wasn’t up to date on how the rich wasted their credits.

“Myalis, can you transfer over some credits to the nice lady?” I asked.

This will basically empty your account.

“Yeah, but Lucy will like it.”

The woman looked at me quizzically for a bit, then something in her eyes glowed and her smile only grew. “Thank you, honourable customer. You go pinch many bottoms now.”

“Damn right,” I said as I shoved off her chair, then stretched. “Any news from Gomorrah yet?”

Atyacus has kept in contact with me this entire time. They’ve reached the appropriate location, though it took convincing a guard to look the other way.

“A merc guard?” I asked.

No, the location where Atyacus proposed breaking through the wall is a warehouse for medical supplies. It has twenty-four hour guards and surveillance. I suspect that the Hour Men encouraged the placement of a high-security facility next to their offices to act as a sort of additional deterrent. Atyacus disagrees. We’ve been going back and forth for what for you would be subjective years.

“You do that a lot?” I asked. “Argue with other AI?”

We need to do something to pass the time. Arguing online is one of the few hobbies we share with humanity.

“That and trolling people.”

I would only ever troll you, you know that.

I rolled my eyes and came to a stop next to the exit of the nail salon. I leaned against the counter and tapped my feet, then, because there was nothing else to do, I logged onto my media feeds.

It had been... maybe forty-eight hours since I’d last checked. That was practically a lifetime.

Normally I was pretty reserved, only looking to see if anything neat had happened maybe once an hour. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone so long without looking, but then the last couple of days were a little hectic.

And, as the site checked my biometrics auto-logged me, my vision was filled with gifs, ads, stills taken from the friend of a friend, more ads, news posts, news posts that were actually ads, government warnings about the incursion, and then ads made to look like government warnings about the incursion.

You have over six thousand private messages. All from the last day.

“I’m popular,” I said.

Ninety-two percent are targeted ads. Two percent are offers from various corporations aware of your status as Vanguard. Three percent are from people begging for assistance, the remainder are poorly designed malware.

“Annnd I’m already bored,” I said.

That might be for the best. Gomorrah has spliced into the office’s internal network. Their security software isn’t terribly impressive.

“I guess they were placing their bets on it being hard to access instead of difficult to hack into. Probably the smarter option,” I said. The media feeds disappeared, and Myalis replaced them with camera feeds from all over the inside of the Hour Men base. For the most part it matched the layout of the blueprints, with a few extra doors and what looked like a couple of windows installed in others.

There were also lots of half walls, and what looked like chokepoints built into the office space. The top floor was all desks and cubicles and a few meeting rooms. The next floor down had bunks, a small interior range, an armoury and some showers and a break room. The bottom most floor, the garage, was the largest of the lot, mostly open space with a couple of nondescript cars tucked away next to an honest to god hover tank.

“How many people?” I asked.

Thirty-two have appeared on screen. Every room has a camera, though there are a few blind spots.

“I can’t see Katallina,” I said.

She doesn’t seem to be present.

“Can you connect me to Gomorrah?” I asked.

A moment later I heard my favourite nun breathing as if she was leaning over me. Probably a microphone in that mask of hers. “Any ideas?” she asked.

“Girl’s not here. Myalis, you see any sign of her in their software?”

Some traces, yes. Or perhaps calling them possibilities would be more accurate.

Atyacus’ voice came over the line. “It seems as if the Hour Men accepted four contracts in the last forty-eight hours. They don’t keep any detailed notes on these. In fact, a lack of paperwork seems to be part of their operating procedures.”

“So we need someone to ask some questions to,” I said. “I guess I’ll knock at their front door.”

“Seriously?” Gomorrah asked.

“I mean, we need to find out, and I don’t feel like chasing leads all day. So we ask. Can you take out that tank?”

“I can,” Gomorrah said. “Most things made of metal will melt eventually, but that’s besides the point. How are we going to do this?”

I leaned to the side and looked down the corridor where the front door of the Hour Man offices was tucked away. It was a heavy-looking door. All steel and bolts. Not terribly decorative either, and I guessed that the walls were filled with fold-out surprises.

“I fling a bomb at their front wall, then when the dust settles ask to speak to their boss?”

“That sounds like a bit much,” Gomorrah said.

I rubbed a finger under my nose. “They kidnapped a kid. I don’t think we need to go in soft and polite.”

“But soft and polite might get us further,” Gomorrah said.

“Hmph.” I tapped my fresh nails on the counter for a moment, then nodded. “You know what, sure. But you send them a message or whatever. I’m not expecting them to exactly roll out the red carpet.”

These guys had to know what they were doing, and what the reaction of the average samurai would be. In their place, I’d start running the moment I found out a samurai was on my tail, and if that meant fighting my way out, then so be it. The dead couldn’t be punished.

“Sending now,” Gomorrah said. “I’m close enough to their lower exit to stop anyone trying to escape that way.”

“Yeah, I’m within spitting distance of their front door,” I said. I looked around and spotted my crossbow leaning against the backside of the counter. Nearly forgot about it. Would probably have made the old lady rich if I did.

I grabbed the crossbow and pulled the bolt on its side back before flicking its safety off with a twitch of my augs. There were a few explosive bolts left in it.

“Did you send the--” I began.

The feeds of the cameras inside the building started to flash. Some sort of silent alarm had gone off and the lights flickered in response was my guess. The fine folks inside the building started running around, picking up weapons and armour even as guns deployed from the walls and ceilings.

“Well, it doesn’t look like they’re agreeing to anything just yet,” I said.

I stepped out into the corridor. Maybe they would see me standing outside and reconsider things.

I kind of expected the guns that deployed from next to the door.

I didn’t expect the twin punches to my gut that sent me tumbling back with a heavy cough.

Laying on the ground, I panted for breath, then touched my chest to confirm that I wasn’t bleeding or anything. I found two coin-sized bits of metal flattened over my armour. “Okay,” I said. “Bombs it is.”

***