DOR Chapter 108 – Anomylous Properties

Glossary terms: S2 Shop - An Army term for an intelligence center typically tasked with collecting and compiling raw information into actionable intelligence.

Chapter 108 – Anomylous Properties

The rifle barked in his hands. At the other end of the range, a chunk of one of the concrete targets tore away. A small puff of smoke and brass shavings vented out the right side of his gun. Well, at least it shot. What was more, the gun sent another ping of satisfaction into his mind.

“Uh, I think it likes being shot,” said Cole. As if to confirm, a small tendril dropped down from the receiver and prodded his trigger finger. “Stop,” Cole chided, flicking it away with his thumb. He lined up his target again and fired three more shots. As he did, the optic self-adjusted, and each shot was closer to his point of aim than the previous. Self-zeroing. Not bad. But each squeeze of the trigger was a single shot, and he didn’t see any kind of fire control switch to switch the gun to full auto.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, steam vented from the joints of the rifle. The foregrip in his left hand expanded and slid back towards him as the gun’s center of gravity shifted. He pulled the muzzle back, staring at what now looked like three barrels milled out of the same piece of black metal. Are you kidding me? he thought. He squared up again, and once more the tentacles against his shoulder went rigid. This time, when he squeezed the trigger, the gun fired a rapid staccato of shots.

Not bad, thought Cole. The gun sent a pang of amusement at that. Cole wasn’t sure he liked that this thing could interpret his brainwaves, even at whatever surface level thoughts made it shift and morph to his desires. But he had to admit, it was pretty cool.

What if I have to make a long-distance shot?

The gun sighed in his hands, as though he were asking too much of it. But it expelled more steam and shifted again. The barrel and receiver elongated, merging once again into a single bore even longer and thinner than it had started. Another pair of tentacles wrapped around his shoulder for further stability, and as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bench, three more glossy membranes rose in sequence along the top of the gun, each one adding a layer of magnification until he could pick out the surface details on the most distant target on the range. He squeezed the trigger and buried a slug in what would have been the center of a target’s forehead. He fired three more times before the rifle went dead. The recoil was substantially higher for his precision shots, more than just the increased velocity from a longer barrel would suggest. It was almost as if his chamber pressure had increased or he was firing a round bigger than 7.62 NATO.

Another pang of satisfaction. No, almost satisfaction, but not quite. That one was more like… pride. Cole pulled back and eyed the weapon in his hands. Nonstandard ammo consumption. So it wasn’t just the gun morphing. It somehow digested the ammunition and altered that as well. Little tendrils emerged from the magazine well towards the magazines on his chest rig, curling in on themselves in almost a gimme, gimme, gesture.

“Tap it with the analyzer once you’re finished,” said Jefferson. “It might be able to pull more training data for the Termlink model to crunch now that it’s been shot in a Lewis field.”

Cole glanced over his shoulder at Jefferson. “Does more shooting equal more data?” he asked.

Jefferson grinned through the glass. “Probably not. But do you care?”

Not one bit. Cole pulled another magazine from his vest and handed it off to the eager little tendrils. Time to see what else this thing could do.

                          *

“It’s a tough call,” said Cole, putting the rifle away in its case. “It’s a clear upgrade, that much is certain. But, between this and the patient hunter rifle, at least I know what that one does. It’s just a gun. It doesn’t think. It doesn’t make choices. What if the ravenous gun gets moody and stops shooting? What if it takes a chunk out of my hand?”

Jefferson teased at his beard. “Past time you were upgrading from a Curahee drop. I know you got that snakebite rifle, too, but you need the versatility of an assault rifle with your style.” He tapped the open case. “This one’s got versatility in spades. And you can use Tinker with it.” Jefferson lowered his voice as if the gun could hear him. “And if it don’t play nice, you can always Field Strip it.”

“It would probably feel like cleaning a fish,” said Cole. If Howie were here, he could imagine the Marine asking Jefferson if any part of otherworld armaments were edible. He closed the case. “You’re right, though. My Curahee rifle is starting to show its age. I just wish I knew what those unidentified affixes were. Would make me feel better.”

“Give Termlink a little time to crunch,” said Jeff. “You don’t gotta decide right away. You even got another mission lined up?”

Cole shook his head. “I’m meeting with Sophie and the others after lunch to get that sorted out.”

They shook hands and Cole headed out. Roxy caught him on his way to the billet and dragged him to the chow hall. By the time they finished, Sophie had already set up in the downstairs conference room in Lewis Hall and everyone but Besson had arrived early.

“Mr. Colton, good to see you alive and well after what happened at Oak Ridge,” said Sophie. “I’d ask if you wouldn’t like a few more days to recover from that, but I’m guessing you’re the type to process by doing.”

“You a psychologist, now?” asked Cole, taking his seat.

Sophie smiled. “Just known a lot of Kickers. Mr. Besson is on his way, but we can get set up.”

Howie leaned across the table as Sophie tapped on her tablet and synced it to the screen. “Who knew this job would have so many PowerPoint presentations? How about something exciting?”

Cole rolled his eyes. “Did you forget about crossover event that just happened?”

“I thought the ocean was exciting,” said Nona to no one in particular.

Roxy nudged Cole. “Especially when these two frat idiots tried to hit on Nona on the boardwalk. One of them touched her shoulder for a second. The way he yelped I thought she’d broken every bone in his hand.” She shrugged. “Of course, if she hadn’t I was about to. You don’t touch a woman who already told you to fuck off. Doesn’t matter how cute her one-piece is.”

“I saw crabs. How big do crabs get?” asked Nona.

“Big enough to eat,” said Cole.

Howie chimed in. “I’m having a hard time picturing Nona in a swim suit.”

“Good!” growled Roxy. Howie raised his hands in surrender.

Besson opened the door to the conference room. “Who’s got crabs?” he asked.

“The ocean,” said Nona.

Besson paused, then snorted as he sat down. “Technically true.”

Cole cleared his throat to forestall any more almost-actionable jokes, then nodded over to Sophie. “You almost ready, ma’am?”

“Just craving crab cakes, now,” said Sophie. “You expressed an interested in Hexighast last time. Are you still interested?”

“Sure,” said Cole. “What’s developed?”

Sophie pulled up a set of aerial photos of a waterlogged city crisscrossed by causeways and islands. Ruined domes and half-built skyscrapers dotted the islands, some of which still smoldered and smoked. Makeshift bridges and gondolas traversed between towers.

“The mapping and surveying of Hexighast has progressed, so you wouldn’t be babysitting drone operators, this time. We now think several remaining human factions have gone to ground in what’s left of the cities. We’re making radio contact—slowly—and they’re unusually amenable to offworlders.”

“Tired of robots,” said Howie.

 “Could be,” said Sophie. “But we still haven’t made contact with the cell that actually performed the summoning. This is a world where magic and machines meet. The Lewis Field itself was hijacked by a super-computer who is also unusually amenable to Earth Humans.

Roxy scrunched up her face. “Weird. But better than him trying to drown us in lava, like the last one,” she admitted.

“What’s our angle?” asked Cole.

“DOR needs a team that can operate behind the line and make contact with the correct insurgency. If you can perform the extraction discretely, great. If not, we at least want to get comms to open a dialogue and negotiate.”

Besson grunted. “More sketch guys in tunnels,” he said.

“At least they’re human, this time,” Howie pointed out.

Cole crossed his arms. “Their tech level is what?”

Sophie scanned a few slides down to examples of bulky cars and a drone thermal video of soldiers shooting at robots with what were clearly automatic weapons. “Circa 1955, give or take a decade. They made a computer with a sentient AI logic core capable of mass-producing automaton monsters.”

“Nukes?” asked Howie.

“Expended or destroyed in the early days of Hextant’s war, they think.” said Sophie. “There’s detectable radiation in the air but not at harmful levels. S2 shop figures It didn’t want the locals ruining its fun with a few megatons dropped on its data processors.”

Roxy leaned forward. “So basically… we’re running a phone line,” she said. “First contact with locals. Is Bricker sure he wants people like us making Earth’s first impression?”

That was a valid concern, considering their track record and chaos left in their wake. But Sophie waved it off. “The city is under siege from all sides. We need someone who can punch through, handle themselves when isolated, and self-extract at a moment’s notice if things turn south or if the rescue becomes a target of opportunity. Secondary objective for this mission is to secure Hexton’s code base. If my opinion counts, I think you’re excellently suited to this assignment.”

“Oh, good,” said Howie, throwing his hands up. “Bring Skynet back to Earth. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Can you not do it?” asked Roxy.

Howie put his hands down. “I mean, it’s lines of code on a computer. As long as there’s a data port and a compatible communication protocol we can pull the bits out and create a virtual environment here.”

Roxy held her palm up toward Howie. “Right, forget I asked.”

Cole looked around the room. “Any hard passes? Last time people complained about getting their feet wet.” He took an extra moment to glare at Howie, who withered under the attention.

“Ah, well they got wet at Oak Ridge already. And wet is a lot better than seared off by lava, so no, I’m good.”

Cole looked back to Sophie. “Do we have other options?”

“We do,” she said. “But I don’t think you’ll like any of them more than Hexighast.”

Cole rested his elbows on the table. “So, robots, then. Might be we know someone with some experience in that area. Sophie, I’d like you to reach out to Alexa, if you could.”

“Already have the message drafted and ready to send,” she replied.

Cole shook his head. “I don’t know what I did in my last life to deserve you, but I must have been a fucking saint.”