Dawn of Darkness
>>Message Received. (WARNING: Lvl. 7 Alert)
>>Read?
>YES >NO
>>…YES
>>Processing Request…
>Complete.
DATE: 31st Twelfth Moon 2037 LST (Converted Lylatian Standard)
TO: Lohan, Derek
FROM: UNKNOWN
SUBJECT: REVELATIONS 22:13
>>Derek. If you recognized and decrypted the security protocols, then despite my doubts you remembered… although, the memory for the both of us is a bitter one. Trust me, old friend, why I sent this to you. This so-called 'Androssian War' is not the war we thought it to be! Attached to this message are files that—
DATA LOST
>>Attachments Detected. (WARNING: Lvl. 10 Alert)
>>Download FILE 1?
>YES >NO
>>YES
>>Download Initiated…
>FILE 1 Complete.
FILE 1: INFILTRATION
"So it's confirmed, then."
Lightning burst out of shadowed clouds, a chain of primal wrath streaking to an unknown target on the battlefield of the Cornerian night skies. Clouds advanced in formation to the north. Ironic sight, considering the battles raging across the Lylat System between the Cornerian Federation and the Venomian Empire. Nature was reflecting our long-drawn-out war to amuse herself it seems.
I could be such a damn poet sometimes.
"No doubt about it," the raccoon next to me snorted. "Apparently, the Federation's military received another large cache of credits from the government," the hacker closed his laptop. "It's rumored to be large enough for General Pepper to have gone on a network spending spree that could pay for Space Dynamics Corp. four times over!"
Spearing to the earth in sharp crashes, more lightning lit the night. I could see the eclipsed skyscrapers reveal themselves in a white flash and disappear into darkness the next instant. We stood on such a skyscraper, and saw the rest of the immense superstructures in our sight. Corneria City was a colossal megalopolis indeed, rivaling that of the technological center of Isthar in Macbeth and the Imperial capital Merkava on Venom.
"Even so, are the upgrades to the network going to be a problem?" I crossed my arms and watched the stream of lights crawling on the highways that were layered upon each other. It reminded me of the labyrinth tunnels underneath and the highways above Merkava. Hell, even the horrible traffic was the same. Tch. Corneria and Venom were not polar opposites as most Lylatians believed it to be.
"Should it, lad?" Felix Jackson —a hacker of the Seventh Engineering unit— stood, his head just reaching to my shoulder; the raccoon was tall for his species. "Pepper and his Feds can buff his network to the power of ten for all I care," Jackson put his gloved paws into his trench coat pockets, "and it would make no difference."
"Speaking from experience," I spared an amused glance down at him, "or confidence?"
"Faith, lad! Faith!" Jackson flashed a feral grin, apparent even in the darkness. "Listen, we mere commoners of the Seventh gave hell to the Feds more than the Imperial fleet's pilots have since the war's dawn. And we're damned good at it too. Don'tcha count us off just yet."
"In the Shadow Corps we are taught to overestimate. Better to expect the worst than the least and be caught up in the middle of a firefight," I replied, glancing upward when a characteristic whirling noise of cut air caught our attention.
Jackson grunted, not convinced. "Yeah? Does the Corps teach ya operatives to be philosophical too?" I remained silent, and the raccoon rolled his amber eyes. "Not going to entertain an old 'coon, eh? Makes me wonder if all operatives speak in some kind of code without moving their mouth."
"Looks like our ride is here," I interrupted, just as the hacker opened his muzzle to continue. Above us, a large black object descended onto the aerial pad; it merged so well in the night it could have been under a stealth cloak.
"Aye, so it is. Let's get what we came here for then."
"ETA to Federation Headquarters in 2300 hours, LST."
"Right on schedule," I heard Jackson murmur to the pilot's report, his gloved paws moving on his laptop keyboard in a series of sharp staccatos.
I straightened the collar on the blue and white Federation uniform. "And the power grid?" I glanced into the helicopter's rain-curtained port window and resisted an unfamiliar urge to grin at the sight. Strange that a Fed uniform looked better on me than the crimson-black of the Empire.
"Double-checking or still not convinced it can be done, lad?"
"Neither. It's called caution."
"Is that right?" Jackson looked up from his laptop monitor and arched an eyebrow. "Shouldn't it be called paranoia instead?"
I grunted, ignoring the stifled laughter coming from the helicopter pilot. "There is no difference," I locked eyes with the hacker's. "When on the field, a single mistake can mean the difference between success or failure."
Jackson sighed and gave a helpless shrug. "Relax," with a shake of his head the raccoon returned to his work. "Even we crusaders of a new era need an occasional joke now and then. And to answer your first question— we'll have a five minute window."
More than enough, I noted while watching the outer perimeter outposts rising into view in a collection of red and white signal lights. "Done," I said, and made one final check on the laser pistol holstered inside the leather jacket that I wore was in quick reach.
"It'd better be, lad."
I stifled a snarl. Never had another Imperial, with the exception of other Shadow Corp operatives, regarded me with anything but awe or fear. Now here was a hacker speaking as if we were on the same unit! I growled low, not even realizing it until I saw Jackson's shoulders shake with silent laughter.
Damn him. I cursed myself for allowing the raccoon to provoke me like this. I couldn't figure out who I was more frustrated with: me or him. I never found out when the com system came to life amidst a tempest of static until it cleared enough to discern a male voice. Approaching chopper, outpost Z-760 speaking. Send in your identification and state your business.
"Z-760, Private Norris Knight of the Twenty-First shuttle unit, here," the raven pilot glanced at a screen to his left, his talons flowing on a retractable keyboard in a series of successive clicks. "Sending identification and registration now. Requesting permission to land on the north-west landing pad to drop off Sergeant Lance Krel."
Silence. I had no doubts that our registration wouldn't come out legit. Shadow Corp never left loose ends, and Norris has been operating as a liaison for Venomian agents under the Fed's noses ever since his stationing near them. No doubt he would continue to do so until his luck ran out. About a minute later, the technician returned on the com. Registration confirmed. Landing clearance granted, Private Knight. Code R20.
"Roger that, Z-760," Norris acknowledged, entering the code into the keyboard. After a final glance to the screen and from what I perceived as a satisfied look, the raven pushed it aside and guided the helicopter past the outposts toward the landing pad.
"Here you go, Sergeant," the pilot announced, hovering the helicopter above the landing zone. Once he secured the chopper, Norris typed in a short command onto the terminal and an airlock slid open. I was prepared to leave when Jackson, without looking up from his laptop screen, smirked and raised a paw in farewell.
"Don't screw up, aye, lad?"
I looked over my shoulder. "And you just do your job."
Not waiting to hear the raccoon's reply, I walked out into storm.
"Hey, Wolf."
"Yeah?"
Behind me, the hatch slid closed with a sharp hiss, sealing off the crossfire between the howling wind and pouring rain outside. I scrutinized the corridor I entered.
"Recognize him?"
"Not me, pal. Fellow might just be visiting. See the tank and hammer insignia on his shoulder?"
"Hard to miss. What about it?"
ENGINEERING in bold green letters greeted me. Norris brought me closer than I expected; it should save me time. Exiting was another matter, however. If all went according to plan, that shouldn't be a problem either. I headed down the left wing of the hall toward a reinforced hatch, ignoring a vulpine and wolf in flight suits.
"That represents the Twelfth Battalion. It's a Katina support unit."
"Support unit? Hell! He's built like a commando, not an engineer!"
Maps of Fed headquarters gathered by other operatives showed the structure consisting of several floors and wings leading towards various areas: hangars, barracks, engineering sector, command center, etc. In order to enter certain facilities required specific passcodes and identification confirmation at specified 'checkpoints'. These checkpoints too, were varied.
Areas that were accessible to all personnel have checkpoints with simple requirements: keycard, or identification number. Restricted sectors were another matter. Sectors like the command center or isolated regions where the Cornerians secure classified data have strict checkpoints where retinal scans, background checks on several levels, a designated passcode, among other advanced authorization systems were processed. Heh, and the Feds thought the Empire was paranoid.
Regrettable that all that paranoia was going to waste in the next several minutes.
"Hmm, you might not be too far off. He could've come from the commandos, or the marines. And he's a Macbeth canine too."
"Eh? How can you tell?"
At a low-level checkpoint marked Z-R70, I entered a passcode into the adjacent terminal and held down a keycard to its side. Windows with various texts scrolling on them came up on the screen showing the verification protocols being processed. I half-listened to the conversation, arms crossed with eyes on the screen and waiting.
"Watched how our canine friend there carried himself? It was a stride of confidence. His shoulders were squared, and his green eyes had the 'Hell on wheels' look found on soldiers. Notice the copper-black fur, too. Macbeth shepherds' are copper-black while their Katina cousins are lighter."
"…These are times I wonder why you're not working for the spooks."
"For the same reason you're not in the commandos, Fox. Flying."
I grunted, impressed. For a pilot, the lupine was acute enough to be an operative. It was unfortunate the Federation was wasting such potential candidates. Cornerian operatives could use a competent agent for once instead of those idiots I encountered on a mission to sweep out informants on Macbeth. It felt more like target practice than a challenge.
No matter. I removed the keycard when a final confirmation window came up on screen. Automated locks were released in silence and the hatch opened revealing another corridor. Ah, well.
'T'rest ce vitae serges'rtrave.'Such was life on the battlefield.
I checked the chrono on my wrist, then looked toward the high-level checkpoint ahead. Jackson should now be accessing the Cornerian Network. For a hacker of the raccoon's caliber, it should be a walk on a Zonessian resort. I smirked, recalling our first encounter.
When I arrived on Corneria, I expected to collaborate with another agent. I never anticipated to be working with a hacker in a no-name unit who can outwit even a comedian on Venom's entertainment channels. I remained skeptical that the Corp sent him instead of another operative.
"This must be a mistake." I growled.
"No mistake, lad. In fact, count your blessings that you're with me!" he laughed.
Shadow Corp informed me later that Felix was more than just competent in his profession. Jackson was one among the few in the Empire who was well versed in Fed networks. His confidence bordered toward arrogance, but the hacker knew where his skills excelled. Now the Cornerians were going to receive a lesson on how well Jackson could manipulate their systems.
Right about— now.
Lights on the ceiling wavered in an internal battle to remain on, and without warning went out in systematic rows. Satisfied, I looked toward the checkpoint. Beside the hatch, multiple windows all projecting scarlet WARNINGs screamed across a panel screen. Numerous backup programs went into effect, and even then the checkpoint surrendered to the power outage.
Advanced systems, eh? The locks positioned on the hatch's outer frame retracted and in a sharp whoosh the checkpoint opened. Not much of an advanced system if it cannot compensate for a power failure, I reflected in amusement and sprinted past the hatch.
05:00: I checked the chrono a second time. Jackson's calculations were right; we had a five-minute window to finish the job and to get the hell out of here. No problem. I planned to complete it in less than the set time before the power rerouted back here.
04:15: Everything was where Intel reported it would be. I stood before a door marked PROMETHEUS-2. Behind it was one of the Federation's three data libraries. Incalculable streams of information sent in to Corneria were processed in one of these three secured areas to confirm, transmit, and record. I walked forward, and the door slid open. No locks on this one. Feds must have relied on that checkpoint too much. I went in, dismissing the oversights of Fed technicians.
04:00: Rows of lit-up consoles were the first thing I noticed when I entered. Second was the wall screen next to the terminals projecting a detailed map of Fed controlled space. Above all, the power continued to run in here. How ironic. Securing the power lines for the area protected beyond the checkpoint but not the checkpoint itself. This mission couldn't get easier. I strode over to the nearest terminal, inserting a data disc with one paw and entering a search command with the other.
02:50: Battle records, cruiser construction plans, locations of Fed bases… all of it scrolled by me in seconds. Each one of them could change the tide of the war. However, they weren't what I came here for. I kept a sidelong glance on the door. Never hurts to make sure I'm not 'interrupted'. Ah, here it was. I inputted a download command and continued to wait.
01:35: Download complete. Now I can get out of here. I removed the disc, prepared to leave when a line of text scrolling up made me hesitate. What the hell…? I checked again. Strange. Where have I seen that before? I double-checked the chrono. Damn, do I have enough time? I inserted a second disc to initiate another download.
00:40: Extracting the second disc, I placed it in a pocket near the holster I concealed within my jacket. That better be worth it. I never trusted in luck, but I might be in need of it this time around. I ran out of the room and into the halls.
Intruder alert! Intruder alert! All personnel prepare for immediate lockdown in all sectors! This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill!
Damn! I looked behind me, seeing neo-titanium mantles sealing off sections of the corridor. Neo-titanium mantles were installed in space cruisers to isolate and minimize damage, except this time it served to catch an intruder: me. Fed techs were more thorough than I gave them credit for.
There had to be a latent safeguard that Intel overlooked, activated on suspicious access to the archives. Downloading the archives when there was a power outage was indeed ranked high on the list of suspected activities. I realized this with another mental curse and ran down toward the large maintenance lift that led to an underground hangar.
Under normal circumstances, maintenance lifts carried large equipment toward the hanger below to make it easier for engineers to move around instead of making round trips on the base. Right now being anything but a normal circumstance, the platform was going to help me escape. Seeing another section of the corridor closing shut, I punched in an activation code into the lift panel, hoping the lockdown excluded the platform mechanism.
It worked.
I grasped onto a rail, the lift shuddering once before it descended in a diagonal path. My right paw slipped into my jacket for a comforting grip on the pistol concealed there. Extra caution was never a bad thing. Better safe now than dead later. Soldiers seen coming down a maintenance platform during a lockdown was a guaranteed trip to the brig for an investigation, and that was the last thing I needed.
First thing I noticed as the lift descended to a halt that there was no one here, not even a cleaning probe. I was about to move into the hangar when I heard a pair of voices moving towards me. Must be a leftover catapult or engineering crew. Blast. I leapt over the platform rail and ran over to the wall separating the hangar entrance to the lift. Luck was a fickle mistress.
"Lockdown, huh? I wonder if it's one of Colonel Faris' real-time war scenarios."
"Yeah. Remember the invasion scenario he set last month? 'This is not a drill' he said then too. And what happened? Pepper rushed to headquarters and into the command room in his pajamas!"
Both speakers laughed. I scowled, wondering where I heard them before and risked a glance at the entrance. Shit! It was those two pilots again. I half-drew the pistol, juggling ideas to either stun or kill the pilots when I caught sight of docked Bulldog jets up ahead. Hmm. When the pilots were out of sight, I returned the gun into its holster and headed toward a fighter.
Long thick wires were hanging off the white and green jet in low arcs, connected to a terminal and the laptop next to it. Other tools like a hand-held scanner, a laser welder, and scattered cogs and circuits finished the ensemble. It looked more a technological jungle than a machine of war.
Kneeling down, I reached for the laptop showing the fighter's status. Everything was in order. Perfect. Now to do some reprogramming: ENGINES CONTACT. AUTO-PILOT ACTIVATED: LINEAR MODE ONLINE. DUAL R-105 LASERS ARMED. Track this down Feds. WARNING! SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE ACTIVATED. COUNTDOWN SET: 10:00. Finished, I reset my chrono in queue with countdown and punched the ENTER key.
Laser bolts slammed into the gate, a hailstorm of fire and shrapnel erupting on impact. I had to raise an arm to shield my eyes although I wanted to cover my ears along with it from the klaxons roaring at the breach. Damn things were a hazard to the ears, but the retrorockets on the jet that howled to life could do worse. Wires connected to the Bulldog jet snapped off in cascade of sparks before the catapult kicked in and launched it out of the hangar— and threw me rolling onthe ground.
There goes the bait… and blast, a few of my ribs from the feel of it.
"No way. All the gates are locked down!"
"Dammit, Wolf, the alarms in here wouldn't be going off otherwise! I'm telling you, someone launched!"
And here comes the Feds. I wonder if my acting was up to par. Seeing the pilots returning over here it looked like I was going to find out. At least I was already in a convincing position. I coughed and stumbled onto my feet just as the pair arrived on the scene.
When the vulpine caught sight of me, he rushed over to help. "Hey, are you alright! What happened?" he asked, his words almost coming out in a rush of concern or anxiousness; it was difficult to discern which.
"Hell if I know," I growled, accepting the pilot's help, dazed and angry. "I was running diagnostics until the alarms went off. After that…" I shook my head, the movement allowing me to see the other pilot coming back.
"It's no good, Fox," the wolf said, his paw jabbed at the smoking gate. "Whoever made short of our Katinian friend here is gone," he scowled. "Along with whatever they came here for."
Fox…? My ears perked up briefly as the name rang alarms in my head, but the connection eluded me. What bad timing, like the rest of this entire mission.
"Y'mean…?" the vulpine trailed off, and seeing his lupine companion nod, he cursed. "Damn! Not good. There's no way the Colonel is gonna let this slide, Wolf."
"Yeah. It's definitely not one of his real-time war scenarios either," Wolf confirmed grimly. "Not only have a possible Imp operative running loose, but in one of our Bulldog fighters in Corneria City!"
The pilots fell silent, only the alarms filling in the implications that followed. I glanced covertly at the chrono: 08:50. These pilots were not exactly leaping at the opportunity as I anticipated. I grunted as if in pain, but was reluctantly impressed. Maybe they need a nudge in the right direction…
"Let's go," Fox suddenly said.
Maybe not.
Another scowl crossed the lupine's muzzle; more thoughtful than disapproving. "Are you serious? Acting without orders under a lockdown is a one-way ticket for the brig."
"Obviously," the other nodded, seemingly undaunted.
There were definitely more to these two than what I expected. Wolf nodded. "All right. But your father is going to kill me for this, Fox."
"Not if he gets his paws on me first," the vulpine retorted with a grin.
"Right," Wolf snorted, but bared his teeth in a fierce smile. "We better get moving then."
They looked at each other with a nod one last time before the lupine ran off to a docked fighter.
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Nothing a cold drink wouldn't cure," I replied, meeting Fox's concerned gaze with a wry smile. And when he hesitated, "Don't worry about me. It's just a bump in the head, and I get enough of those from you fighter jocks on launch! Go!"
That got the vulpine moving. He swung over into the cockpit of a second Bulldog jet and started what I figured was a pre-flight check.
6:01. It was time for me to get moving. Another sweep at the hangar revealed more jets in various states of repair. I couldn't make my getaway that way, and under a lockdown sneaking out wasn't an option either. Damn. I'm so close, there has to be— ah.
Racked in individual 'garages' were a series of sleek bikes. Imprinted on its side were the model number and the corporation that designed it: RAIJIN X-505 and SPACE DYNAMICS CORP.
"Raijin-class motorcycles," I whistled low, tempted to spare a moment to admire them. The Feds knew how to arm their soldiers, that was for sure. These machines boasted laser edged wheels, capable of traversing all types of terrain. Arm them with a TAURUS linear rail gun and a competent rider and it would make perfect replacements for foot soldiers.
The howl of engines threw my gaze over to the gates just in time to see two green-white fighters launch out of the hangar.
Farewell, Feds. Soon, they would catch up to the jet I sent out. Alas, they would meet with tragedy that was all too common in war. Mark this as another for two young pilots doing their duty.
I mounted a bike, revved up the engines once before speeding out of the hangar.
"'bout time," Jackson grumbled when I ducked under the side door to get in. "Local police forces are scrambled searching for a suspected Raijin cycle and a hijacked Bulldog fighter. Road blockades, patrol choppers, and even the S.W.A.T team!" the hacker arched an eyebrow. "Whatcha do, lad? Invite the entire Cornerian law enforcement for a drink?"
"CCPD invited themselves," I replied, taking a seat and glanced once at the laptop on his lap. "Set visual to coordinates CCD3-64, 65, and 67. Adjust satellite angle to 35 degrees north."
"Done. Now what?"
"Enjoy the fireworks." I made one last check on the chrono to see the numbers changing to 00:00 in a dangerous red.
"Hold on just a darn minute!" the raccoon sputtered. "Fireworks—?"
Boom. I smiled, savoring the shocked expression on Jackson's muzzle as he stared at the screen. Right on time. With my paws behind the back of my head, I leaned back on the seat and closed my eyes just as I caught sight of flaming shrapnel starting to rain from the skies…
FILE 1: INFILTRATION
End