The silence of the night is destroyed as the rumble of engines and the cracks and shattering of anything that dared get under the wheels of the large armoured trucks making their way through the rubble like a rat through a maze draws closer. The black zone is empty except for the dredges of society that have fled there to seek self made shelters from the elements. Vagrants and criminals look out of the rubble and condemned buildings like vultures watching for scraps to feast upon as the motorcade moves through the streets. No one comes here if they have any other choice and desperation is a sweet rich dish to feed upon. It's survival of the fittest out in the black zones and outsiders are the first casualties.
Lash scans the streets and alleyways they pass, a keen eye looking for anyone that might interfere with their mission. Standing on the gunner's platform gives him a better view of their surroundings than from the inside safety of the armoured car. At least this far into a black zone, they shouldn't have to worry about law enforcement taking an interest. Secrecy is a well worn blanket he drapes himself in, following him everywhere like a shadow. It's what's made him the best.
He grips his weapon tighter, itching to pull the trigger. The assault rifle offers a familiar comfort, fitting into the grooves of his hand like it's a part of him. It's a well performed dance they do now; over a hundred successful captures under his team's belt, but complacently breeds mistakes. With the amount of money the client is paying them for this job, mistakes, no matter how small, will not happen. Time's their biggest enemy; there are no second chances if the capture fails.
The motorcade comes to a halt; a line of sleek black vehicles curving around the area like a deadly snake poised to strike. It's another demolished block, no different than any other in the zone or any other black zone Lash has had the misfortune of working in. His line of work rarely takes him to places of repute, then again, upstanding citizens rarely pay this well.
"We're here," shouts Robbie from inside the armoured car, his fingers flying over his control pad. The computer screen flashes confirmation of their arrival at the desired coordinates.
"You're sure?" snarls Lash. "We don't have time for you to be wrong about this." He glances at his watch calculating the time left until extraction. Like all vessels, the next window for extraction wouldn't be for another year and by then of little value to the client. No vessel, no payment and Lash hasn't built a reputation upon failure.
Robbie looks up at Lash with confidence. "I'm sure. The client did his homework in providing source material. I've calculated it out, both time and coordinates. This is where it happened. I'd stake my life on it."
"You are." Lash nods and jumps down onto the pavement. He isn't here for the science behind what they do, he's the muscle, the military mind. Robbie and the other techies could have fun with their toys and equations; he just has to make sure there's a body to deliver.
"Let's get it set up," he orders, pulling his leather coat tighter around his neck to fight off the winter chill. "And guard the perimeter." His troops move into formation. Desperation makes people foolhardy; the value of their equipment alone could feed the people here for years, not counting the value of their future cargo. They maybe heavily armed and trained, but getting into a skirmish with locals will jeopardize the time sensitive operation.
The car doors open and the soldiers spread out, taking up sentry positions and assembling and off loading equipment. In less than half an hour they've off loaded the old military hover craft and loaded the medical cargo into the capture module. It isn't a pristine machine but it will get the job done.
"Fifteen minutes until capture," shouts Robbie from the power station in the back of the armoured car.
The medical team exits their vehicle and grab their kits, making their way towards the capture module. They stop before entering, all eyes fixed on the rickety hover craft that will raise them to the sky. The lead doctor turns and glares at Lash. "Is it safe?" If it wasn't for all the money scheduled to funnel into his account tonight, he'd be safely abscond in his lab in a green zone.
"Solid," utters Lash. He has no time for squeamish scientist and hand holding. It wouldn't survive another firefight, which is why his army contact was willing to sell the hover craft on the black market, but it can still fly and that's all he needs for this job.
"You're not the one that has to go thousands of feet in the air on that thing," counters the doctor, looking a little green around the edges.
"Just worry about the merchandise, my men and I will worry about the execution, Dr Merick. I can't collect a paycheque if there's not a usable body to deliver, so I guess you're safety is my concern," hisses Lash leaning imposingly into the doctor's personal space. He's not here to chitchat.
Dr Merick glares back at Lash; another henchman with a gun. Lash has no idea the brilliance and engineering that has gone into making the Reincarnation Inc the absolute marvel it is. Merick and his team are gods among men. "Kill anybody yet today you psychopath," he snaps, contempt for Lash and his henchmen's ways simmering as he side steps the man to make his way to the module. He is the star of this show, not some mercenary that can't tell a syringe from a scalpel. He's about to create life where there previously had been none. That requires more respect than the filthy murder in charge could ever offer or even understand.
"The night is still young, Doctor," counters Lash with an air of delight before releasing the safety off his assault rifle. Merick can save lives, but Lash can snuff them out much faster and on a much larger scale on no more than a whim. That's a far greater power than any medical degree could boast. A cruel smile curls his lips as he says, "Ten minutes, Doctor."
The doctor clenches his hands tightly around his medical kit. He's the top of his field working with cutting edge science, yet he's being hauled out into no man's land to obtain vessels with a mercenary calling the shots. If he wasn't getting paid as well as he is, he'd leave these snatch and grab jobs to someone with a death wish. The job of stabilizing a vessel is hard enough without having to do it on the run while watching for rebels, freedom fighters and crime lords in the depths of the dark zones, away from civilized people. It certainly doesn't come with the glory it deserves; the truth being kept from the public at large in regards to the main source of vessels.
"Are we all prepped?" asks the doctor, looking at his team of nurses. They all nod and take their seats as the pilot starts the hover craft. A succession of clicks echoes through the module as safety belts lock in place. He offers Nurse Sampson a reassuring smile as she tries to hide the tremor in her hands.
The craft shoots straight up in a jerky motion, the people inside the module gripping their harnesses tightly. Eventually the shaking stops, the craft floating in the air like a cloud. The pilot turns to the medical team and announces, "We're at the coordinates. Prepare for capture in three minutes, Doctor."
Lash watches from the ground as the craft hovers in the clouds, its scared outer haul and worn paint job corroding the pristine picturesque skyline. This is the first time he's had to implement an air vehicle in capture. Most people have the decency to pick a vessel that can be captured at ground level. He taps his radio. "Robbie, begin capture sequence."
"Starting sequence now," replies the tech, already tapping out commands. His eyes dance across the various screens as he fires up the equipment. His focus is laser solid, anything less would throw away months of work and millions of dollars.
The laser platforms strategically placed in a hexagon on the ground around the hover craft's position hum to life, lighting up as the charge within builds up until the light explodes from the top, cutting through the sky and bathing everything in an ethereal violet light. The gears whirl as the laser beams are directed into position forming a grid pattern above the hover craft.
"One minute and counting," confirms Robbie over the radio system. He punches in the sequence to initiate the temporal shift. Everybody stands by.
The roof of the hover craft peels back, exposing the module to the open sky above it. The laser grid shimmers just above the medical teams' heads as they prepare the exam table for their patient. The air crackles with anticipation, nerves and excitement trying to distract the medical team from their well practiced craft.
"Ready in ten," calls Robbie, already prompting the equipment to launch. "Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four."
The lasers hum louder, their charge building a pulse that shoots straight along the violet trajectory.
"Three,
Two,
One."
The pulse climbs towards the sky like fireworks, coming to a grand finally above the craft in a blinding burst of light. A sliver of a tear rips through the fabric of space and time, creating a silver crack that runs through the navy fabric of the night sky like a fault line, grabbing the target and yanking it through. A shock wave of energy explodes out from the grid rolling out in all directions like ripples in a pond until it disappears into the universe, casting the world back into black.
The module shakes under the body that falls from the closing tear as the smoke and light fades away. Immediately one of the nurses punches the button closing the roof and sealing the team and the newly acquired vessel away from the elements.
Merick coughs as the smoke stings his lungs, but moves to the body that has appeared on the exam table. He scans his eyes over the vessel, the skin visible seems unmarred and the old style jacket and pants don't look like they're concealing any major injuries. "Let's get him hooked up to the scanners and get him stabilized," the doctor orders. "Pay particular attention to his head and lung scans. Watch out for concussive injuries. This was a grab job from an explosion."
The module quickly fills with beeps and chirps as the medical team begins to hook up monitors and fulfill their scans. It's like a well rehearsed ballet as the team manoeuvre around one another to attach leads, IVs and an oxygen mask.
"Grab the paddles," orders the doctor as the monitor displays the expected lack of heartbeat. Capture happens mere nanoseconds before death occurs, but the temporal displacement often initiates system failure in the vessels as they're ripped out of death's arms and plunged back into the world.
"Charging," say Sampson as she passes the paddles over.
"Clear," yells Merick before lowering the paddles onto the man's chest and depressing the button to release the electric shock.
The monitor spikes briefly but soon returns to its uninspiring flat line. "Again."
The body arches off the table as the pulse runs through it. His head lolling slightly at the jolt and then the man gasps, sucking in his first breath of air since appearing in the module.
"We have a heart beat," reports Sampson. "Readings are starting to stabilize."
"We have successful capture," reports the doctor, grabbing the radio.
"Understood," acknowledges Lash. The most important part of the mission is over; now to pack up and return the product home. After that, it's Merick's problem.
"We have a hostile at five o'clock," shouts one of the soldiers over the radio. The claim is punctuated by the appearance of a rocket launcher from the dark depths of the ruins. The ordinance whizzes past the motorcade slamming into the remnants of an old brick building bring the last of the structure to its knees. Immediately the soldiers close ranks and begin firing on the intruders; their main goal to protect the capture module and the cargo within.
"Bring that module back down," shouts Lash into his radio. Hovering in the air, it's a sitting duck. "Doctor, you'll have to prepare the vessel on the go. We have company. It's a dine and dash now."
The medical team shares worried glances as the order comes in. The procedure is delicate enough without factoring motion and a fire fight into the mix. The pilot begins his decent back to the ground as one of the nurses secures the vessel to the gurney.
"Initiate the I62 drip and prepare for memory wipe," orders the doctor as he readys a syringe. The bright blue liquid rushes into the needle as Merick pulls back the plunger. Nurse Sampson pulls the bulk metal arm of the requested machine and places it so it hovers over the vessel's head.
A soft groan comes from the vessel as his head rolls from side to side. Sampson fastens the restraining strap across his head just as he cracks open a pair of the most vivid blue eyes she has ever seen. They're barely open, yet so expressive; conveying sorrow, loss and fear. It pulls at her heart. This is the part of the job she despises, the last moments of a life before they erase it completely.
"What's happ'ing," the vessel slurs, licking his lips.
"Shhhh," she hushes, gently brushing aside an errant stand of dirty blond hair from his forehead. All his pain and suffering will be over in a matter of moments but she can't help but try and sooth some of it away now. If Merick's information is correct and they did pull the vessel from an explosion, then the moments before now would have been horrific. He deserves a little peace, even if it is a false platitude and a foreign gentle touch.
The hover craft shakes violently, knocking everyone off their feet. The doctor goes tumbling into one of the seats, the syringe in his hand shattering on the floor. The lights flicker before the world tilts sideways and everything goes black.