Rallying

Captain Benicio Martins fretted and fumed, unable to tear his eyes away from the tactical display. The twenty-four men and women of Squad 4 would soon face more than a hundred enemy vehicles. There was no way HQ's artillery could destroy them all before they reached Blanchet's troops. He sent Hasina another request for authorization to engage, and this time she didn't even reply.

Trying to keep calm, Benicio looked out the nearest window. Far below, the sprawling rooftop of HQ buzzed with activity. Like the uniforms and armor of HQ's soldiers, the exterior of the facility was painted in a dappled camo pattern that mixed light grays with a predominantly white background. The same pattern disguised the numerous weapon systems mounted on the roof. The massive guns continued to fire, medical pods periodically landed, and wounded were brought inside. A proximity alarm warned of another incoming projectile, but unlike the last to get so close, it wasn't a modern swarm rocket. HQ's point defense chainguns handled it easily enough.

With most of their air forces destroyed, the enemy doesn't have much with the potential to threaten HQ from a distance. Their heaviest artillery needs to be our next priority targets. He turned back to his tactical board. Zooming in, he confirmed that those vehicles in particular were starting to make frequent, random adjustments to their previously predictable courses. Despite the extreme muzzle velocity of HQ's rooftop cannons, which were second only to the main guns of I.F. Frigates, the vast size of the battlefield made evasive maneuvers effective.

He hit his direct comm to the Command Center. "Chief, I recommend switching our big guns to cluster ammo."

"Just did."

"Chief… please… Squad 4–"

"You can't help them if you're shot down en route."

"My transport can hit Mach 9! Avoiding enemy fire—"

"Will you sacrifice your pilot?" Hasina demanded. "Even if you lasted long enough to just bail out over the combat zone, the transport would first have to drop speed, and it would not survive."

Benicio stiffened, turning toward the pilot. Lieutenant Swartley couldn't hear Hasina's half of the conversation, and he just focused on maintaining position. The Captain kicked himself for not considering the danger Swartley would've faced had he dragged permission out of Hasina. "Thanks for snapping me out of it, Chief. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"From what I've seen, the only thing that can stop you from thinking clearly is being unable to help soldiers in need. But hang in there. Enemy air assets are nearly depleted, and my few remaining drones are focusing on them. Your chance to intervene will come soon."

"Nelson, this is Fawzia-11!"

Heart pounding, Tácito answered, "Here."

"I just submitted a very short segment of Watcher footage. I advise your team to prioritize it above all other imagery."

"Flagging it now." He gestured toward his team, hundreds of armed archivists fretting and milling about in the largest room in the department. "What should we be looking for?"

"Charlotte's already left the Doctor's compound, apparently with a plan to neutralize Lamia. The details, and the conclusions of Doctor Khalil's research, were displayed on dozens of screens and holos. Rendering the footage shouldn't take long, but the total data to read is considerable."

"Understood. I'll tie in some of Renya's scientists as the footage comes available." Tácito again looked across the room. Very few of his archivists had ever faced a serious crisis. With such a vast mechanized army determined to wipe them all out, it'd be good for everyone's mental health to have a distraction. He drew his gauss pistol with trepidation, examining the weapon. He'd never so much as touched one before today.

He hoped he wouldn't need to use it.

Cursing her small size for the first time in years, Head Doctor Supriya Sharma struggled to roll her patient onto his side without shifting his lower vertebrae. The enemy knew their remaining aircraft were unlikely to get close enough to strike directly, so more and more planes and drones were shifting their attention to the front-line defenders. Multiple squads were being targeted, and injuries were starting to multiply. The men and women assigned to the Watchers had the best infantry armor ever made, providing excellent protection from shrapnel, blast forces, and unconventional threats, like biological, radiological, or microwave weapons. Further, their gear could administer advanced first aid, stabilizing a patient during the time it took a medical pod to rocket them back to HQ. But no armor was perfect, and at this rate, it was only a matter of time before her team lost a patient.

Running a quick scan, Supriya confirmed the location of the spinal fracture that threatened to paralyze Private Augustine. She carefully injected the area with painkillers, anti-inflammatories, wound healing agents, and a biomimetic foam that would reinforce the compromised vertebra. It should be enough to prevent the bone from shifting and damaging the spinal cord.

Normally, Supriya merely supervised operations, or at the very least had multiple stronger doctors and nurses on hand to assist. She no longer even owned the leg-mounted devices that elevated her height while on the clock. But the number of wounded already stretched her staff thin, and she was forced to assist a patient all on her own. Never before had the Organization needed all hands on deck, but this attack exceeded the worst fears of even the most paranoid defense planners. She could only hope that the forces trying to kill them represented the vast majority of the Watchers' detractors from all over the world. If so, then a victory today might at least prevent anyone else from trying such a thing in the future.

Lieutenant Colonel Hudson Allard fought down the impulse to give the order. The Milites forces had already suffered horrific losses, and their remaining heavy artillery fell at a steady rate. Hasina's biggest guns now fired the latest cluster munitions, making evasive maneuvers far less effective. The massive hypervelocity shells no longer tried to score direct hits. Rather, they aimed to pass over the intended targets. Shortly before reaching Hudson's forces, the shells would break open, showering smaller munitions across a wide area. Though individually far less destructive than the earlier shells, these smaller bombs still did enough damage for just one hit to potentially disable a vehicle.

Another EMP missile activated high above. Two of Hudson's tanks shut down, as minor damage to their external EM shielding had left them vulnerable, but the rest of his battalion plunged ahead. His own command transport didn't experience so much as a flicker of its internal systems, as its EM protection was especially robust.

Seeing that his remaining drones and aircraft would never reach the Watchers in sufficient numbers to overwhelm their point defenses, Hudson issued new targeting priorities. Everything but his heaviest artillery would now focus exclusively on pounding the twenty-seven defensive positions forming that wide perimeter. If they knocked out or at least occupied the tanks and field artillery shelling his forces, it'd take the pressure off the only weapons he had left that might actually win the day.

Killing the Watchers would require a one-two punch from his remaining heavy artillery. First, a volley of merculite shells would pierce the facility's armored exterior and create large internal breaches, blowing out floors and walls while exposing ventilation. Then, the second volley would flood the base with Theragen gas. An insidious compound of the latest design, it combined key traits of both chemical and biological weapons. Dispersing quickly through the human body, it recombined sugars, fluids, and key proteins to create more of itself, but far more swiftly than biological agents could reproduce. During the minutes it took for a victim to die, their every exhalation would spread more of the gas. If the injured were rescued and pulled to supposed safety, they'd spread the effect. Two days before, the secret Watcher Oliver Nguyen had reported that Hasina's facility had advanced gas containment systems. But if the opening salvo of merculite rounds did enough internal damage, such systems would fail. And only soldiers in full battlefield armor would be safe from the gas.

The agonizing choice Hudson faced was when to order the attack. His biggest artillery units had been stripped down to maximize the speed with which they closed the distance to their target, and each carried only one merculite shell and one Theragen shell. If they fired too soon, and too many shots missed, the base might be able to contain the spread of the gas. But every minute Hudson delayed giving the order, more of his big guns fell to counter battery fire. The accursed Hasina Rakoto had clearly ordered all of her longest range weaponry to prioritize Hudson's artillery. One by one his most vital assets vanished from his display or reported crippling damage.

What should I do? How long should I wait? Firing right now would surely result in an unacceptably high miss rate. Thousands had gambled their lives for this attack, and most had already paid the ultimate price. If Hudson made the wrong call, it would all be for nothing…

A sharp clink of metal on metal caught Hudson's attention, and he turned.

His jaw dropped, and he feared that the unexpected pressure of command might be causing a psychotic breakdown.

A young boy in a cartoony T-shirt stood there, grimacing in pain, and he closed his eyes. At most twelve years old, he somewhat resembled the kids Hudson grew up with in New Zealand. His skin had just a bit of color from a noticeable element of Maori in his ancestry, and he had a nasty black eye.

Then, in an instant, the boy was gone. Vanished into the ether. An obvious hallucination, throwing the Colonel into wild self-doubt.

I'm losing my mind… I'm unfit to command… But who else can–

Then he remembered the noise that had first caught his attention. He looked down, and saw a compact EMP grenade flashing.

"Fire!" he screamed, succumbing to panic as the reality of the situation sank in.

All the electronics in his transport failed, and everything went dark.

Straining his powers to the limit, pushing through the pain, and reveling in his rage against these people who wanted to kill him, Peng-24 imagined himself reaching out. This mobile artillery piece had a single soldier protecting the crew, and the man had a grenade at his belt. Increasing his MD-Δ dose, Peng felt the grenade as if he were physically present. And it was a very good thing he wasn't, because that would have made this plan very stupid.

With a sharp mental yank, Peng pulled the pin.

With the vehicle rumbling over uneven ice, and with the ground frequently shaking from detonating cluster munitions, the enemy soldier didn't even notice. A panicky voice on the comm shouted, "Fire!" and the gunner complied, not realizing there wouldn't be time for a second shot.

The explosive detonated, killing the soldier and the gunner, and badly injuring the driver with shrapnel.

Peng smiled in satisfaction.

He shot his perspective upward, taking in the sight of the largest surviving enemy battalion. He noticed that a particularly large armored transport had shut down despite showing no signs of external damage. He wondered if the crew wanted to play dead. He couldn't blame them, not after around ninety percent of the attacking army had already fallen to extreme firepower.

Who to target next?

A lot of tanks and missile systems were starting to fire, and they must be targeting Squad 4's position. At this range, hopefully they–

Every heavy artillery piece fired at once, their massive cannons at a steep elevation, aiming for a very distant target.

In a rush of cold terror, Peng knew they could only be aiming for HQ…

"Incoming! All personnel take cover! Artillery shells are incoming!"

In all his twenty-six years with the Organization, Tácito Nelson had never heard anything so scary as that. As he and his hundreds of subordinates scrambled under desks and tables, he heard the clatter of multiple dropped gauss pistols hitting the floor. He missed Klaus-21 more than ever, though admittedly, even were he here, he'd be busy Watching. Most of his Archivists weren't the sort to handle mortal danger with cool confidence, and the tension in the room was palpable. The calm, encouraging, supportive Klaus would have known just what to say to rally everyone's courage, but in that moment, the head librarian couldn't think of anything.

It was seventy-two-year-old Toshiko Yasuragi who spoke up. With power and volume Tácito hadn't heard from her in over a decade, she called out, "Our brave soldiers have been facing far worse danger from the start! Be proud to share a small part of the risk!"

Logan Walsh, the only Archivist older than Toshiko, added, "Keep it together! If the upper levels take damage, we may be needed to help move the wounded!"

Clever, Tácito thought. You subtly imply that any injuries will be elsewhere in the facility. And you might even be right about our ability to contribute. We may not be trained in search and rescue, but there are so many of us we might still–

A low rumble brought his thoughts to a standstill. Something big had struck the earth close enough to be felt sixty stories up. Another blast shook the earth, and someone screamed. Then so many shells crashed home nearby that Tácito couldn't even think straight.

The entire building shook from a direct hit, and the GLaDOS system sounded the damage report.

"Structural breach! Structural breach! Damage to Sectors 11-15 of levels 99-104!"

Another direct hit, and then another. Half of his people were wailing in panic.

"Damage to Sectors 13-19 of levels 100-105 and Sectors 2-9 of levels 81-86!"

Before today, no enemy ever got within six hundred kilometers of this facility. But now, three direct hits–

"Gas alert! Gas alert! Theragen gas has been released in Sector 2 of Level 47 and Sector 28 of Level 106!"

At least our automated gas containment measures should take care of that. Anyone near the exterior of the facility will be protected from—

"Gas containment failure! Theragen Gas has been released in Sector 19 of level 102! Local structural breaches preventing automated containment!"

With this much damage and danger to the facility, we can't all just hide… "People! We can assist in the rescue efforts!" He crawled out from under his desk, regretting his neglect of physical activity over the years. "We'll need to stay away from where the gas got into the facility, but we can still help at the other two breaches!"

He signaled Chief Rakoto, requesting that his department be given access to HQ's somewhat sparse interior security cameras. Then he turned his attention back to the other archivists. "I need able-bodied volunteers to help me go through the rubble and pull out any wounded! Everyone else, use the internal camera footage to plot routes that avoid the Theragen gas and any fires that couldn't be suppressed!" Some of his people were young and strong, and thankfully all of these were quick to volunteer, along with many others. He swiftly organized them into two teams to head toward the less dangerous breaches. It would be up to security personnel in their air-tight armor to help anyone trapped closer to the gas.

His heart pounded, and he battled serious self-doubt, but beneath it all… Tácito actually felt exhilaration. After decades of studying and cataloging footage, today would be his first opportunity to take direct action.

"Baldwin! I need that gas neutralized or expelled!"

"Understood, Chief!" Renya replied. "My team will need full access to blast doors and ventilation controls!"

"Granted!"

Returning to her station, Renya started issuing orders. A lot of her people were badly shaken, and a few simply refused to come out of cover, but most returned to their terminals. "The gas is slightly heavier than air, so any of it that we blow outside shouldn't risk our people on the roof! Expel as much of the gas as possible! As for any that's gotten deeper into the facility, try to redirect airflow into the hazardous materials sector of Chemical Processing!"

A message flashed on her screen, informing her that two teams of archivists were heading toward the breaches that weren't near the gas. "Heads up, people! We've got unarmored friendlies moving into the danger zone to extract the wounded! Be sure to take their positions into account when redirecting the gas!"

As her people split between the assigned tasks, she opened a channel to Julien Thompson, head of Chemical Processing.

"Thompson here."

"How much sulfuric acid do you have on hand?"

"Not much, but we could produce it in bulk very quickly if needed."

"Do so. I need hazmat teams ready to spray it in mist form! My people aren't likely to contain all of the Theragen gas, and directly neutralizing any that we miss will be up to your department."

"Understood. We're also preparing chambers to contain and neutralize any gas you redirect to us."

Never before had Renya been forced to work a problem this quickly, but a thrill of purpose buzzed through her. After decades of meticulous research, study, and engineering, it fell on her team to save the entire facility from this attack. She'd never thought of herself as good under pressure, but with so many lives at stake, she felt a steely focus taking over. With so many others throwing themselves into protecting the Watchers, this was her chance to stand as one of them.

"Sharma to Taibei!"

Wilma tore her eyes away from the black smoke billowing up from the gaping wounds in the side of HQ. "Taibei here." She was gratified that her voice stayed steady, despite the animal terror that had seethed within her when the shells rained down. The enemy must have fired too early, for the majority of their shots had missed. If that hadn't been the case, or if even one shell had landed directly on the roof…

"We have teams pulling wounded out of the rubble, and I need you in the Infirmary!" Doctor Sharma said. "Choose two other doctors and six nurses to come with you! With so many patients incoming, we can't afford to keep so many of you on the roof!"

For the briefest moment, Wilma almost objected. With the danger of enemy attacks striking the roof, it felt cowardly to retreat deep into the facility. But she knew that someone needed to go, and there was no time to waste arguing. "Understood. En route."

Three more medical pods landed as Wilma rounded up the requested number of doctors and nurses. Ordering them to get to the Infirmary at the quickest pace they could manage, she shot ahead of the majority. Two nurses in their twenties overtook her, but she pushed to keep them within sight. Even with their advanced armor to stabilize their condition, any soldiers pulled from the rubble might need prompt treatment to survive. It had been a decade since she'd last been directly involved in a life-saving operation, but today that would change. This Organization is made up of the best and brightest mankind has to offer. It's an honor to be needed on our darkest day.

Gasping and sweaty, Charlotte climbed shakily into the ATV. Sheer willpower could only do so much to overcome poor physical stamina, and the run through Doctor Khalil's facility had been brutal. Now, though, she could rest. The ATV started up and moved through the garage, and the exit door began to rise.

Just before the vehicle shot outside, the passenger door opened, and Maximus jumped in. His door shut just as the ATV accelerated.

"What?" Charlotte demanded, still winded from her run. "Why… how…"

"You're not going alone," Maximus said, his voice steady despite running even faster than Charlotte to catch up.

Charlotte wanted to insist that she most certainly was going alone, but the ATV had already hit two hundred KPH and she'd never seen vehicle controls like this. In fairness, she'd never driven anything, having been Inducted at age 11. "Stop this thing…" she gasped, her side still aching, "or I'll hack the system."

"No you won't," Maximus said calmly. The infuriating young man wasn't even sweating. "If you did, you'd be risking the life of a random innocent Unwanted."

Confused, she didn't even try to respond, focusing instead on catching her breath.

The young man continued. "I'm sure your crazy futuristic implants could hack the car and stop us, but you cannot make me get out. I'm almost twice your size, I'm easily four times as strong, and I've thought this through. You can't talk me out of this. Stopping the car will just waste precious time. How would you feel if an Unwanted was murdered because of that?"

Charlotte looked into the boy's eyes. Calm, certain, determined. A bit like her.

A bit like Klaus.

She ordered her implants to prevent any remote changes to the ATV's autopilot. Dr. Khalil's people wouldn't be able to stop the car without Charlotte allowing it. She would hear Max out.

"What have you thought through?" By speaking softly, she managed to get the sentence out without taking a huge breath at the halfway point.

Max set his eyes forward, watching as the ATV zipped down the road, and then headed into the woods. "There's only one other Watcher as powerful as you, so if your mission fails, there'll be only one more chance to get it right."

"That Watcher… is a child."

Max nodded. "Ok then. This makes it even more important that you make this work. Innocent lives are at stake, and you'll have only one chance. You'll need to do something that's only ever been done once, by someone else, in much safer circumstances and over a much shorter distance."

Though her voice still quavered, Charlotte had at least recovered enough to speak clearly. "Are you trying to damage my confidence? It's not as if you can help me perform physical projection with an unwilling passenger."

"No," Max admitted. "Not directly. But I can remove a major obstacle for you, and at the same time prevent a random stranger from being used as bait."

That took Charlotte aback. Max had paid rapt attention during the final stages of planning, and no one had discussed using anyone as "bait." The ATV came upon another road, and the ride grew less bumpy. "Explain."

Still keeping his eyes forward Max said, "Your current plan for making physical contact with Lamia is way too much of a gamble. Without knowing where or even when Lamia will appear, you'll have to stay vigilant, perhaps for hours, constantly on the lookout for the shimmer of a gateway. Then, you'll have to get into position before Lamia comes through, or else you'll just get murdered for nothing. No offense, but based on how rough that little jog obviously was for you, there's no guarantee that you can get to the gate fast enough. If the Unwanted being kidnapped doesn't put up a fight, Lamia might be able to come through quick. And what if Lamia appears on the far side of the stream, or arrives by boat?"

"I could project myself to get into position faster," Charlotte said, though she couldn't hide her uncertainty. Max gave her an incredulous look, and she felt herself blushing. Tiring her mind before attempting something so difficult, and with such high stakes, would be downright irresponsible if there was any alternative. Cautiously, she asked, "What exactly can you do to help?"

"I'll remove the entire first step of the plan, while ensuring that we don't endanger a random kid who has no knowledge of what we're doing. You avoided mentioning it during the planning stage, but Lamia might only come to the Dying Zone if she intends to murder an Unwanted."

Baffled, Charlotte didn't even ask. Maximus said he'd thought this through. The onus was on him to explain his plan in a way that Charlotte would accept.

The ATV again left pavement, entering the forest that would take them to the Dying Zone. With a deep breath, Max finally laid it out. "My time is very close. I'd already be Unwanted if I weren't resisting. So… we use it. I'll be bait, and I'll ensure that Lamia appears very close to you."

"You… you can't mean…"

"Yeah. Once we reach the heart of the Dying Zone, I'll stop resisting the change. I'll become Unwanted, then my successor will summon Lamia and run for his life. She'll do one of her gateway things close to me. This will maximize your chance to make contact before she notices you, and the only Unwanted to face danger will be someone who chose to take that risk. Someone who can be proud, instead of scared."

Charlotte fell silent. Her instinct was to refuse. She was almost twice his age, and he had so many disabled younger "brothers" to care for. But she forced herself to think more fairly. Three of the security personnel back at HQ were Max's age, and Private Anderson was even younger. They might all be facing combat right now. And Lamia might come for Khalil's institute at any time, including all of Max's Unwanted. Could Charlotte deny him the right to take this risk for the sake of so many?

With a final, underhanded gambit, Maximus asked, "Isn't this what Klaus would have done, if he were in my position?"

The boy had guessed right. A stab of anguish hit Charlotte, the pang of loss so sharp and fresh that she had to fight back tears. "Very well, Eighth Maximus. We'll go with your plan. I'll allow you to face this danger… so that I can have the best chance of removing Lamia from your world."

"And so that you'll have the best chance of survival," Max insisted, turning to meet her gaze. His bruised jaw looked very painful. "You're irreplaceable, Charlotte. There's only one other Watcher as powerful as you, and your kind will be more important than ever going forward. By projecting yourself to other planets, you can connect all human colonies. You're precious."

Forcing herself to stay calm, Charlotte nodded. "And if this goes horribly wrong? If I fail to project Lamia offworld, or if she reacts too quickly?"

"Then I'll meet the same fate as you. Charlotte-17, the heroic Watcher who risked her life trying to save all Unwanted. There are way worse things to die for, and my replacement will take care of my younger selves."

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Charlotte whispered, "Klaus would've loved you."

Briefly, Max's determined tone softened. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Anya too, I suspect."

"Cool…?"

"She's your age, and even stronger."

"Whoa. Very cool."

Charlotte then transmitted her implants' recordings of this conversation to Dr. Khalil, so everyone would know what Maximus had done, and why.

Just in case.