41
Tyrus Rechs studied the once-futuristic high-rise in the center of the Heights section of Detron. Lyra was feeding him data off the hack she’d run on the city’s database. All normal stuff. Floors. Basement levels. Grid access entry points.
Rattclopp’s datapad had pointed Rechs here, to this loc. And now Rechs was doing the meat and potatoes of bounty hunting: surveillance. Which was best done with patience. But the time for that was all but gone. In fact, who knew if it hadn’t run out already? Maybe the last legionnaire and the marine had already been executed and the streams recorded for release at politically opportune moments.
But he had to play as though they were still alive. Had to think they still had a chance. And any chance Rechs saw for them involved him storming the old Excelsior Arms high-rise Rattclopp’s device indicated was the latest holding point.
That didn’t look like it was going to be easy. Not if everything he’d collected off the device along with what he’d observed on the ground in the area of operation proved to be true.
The bottom levels were teeming with the low-level Soshies, the protesting kids constantly streaming in and out and heading off with more supplies for the rioters or more pamphlets or whatever else they deemed crucial for victory in their cause. Not that they would be a problem. In fact, the marines probably already had a handle on the location and had identified it as some type of command node for the Soshies, even though Rechs saw no SLICs or conspicuous observation bots.
Of course, the House of Reason had probably ordered the hullbusters to leave the hornets’ nest alone. Because of these kids. Republic citizens. Untouchable.
The Soshies, or at least the pros, had to know that, too. So you’d expect them to act without concern or care that an old SLIC full of marines loaded for bear might arrive at their locale and begin dishing out violence. Only that’s not what Rechs saw. The pros were guarding the entrances and the adjoining streets looking ready for just such a scenario to occur. And to Tyrus Rechs, that meant that it was likely the legionnaire and the marine prisoners were inside.
Somewhere.
There was also a sizable quick reaction force located in an abandoned department store. Rechs could see the team jocked up inside through the few large windows that weren’t boarded up. They were on their feet with nervous energy. Ready to go. And in a couple of rundown towers that had once competed for pride of place until the Excelsior had been built, Rechs saw sniper teams, shooter and spotter, working what looked like high-speed gear.
Parked by the curb were several two-panel sleds that most likely concealed heavy blaster teams ready to lay down fire and clear the street when it was time to evac. Add in what looked like a well-armed force of pros in the lobby, mingling with the kids and ready to use the unsuspecting resisters as human shields, and taking the building head-on was going to prove bloody and costly.
That about covered the lower levels.
And then there were the top five floors.
All of the windows up there had been covered in IR-masking spray. To the naked eye they merely looked badly tinted. But the masking spray denied observation on the imaging spectrum while also generating its own scrambling signal. In fact, using electronic surveillance to scan those floors literally hurt Rechs’s eyes.
And on top of all that, there was probably a team inside ready to do the prisoners, rather than lose them, at the first sign of a meaningful firefight.
Rechs switched off imaging and settled back into the shadows of an alley far down the street. It was time to think this out.
They were totally in control.
So…
Force them to a new location.
The bounty hunter considered what he could do to make that happen.
42
Baldur literally soared though the air and brought down the runner.
They’d just finished searching another hideout. One of the Soshies’ holdings his brothers had used to hunker in for a few hours. Again, the site had gone dead, but the feeling someone had just been there was so palpable, it was as though it could be reached out and touched.
Puncher, with the SAB unlimbered, threaded the darkness. Scanning on all spectrums of the leej armor for IEDs.
The armor should’ve spotted it. Should’ve caught it in the detection scan and then alerted Puncher via a heads-up message inside his bucket.
But it was Baldur’s barking that alerted him.
“What?” asked Puncher. Over audio. His voice dialed in low. They still weren’t bonded enough for reliable two-way telepathic communication.
Explosives in walls. Connected to floor.
An image of a pressure plate flashed across Puncher’s mind. They’d rigged the building to blow so when the marines showed up they’d get some kills. He’d call them animals, but animals didn’t deserve being compared to low-life anarchist sketbags who blew people up rather than fight like men.
“Where?”
The dog made it clear, nose pointed exactly where the pressure plate was in the floor, burning brown eyes staring intently at the spot.
“Okay,” said Puncher slowly. “Place is rigged. Let’s back out, boy, and pick up the trail somewhere else.”
Let them know.
The dog meant the marines. He knew they’d come here, or someone would, eventually. The dog didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Baldur had seen enough of that, and it bothered him.
“I will,” said Puncher.
Yeah, the legionnaire thought to himself. Animals can be way better at being human sometimes than some actual humans.
They left the building the same way they’d come in, re-checking everything, taking no chances. Then they circled around the outside of the structure looking for the exit the capture team had taken.
That was when they spotted the pro. He was coming back. Probably forgot something. His team had made the next hideout, and now he was headed back on foot to get something that had been left in the mad rush
