The Lost Stars: Tarnished Knight

Watching it happen, Drakon remembered the strange feeling of exhilaration that came with being invisible in a stealth suit, an elation that had to be carefully controlled because it could so easily lead to mistakes that would reveal your presence. Bumping against something, or someone bumping against you, a misstep that created too much noise and vibration, even the faint breeze created by your movement that could alert age-old instincts in humans. Defensive training for sentries emphasized paying attention to such almost subliminal alerts. If you feel a faint wind when there shouldn’t be a wind, it may be the last thing you feel. And if sentries or others were alerted inside an installation like this, defenses could flood important passageways and rooms with mists designed to make it easy to spot the shapes of anyone wearing even the best stealth suits.

But these commandos were experienced and careful, and the people they encountered did not seem to be concerned about attack. Had Colonel Dun told them what she was doing? Perhaps not. More than one sub-CEO and CEO operated on the philosophy that it was easier to keep workers in the dark. Once you start explaining things, one of them had once admonished Drakon after catching him briefing his unit, they’ll start expecting reasons for whatever they’re told to do instead of just doing it.

His eyes flicked from virtual window to virtual window in a constant dance, seeing the commandos’ progress in a dozen different areas. One section had already reached the primary load control center, fanning out to take positions from which they could instantly disable every bulk transport system. Another was inside a room holding emergency backup controls and circuits, the room completely automated so that the commandos could load in software that blocked functions without alerting the control-system software guardians.

As Morgan slowly turned a corner, the view from her suit showed a small hallway where a soldier stood on bored sentry at an access panel. On one arm he wore a metabolic cuff, designed to automatically sound alarms if it were removed without the proper codes or if the sentry’s metabolism showed signs of severe stress. Drakon had never forgotten the sentry in his unit who had arranged a hookup during a late-night shift, not realizing that the metabolic excitement generated by sex could set off his cuff. That sentry had doubtless never forgotten it either; but then, he had been lucky he hadn’t been shot the next day.

The section with her followed as Morgan took several quick strides to the sentry, who just had time to glance around with a perplexed look before one of the commandos slammed a disabler into his arm. The soldier’s body spasmed, his voluntary muscle control abruptly cut off while involuntary functions like breathing and heartbeat continued unhindered. The cuff produced no warning as the sentry was gently lowered to the floor, then the commandos were going through into the secure area containing the facility’s command center and Colonel Dun’s offices.

Most of Malin’s sections were in position and he was leading the rest in a rush toward the rear of the secure area to cut off any attempt at escape. Morgan’s sections were spreading fast through the secure area, dropping the occasional roving sentry before the guards knew they faced any danger. The lucky sentries, those wearing metabolic cuffs, were left helpless but alive. The unlucky ones died silently and swiftly.

Drakon’s eyes went to stress monitors, seeing that the commandos were feeling the strain of the quick movement, of the long approach, of the unnatural gliding stride necessary to reduce the sounds of steps while in a stealth suit. It all wore out anyone pretty fast, even someone as well conditioned as these troops.

But everything was going perfectly.

Until one of the stealth suits failed.

To the workers kicking back as they watched equipment readouts in the transport control center, it was if a soldier in light combat armor suddenly appeared in their midst. The smart ones froze, even their breathing coming to a temporary halt, prehistoric instinct telling them that the only way to survive the attack of a predator was to remain absolutely motionless.

But one of the workers was either brave, or she panicked, slamming the emergency-alert button next to her hand before any of the soldiers could react. An instant later her head rocked under a brutal blow from a weapon’s butt end and she collapsed, still alive only because Drakon had ordered the commandos to kill workers only if there was no alternative.

Red lights pulsed and alarms thundered, bringing everyone on the facility to full alert. “Move!” Morgan shouted, and her commandos broke into full runs, no longer using the concealment stride.