Monsoon – Chapter 1 “Sinister”

Chapter 1, so far. Still a work in progress.

---

Benjamin Harlowe jolted awake as if a switch had been flipped. The abrupt silence was more jarring than any alarm, a heavy, oppressive quiet that pressed down on him like a weight. He blinked, his Neural Extension (NEX) implant flickering to life and painting a cruel [03:28] across his field of vision, [WEATHER: CALM. 73F. etc…] He blinked to clear the notifications, the cold blue numbers lingering in his mind’s eye, and yawned. The usual symphony of distant murmurs and muffled music was gone. Nothing left but an oppressive, unnatural stillness. He decidedly did not like it.

Then the whirring cut through the silence, followed by the telltale Doppler effect of something flying past his window. The searchlight’s harsh beam sliced through the darkness, casting stark shadows traveling across the room. K Sims stirred beside him but didn’t wake. Her usually fire was softened by sleep, her face relaxed and unguarded.

“Goddamn. Third time this week,” Ben muttered, rolling over and sending a cascade of clutter to the floor.

He pushed himself up and peered outside. The Buzzards were out in force tonight, their lights sweeping over every Hab. The rises loomed like silent sentinels, their darkened windows reflecting the harsh beams of the searchlights. They moved like a swarm of mechanical insects, methodically scanning the units. It always sent a shiver down his spine.

One Buzzard paused in front of a unit four levels up, its light turning an angry red. Ben tensed. The amplified voice of the drone patrol crackled through the air, metallic and authoritative.

“District 37, section 5, Community Patrol, unit 492 requesting David Urtz, ID number 77836998, open your door immediately and step out of the Hab.” The command echoed through the rises, waking everyone who wasn’t already sitting in darkness waiting for the threat to fade.

Ro sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Jesus, again? I’mma bout to bust someone’s ass,” she yawned, her voice heavy with sleep but still carrying that edge.

“Yeees ma’am!” Ben laughed, lighting a cigarette as he watched the scene unfold, “I know it’s just a soulless machine, piloted by some plebe somewhere, but I swear it looks pissed.”

“It’s the eyes… the lights, they look like goddamn glowing bug eyes,” she said through a long yawn, “and don’t you ma’am me, Benji!” she reached out and mock-punched him in the shoulder. Ben made a sound like a dog howling while giving her a snarky look. Only Ro could call him that.

“Kinda hate those things,” Ben muttered with a sigh, recalling his own encounter with one of the hateful tin cans. He had gotten shot up by one that got a bit too interested during one of Orion’s operations. Injured, and nearly pinned down on the rooftops of an industrial complex, his team had to literally start throwing shit to get it off them. Ben managed to pull its attention with a brick that was holding down a tarp nearby. He hurled the brick. It careened off the drone and crashed through a skylight. Whatever exploded below was enough to knock the unsuspecting Buzzard out of stable flight, and into a nearby stack. At least the bullet storm stopped, swapped for a shower of debris. So much for stealth though. It was supposed to be a simple covert installation of some Harvester transceiver nodes, but turned into a debacle that put half of the team out of commission for months. Ben touched the scar on his left arm where he took a teflon coated alloy round from that fucking drone. He thought about the carbon-titanium nano-composite just below the 3d-printed synthetic muscle. That arm was now stronger than it had ever been, and you’d never know by looking at it. He stared at his hand and flexed it slowly, still marveling how it felt like the one he was born with.

Ben snapped back to the present as the hatch to Urtz’s unit slid open with the screech of metal on metal. No one made the drones wait; that never ended well. Ben scanned the other Habs. Many were in lockdown mode, with curtains drawn or security grates in place. Lights were all off, turning the rises into a forest of darkened rectangles. Someone’s early warning system had clearly worked this time. Ro joined him at the window, leaning on his shoulder.

“What do you think he did?” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck, tinged with the scent of whiskey.

“Urtz? Probably some stupid shit,” Ben said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Always is.”

[IN MSG: CYRUS] flashed in the corner of Ben’s vision. He tapped his temple to acknowledge.

[“Yo Sin, big up. Sitch poppin’ off – Op imminent. Clock’s tickin’. Buzz got eyes ’round. Gotta pivot fast. Meet @Spot Z, 0400 sharp. Bring the kit. Radio silence. Cy out.”]

Still a bit groggy, he almost tapped out a response on his comm, then “radio silence” registered. Shit must be hitting the fan.

“Ro…” – he started, but she cut him off. He didn’t realize he’d been staring out the window for a while.

“You got somewhere to be, I know. You been staring a hole in that window wit your laser focus eyes or some shit.” she said in an understanding tone. She could read his mind before he knew what he was thinking.

“I gotta bounce, Ro. Cy needs me at HQ.” he said while choking down a partial glass of Myco by the bedside. “And they don’t have lasers, not yet anyway.”

Ben watched the last tendrils of smoke curl up from his cigarette before stubbing it out next to the empty glass. He grimaced as the amber liquid worked it’s way down. “How does she drink this stuff?” he thought. The earthy, fungal taste clung to his tongue, a stark contrast to his favorite Crux blended algal distillate. Ro adored the fungal type, always praising its “complexity” and “modern edge,” but to Ben, it tasted like the damp forest floor after a rain.

“Fermented mycelium is god-awful Ro.” he said shaking his head. To each their own, I guess,” he mused, pushing the glass away and letting his mind drift back to the problems at hand.

Ro just shrugged with a smirk. “Beats that green salad water you drink.” Her head ached with a thumping that she swore matched the music from the night before.

Outside they could hear Urtz shouting at the Buzzard, “Ayo, I ain’t fin stand no Buzz shadin’ mine! Git off goddamn fash bas…”

“Resident, please comply.” The Buzzard interrupted flatly, void of emotion, some sort of weapon slowly sliding out from a port in the body of the drone. Urtz fell silent. “Accept the citation and report to the CPF office at the apportioned time. Your interrogation session is…”

Ben shut the security grate with a button press on the wall. You could yell at the things all you wanted, but just don’t ever run from them. You won’t win.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this op, Ro.” he said as he pulled on his pants. Active camo flashed through a few variants as the clothing’s system synced up with his NEX. “I told Cy I needed another week to prepare. We needed to line up all the assets, and vet the candidate – ” She stood up in front of him and cut him off.

“Benji boy. You got this. Per usual, I don’t wanna know what you doin’—what the op is. Safer for me that way, innit? You go do your commando shit, and come back safe, k? We get shit faced then; have a good time. Party party, but lagom,” she said in that melodic polyglottal accent she had.

Ben smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. They both knew this shit was dangerous, and probably stupid. Orion’s mission was ambitious, some thought it was lunacy, and likely to get people killed. He was by no means immune to that.

“I’ve got work in the morning. They don’t like it when I come in hungover. I’ll see you tonight, Ace.” He kissed her, gathered his gear, a black tactical bag with a bio-lock keyed to him, and left. Ro never asked what was in that thing. She knew not to.