“Do the job.” Part 2
This continues from “Do the job.”
The previous installment set the scene: Bishop and a team of mercenaries have set down on Parc-3 ostensibly to provide additional security for the ISEC campus there.
Read on to see how the story continues.
Bishop stared, arms crossed, scanned the bank of displays that covered the wall in front of him, his eyes flitting from screen to screen. “This is every security feed in the city?”
“If it A) Takes pictures, and B) Hooks into the municipal network, we’ve got it,” the tech promised him, panning through the network. The woman glanced back at him, a look of professional curiosity on her face. “We’re looking for possible infiltration routes?”
Bishop stared down at her, unmoved. “Something like that,” he said at last to reassure her. “Get this data feed to my analysts and schedule core time for an AI — at least six hours, 75% load.”
“Yes, Commander,” the tech responded. Her voice had that tone computer jockeys always took when they felt he co-opted too much computing power for a relatively simple algorithm. In this case it would be a path tracker running a simple space-check filter to check for any traversible gaps in areas otherwise considered impassable.
At least, that’s what it would have been if he gave a shit about infiltration.
Back in his makeshift office — a Valkyrie-class gunship with the words Armed to the Teeth painted on her nose — he pulled up Hind’s core scheduling interface to load the AI he needed for the project.
“Naomi,” he barked into his comlink.
“Commander?” she answered — sounded like she was rubbing sleep from her eyes. What time was it, anyway?
“I need you to take point on this. Get me two other good sets of eyes and provide oversight for any results the AI returns.”
There was a short silence before Naomi asked, incredulous: “Now?”
“Yes, now — wake them up and get to work.”
Bishop looked up from his terminal as the measured thump of combat boots approached on the deck outside. His eyes watched through the open sliding door of the gunship. “Sergeant,” he said in greeting, keeping his voice low.
Sergeant Pirsin’s dark face beamed a black grin. “You can pull the wool over on those Market Section apes, Commander, but I’ve worked with the SS even longer than you,” he said, planting one boot in the gunship and resting his elbows on his knee. “What fucked up plot do you have cooking?”
Bishop raised one eyebrow, glancing back at his terminal before shutting it down. He said nothing.
“Phony communications for the commissioner, a midnight call to your favorite intel spook, and six hours of prime time on Hind’s central processing cores? You’re up to something.” The sergeant paused, calculating. “That’d be at least a G-class AI, and given our stated mission parameters…”
“G15,” Bishop confessed, putting his feet up and leaning back. “Limited-scope AV snooping, with an enhanced social network heuristic.”
“You’ve hooked a G15 into the municipal network to track a few riots?”
“You know better than that.”
“Damn right I do.” Pirsin drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms in that I-will-not-be-moved manner that Bishop had come to hate in their years of uneasy alliance. “This isn’t sweep and clear, Bishop. This is a peacekeeping operation. We’re dealing with civilians, not enemy combatants.”
Bishop glared at the sergeant, his jaw tightening. “Is this gonna ruin my day, Sergeant? You gonna start a mutiny on me?”
Pirsin kept up a laconic silence, refusing to give any answer. That was all the answer Bishop wanted.
“Good. I need you to make sure we have shooters with trigger time and a strong sense of getting paid. And make no fucking mistake: this is not a peacekeeping operation. Our orders are to make this go away.”
Bonus points for anyone who can identify any of the three quotes and references in this passage.