Motherland by Russ Linton

Motherland by Russ Linton

Author:Russ Linton [Linton, Russ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Military Science Fiction, virus, bitcoin, computer virus, Military, superpowers, Science Fiction, cryptocurrency, superhero thriller, technothriller, superhero
Publisher: Russ Linton
Published: 2017-06-26T23:00:00+00:00


ACCORDING TO PROTOCOL, we have our briefing. Eric has prepared a nice little presentation which he walked us through on a tablet. He's done a good — no, amazing — job putting together a profile of the area and even pronouncing the names in what sounded to my wuxia-trained ear as traditional Mandarin.

We're headed to a mountainside factory in far north China near the border of Russia and one of the "stans." He's identified a daily supply shipment and timed our arrival to coincide with its schedule. Otherwise, we'll need to sneak in, probably after sunset.

There’s a warehouse sucking enough juice to light a city and Eric figures that’s where the miners are. But there’s one building onsite which he couldn’t access. No data link to the outside world which he found strange because the rest of the place was wired up everywhere. It’s our main target.

At least Eric nixed the every-fifteen-minute check-in idea. With Shortwave's power profile having undergone some tweaks, he smugly reminds us we don't want to risk compromising our location. He reports everything with an air of indifference, unwilling to acknowledge me. That is, until he shoves a messenger bag my way. I begin to check the contents, and he slaps my hand.

"Ow!"

"Your gear," he sniffs. "Don't open it around her." He casts an accusatory look toward Aurora. "The field case is only shielded when closed."

"Thanks."

He doesn't reply, just looks at the case and goes back inside. Not sure how long I can put up with drama queen Eric or how to make things right. His departure must signal to Danger and Aurora it's time to go because without warning, we're shimmering out of existence.

Post-teleport wooziness this time radiates to odd points on the soles of my feet. I pick a spot on the ground and focus, trying to stop the spin. Normally works, though this time, I see nothing but a sheer drop off a mountainside.

Danger steadies me. I give a thankful nod and wonder if he foresaw me cliff diving. Could be he was just being helpful. Whichever it was, he remains unreadable.

"Bigger jumps, distance, altitude, bigger adjustment,” Danger says. “You get used to it."

"It's quite lovely," says Aurora in her spectral tone.

Aurora steps off the edge of the cliff, already in tourist mode. She'd take a picture if she wouldn't fry the camera. I wonder if she'd be okay with a film camera or if her aura would destroy the negatives. I take one giant step in the other direction before enjoying the view.

Our tour guide is right. A teardrop lake the uniform color of dish soap rests between mountains. No beaches, water crept into this valley on a moonless night long ago. Near perfect pyramids of earth stud the banks, covered in trees. Granite ridges peer over these, striped with age and wearing the speckled snow of a black and white TV that's lost its horizontal hold.

"Lovely," I say, trying to sound all business. "Where's this factory?"

Aurora quirks her head and points. I trace the line of her gossamer hand and notice a road down the slope, ribboning along the mountain side.



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