Chapter 67 – Ports of Call

  Cole had never seen the staging area so packed. At least five other teams were going in, including Morganstern with her three-man team, Hard Tone, who was coordinating the mission with Deadlight and a third high-level Kicker, and two unfamiliar teams jumping into the first three floors in case Beth Black hadn’t found her way to the safe floor yet. Those two teams looked at Cole with a mix of awe and fear.

  He nudged Roxy. “What’s their deal?”

  Roxy looked over. “Well, we did shoot up in the levels faster than anyone expected. Two worlds under our belt and we’re already level fourteen.”

  “I’m only level thirteen,” he corrected Roxy.

  Someone bumped him from behind, and he turned to see Morganstern, carrying Ram-head’s pole-axe. She jutted out her lower lip and took an infantile tone. “Naaawww, so sad,” and then smirked. “Let me put it this way: Most Kickers don’t even have classes when they come out of Curahee. They’ve been on twice as many missions as you have, and they’re level ten. Did you think it was typical to wipe out giants, mages, mid-level knights, and entire fortress garrisons on your first day? Smart Kickers look for a way to disengage from those situations and call in the cavalry.”

  Roxy nodded. “Face it, Cole. We’re a fucking wrecking ball.”

  Nutmeg came up and nuzzled his hand, so he gave her some scritches as he turned to Besson, who shrugged. “I was only ever planning on doing recon with Nutmeg. Figured she and I could avoid fighting ninety percent of the time. You’re a combat magnet.”

  Cole huffed. “I hadn’t much considered that. Being in scout platoon meant regular contact and exchange of fire with Glefa mercs." He looked at Morganstern. “You come over just to give us shit?”

  “I did come over to give you shit, actually,” she said. She hefted a pouch and put it in his open hand. He opened it up and saw an array of off-white discs inside the size of his thumb.

  “Money?”

  “Babel bucks. Dallemonte’s own company scrip. Monsters there drop these, and they can be used as currency or absorbed for experience—but only in Babel. The lifers stuck there use them as trade, but Kickers pool the excess we bring back to use as a safety net for the next trip.”

  She offered a sarcastic salute and went back to her team. Hard Tone whistled a second later, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Alright! Let’s go, by teams. Highest floors first. Make sure you’ve got your kit squared away and stick together. Let’s find Beth and bring her home safe and sound.” She hefted her launcher and nodded to Cole, leaving her thanks unsaid, but acknowledged all the same. There were about twenty other Kickers present besides his own team. Which made this op almost half the active roster. And of those, he had only been able to meet about half of the teams going.

  The light above the steel doors started to spin and the doors slid open with a trilling siren. To the side, Jefferson fired up the forklift that had all of their equipment that was too heavy to heft outside a Lewis Field and eased it onto the ramp. The kickers followed behind. Once the doors closed behind them, the second alarm blared. Cole looked up to the control room window to see Director Bricker with his arms crossed. He leaned forward and began to speak.

  “Engaging Lewis Field. Stay safe out there, everyone.”

  Cole felt his enhancements slowly come online, sharpening his senses and flooding his body with strength. The tiny stars of power within him came to life, burning with energy, waiting to be sculpted into Meteoric Leaps and Field Strips. He went to the pallet with the other Kickers, helping to pull off the strapping so that everyone could grab the packs they were now capable of lifting.

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  Cole found Howie’s first, with the mortar tube and baseplate strapped to the outside. He handed it back and grabbed Roxy’s and Besson’s, handing both back to their owners. His own assault pack with the sheathed speed-boosting sword was next to hand, and he shrugged into it. Then he put on the heat-reflecting cloak that Jefferson had issued to each person going to that stretch of floors. They’d help keep them from heat casualties in the harsh environment, as well as help them conceal their weapons and equipment.

  Nona’s pack was behind his, and he picked up the relatively light pack and handed it back to the woman. She took it, still stumbling a bit under the weight. Apparently, her strength enhancement metric was an abysmal .05, so even in a full-strength Lewis Field, she was only a little over 50% stronger than usual at her current level. Cole could work around it. The woman seemed to have no issue using her ability to cross large distances and sneak in and out of anywhere she pleased.

  “You good?” He asked. “Got all your parts back?”

  A half-smile creased one corner of her mouth. Progress!

  “Holy shit,” said Roxy, tightening her straps. “Those lips can curve up?”

  The smile vanished but reappeared when Nutmeg found her way under Nona’s fingers.

  “Call it 80%,” Cole said, watching the woman. Having a soul schism like that on a world with no Lewis Field had to be a uniquely awful experience. He turned to the others. “Howie, Rox, how are your guns?”

  Howie hefted the twenty-millimeter cannon with the top-mounted magazine. It was a heavy gun, even with the short, reciprocating barrel. “Solid. Ready to burn and-slash-or freeze some bitches.”

  Roxy worked the new action on her four-barreled shotgun, sliding the new cylinder smoothly out and back in. “Smooth as butter.”

  Besson had his otherworld belt-fed gun, only upgraded with the carbine barrel from Curahee. But Cole had a box of parts for potential tinkering when they made camps. Nona was the only one of them still carrying an Earth-made gun.

  “Portal one, opening in sixty seconds. Teams for floors ten through twelve, standby.”

  Hard Tone whistled again. “My guys, on me!” she said. “Line up, roll up left sleeves.”

  Her Kickers filed in behind her, some of them grumbling as they exposed their arms for the medics. Each of them received a shot in the arm, and Hard Tone held her arm above her head. “For you newbies, this tracker implant is your port of call. This is what turns the safe-room portal at the end of your floor set into a return-to-sender. It also enhances your 5G signal and lets you speak to trees. Before you go, you will tell the medics your full name and which set of floors you will be going to, just to make extra, extra sure everyone’s got their head on straight and gets the right implant.”

  “Don’t lose an arm. Check,” said Roxy.

  “Someone better remind Han,” said Howie.

  “That’s not funny!” she hissed. But Cole caught a chuckle coming from Besson, who shrugged when Cole raised an eyebrow at him.

  Hard Tone’s team finished getting their implants about the time a yellow mote of light began to spark in the portal pit below. It flashed, expanding to a swirling pool of energy. The first team took their positions while the second got their implants one by one. Hard Tone thrust her thumb in the air toward the control room, and Bricker came back on.

  “Good luck, everyone. Enter at your discretion.”

  The high-level Kickers stepped through the glowing disc. A few moments later, the portal winked out, and it was Morganstern and the rest of the mid-level Kickers getting implants.

  “Portal 2, opening in sixty seconds. Teams for floors seven through nine, standby.

  The mid-levels walked down the ramp as the mote reappeared. A few of them were working their arms in circles. The shot clearly wasn’t painless.

  “Bad time to mention I’m afraid of needles?” asked Howie.

  “Don’t you have, like, three tattoos?” asked Roxy.

  “Little ones,” he said, holding his hands a few inches apart. Cole just rolled his eyes. ‘Little’ included a whole-ass Chinese dragon circling Howie’s forearm. He was just being a wise-ass to kill time until their turn. Once the portal expanded enough to accommodate Morganstern and her team, the mid-levels were gone.

  “Portal 3, opening in sixty seconds. Teams for floors four through six, standby.”

  Despite Howie’s joking, Cole noticed it was Besson dragging his feet at the end of the line, with the normally calm Nutmeg shivering slightly beside him. Cole smiled. That tracks, he thought. Always the toughest-looking guys with the biggest fears of spiders, needles, or deep water.

  The medic approached him as Cole slid his left sleeve up.

  “Name?” She asked.

  “Amos Colton, floors four through six.”

  She nodded and held out the applicator. The sensation of getting the implant was a hot jab that was worse than his first Anthrax vaccine series dose. But he kept his expression neutral. The portal began forming as Moriarty’s team was getting the last of their shots.

  Cole looked up at Director Bricker, who looked down, leaning on his knuckles to see through the window. “Clear to proceed. Good luck.”

  Cole descended down into the pit until the golden disc was swirling just a few inches from his face. Then, he took a deep breath and stepped through.