Crack in the Kill Code (AmpCore #2)

35 - A Private Little War

Right now, Arrow Gibbs didn't know what to do.

They lounged in an armchair, sipping at an expensive gin purloined from the Skiltron stores, and brooding. The war room had moved from the first safe house, out to one of the company's larger field offices in the heart – a glass-fronted behemoth draped in Skiltron logos and encased in lethal firewall coding.

They could feel it out there, just beyond the walls. It was like an animal, a wild, carnivorous thing ready to rip to shreds anyone who didn't belong. Although they understood the necessity, Arrow didn't like being this close to it.

Exhaling deeply, they took another swallow of gin, and tried to think. Tried to put their brain in order, and try not to think about how the city was spiralling out of control. Piper's vicious tirade had cut them deeper than they liked to admit. With everything that was happening, Arrow couldn't deny that this infighting seemed so petty in comparison.

But it was happening now. Piper was one person. A misfit who'd never belonged, and never wanted to be here anyway. Arrow and the rest didn't have the luxury of storming off into the sunset. They idly tapped fingers against the Ardenne Industries arrow on their shoulder and sighed.

Ardenne was a powerful corporation in its own right, and most of the people they knew in the organisation didn't have much sympathy with the clowns who thought building a new AI was such a fantastic business opportunity. By default that put them on Toran's side. Whatever Piper thought of it, if they didn't fight back against Vinder and the so-called 'board' that had seized control of AmpCore, things would get a whole lot worse.

A hiss of sliding doors snagged their attention. Rolling the ice-cubes around the glass, they turned and saw Toran stalk into the complex's main situation room, two armed guards never far behind. They suspected Conan Knox would have stapled the security to his son's ankle if he could.

"Toran?" To their right, Odiye straightened up, a half-empty mug of black coffee resting in one hand. "What's the word."

Toran smirked, and waved his chaperones away with a dismissive hand. Then he loped over to the table and poured himself a generous measure of dark, golden whisky. He virtually buried his nose in the glass and breathed deep, and only once he'd taken a gulp did he seem to relax just a little. His shoulders eased down just a touch, and he leaned against a nearby table.

He looked tired, but they could feel his implants pulsing from here. Arrow waited, fixing him with an expectant gaze. Two more gulps of whisky later he finally exhaled and met their eye.

"It's the board," Toran growled. "The same fucking board that Mattise shut out of that place when he took over, with a few coat-riding little snakes along for the ride! They just wanted their pretty toys back, and they used Vinder's bloody vendetta to get it."

His visor flickered. Arrow felt the twang of a connection request in their temples, and allowed the access. Their own visor flashed up, showing the data packet the Toran had just fired their way. An official – or at least something that claimed to be official – listing of AmpCore Academy reinstated board members shimmered in front of their eyes, each stamped with a flattering headshot and a corresponding corporate logo.

Odiye nodded grimly as he examined the names. "Gammaton, Atlantis, Wayfinder, Real-Raid-," he paused, one eyebrow rising, "Skiltron?"

"What?"

"There are three Skiltron Fireware special executives listed here." Odiye's visor vanished and he looked pointedly at his friend.

Toran nodded, his free hand clenching around the lip of the table behind him, fingers digging into the metal. Arrow watched uneasily, seeing the shimmer of power in the AmpCore implants beneath the skin. Even without his amplifier, Toran could easily reduce the table to a heap of slag with a violent outburst of emotion.