So the guards at the exits were armed with silent, non-lethal weapons—stun guns and sticky foam guns—as well as more conventional sound-suppressed weapons. They would try to take it alive, but at the first sign of trouble, they had been authorized to use lethal force on the Tsuchi, or on anyone implanted by it. Harsh measures, but the men understood. They’d seen Wood’s body, and they knew the creature had emerged from his skull. Mortal risk came with guarding the incubators. They lost men every year. Brice saw it as evolution in action. The men who had been with GOD the longest were the best. The fittest. And it was them he was sending into Building-K.
He stood outside the massive warehouse, smelling the ocean breeze. He rarely went outside; the salty, cool air felt unfamiliar and invigorating. Despite the potentially hazardous security breach, a smile spread across his face. It’s going to be a good night, he thought, looking up at the darkening sky. He decided to go out. Have some Mexican by the ocean. Maybe invite that woman from Level 3. What was her name? Dee Hardy? Dee Haddrill, that was it. He’d ask her.
“Sir?” a man said, standing a foot taller than Brice, looking down at him through the reflective night-vision goggles that would colorize and illuminate the dim confines of the giant warehouse.
Brice blinked out of his dinner plans and looked up at the man. He didn’t know the man’s name. Could barely see his face. But he was the senior guard on duty. What do we call his rank? “Yes? Uh, Captain?”
“Chief.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“I asked about containment protocols,” the large man said.
“Oh, right. Just immobilize the Tsuchi—”
“The Dark Matter.”
“Yes. These have been designated ‘Tsuchi.’”
“Sushi. Good to know.”
“Tsuchi,” Brice repeated, pronouncing it correctly with the Japanese TS sound emphasized.
The Chief offered a phony smile. “Heard you the first time.”
Brice took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The Chief of GOD’s guard was rubbing him the wrong way. “Immobilize it with the spray foam. I will come to collect it. If that isn’t possible, destroy the target, and I will come to collect it. Should any of your men be...stung...by the creature, they must be eliminated immediately. Any delay could be—”
“I get it.”
“I hope you do,” Brice grumbled.
The Chief’s faux grin faded. Without another word, the man turned around and headed for the five men waiting by the door, which would be opened just long enough for the six-man team to enter and split in two.
Brice checked his watch. 5:12 pm. If they wrapped this up in the next thirty minutes, his dinner plans might still work out. The Chief, now standing at the ready, beside the entry door, glanced back at Brice. He waved them in like he was shooing them away.
It took all of Chief Reynolds’s restraint to not punch Brice in the nose. The man was insolent, cocky and disrespectful to anyone not as smart, which, admittedly, was most people. He also had direct authority over Reynolds and his men. He would still mention the man’s lack of respect to Director Cole, who was reasonable, fair and respectful to the security force. But that would come later. For now, Reynolds was on the job, and life-or-death circumstances waited for him and his men, on the other side of the metal door.
“Comm check,” he said.
One by one, the five men with him spoke their last names: Talbot, Ellis, Gilmour, McAfee and Cross. When they were done, he said, “Non-lethals are preferable, but I honestly don’t give a rip. If you feel you’re in danger, use lethal force at your discretion. Teams of three. Ellis, Gilmour, you’re with me. We’ll take the east end. Talbot, McAfee, Cross, head west. Sweep the perimeter, and converge on the far side. We’ll tackle the ‘Valley’ after that.”
All five men spoke their agreement.
Reynolds tapped the armor covering his chest, stomach and back. “We’re well protected, but should any of us be...stung, for lack of a better word, the resulting effect will be lethal inside a minute, and... Well, do yourself a favor and put a bullet in your head. If you can’t, I will.”
The crackle of a stun gun snapped to life in Reynolds’s hand. “Weapons hot.” The little data he had on the Tsuchi made it clear that a stun gun would have limited effectiveness, mostly because the thing had a shelled back. To really hit it, he’d have to tag it in the face or the belly. If it was as fast as Brice said, he doubted he’d get a chance to use it. That’s why they were leaning heavily on the foam guns, which could slather a target, expand and solidify in seconds, immobilizing anything it touched.
“On three,” Reynolds said, raising three fingers and counting down. When he lowered his last finger, Ellis flung the door open and went in, followed by Gilmour. The pair swept the space on the other side and then headed east. Reynolds closed and locked the door behind him, and then he fell in line behind Ellis and Gilmour, while the others headed west.