MetaWars: Fight For The Future

Chapter 21

‘I’m sure you’re right, sir.’

Granger checked his watch. ‘T minus thirty-four minutes,’ he said. ‘It’ll take you almost thirty to climb this rock. You’d best get started.’

‘Sir, I thought you said you would be leading the assault?’

‘I said I would be taking charge here, Warren. I do not propose to get myself killed in action. That would rather harm our long-term goals, don’t you think?’

The other Millennials had disembarked from their vehicles and were awaiting instructions. They were a motley bunch. Some had the look of professional mercenaries, alert and well-equipped. Others were just kids, enthusiastic followers who had probably never fired a gun outside of a virtual training range.

Warren relayed Granger’s orders to them: ‘We’re going in through the access hatch up top. Once we’re inside, we try for the lifts, but we’ll have to act fast before they’re locked down. It’s a ninety-five-storey climb down to the control room. If you need to familiarise yourself with the schematics of the inside, now’s your last chance.’ He raised his voice more than was required by the size of the grouping – an attempt to re-establish his authority after Granger’s belittling of him.

Warren was not the most able of Granger’s lieutenants. He was probably the most loyal, though, and this counted for a lot. The truth was, it was flattering to Granger’s ego to have someone around who so obviously wanted to be him.

The Millennial army, such as it was, began to shuffle their way up the climbing path. Some of them shone torches, though the night sky was clear and bright. Granger picked out two of the more capable-seeming men as they passed him.

He led these two, a tall, muscular Kiwi and a compact, wiry Australian, along the dirt road that wound around the base of the rock. He didn’t bother to ask their names. ‘Your job is to protect me at all costs,’ explained Granger, ‘including your own lives. And you aren’t being paid extra to talk.’

He turned off the dirt road and made for a narrow gulley in the rock’s side. He pushed his way through the scrub, until he found a series of natural handholds in the sandstone and hauled himself upwards. A short climb later, Granger eased himself into a crevice in the rock face. The cave into which he and his new bodyguards emerged was invisible from the ground.

The walls of the cave were adorned with Aboriginal paintings, although Granger could barely discern these in the gloom. He was aware, of course, of the local superstitions that held this rock to be a sacred place. The rock’s original Aboriginal owners believed it was hollow, an abode to the souls of the dead.

He found it amusing that, in part at least, he had made those old legends come true. The rock was indeed hollow – now – and the servers that ran the Island of the Uploaded, along with the rest of one quarter of the Metasphere, were housed within it.

Granger led the way into a deep recess of the cave, disturbing a nest of bats, which skittered and shrieked away from him. He pressed his hand against a section of the cave wall. It slid back with a rumbling, scraping sound, and a harsh white light spilled out and streamed over him.

‘Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum. Inside. Shoot anyone that moves.’

Granger sent his two bodyguards through the opening, their weapons raised. When he was sure it was safe to do so, he followed them. He stepped out of the natural, dark cave into a smooth and well-lit service corridor. Lines of gas and water pipes, electrical wires and data cables hugged the walls above his head.