Free Toxicity by Andy Remic Page B

activists had bombed their HQ on Earth.
That had been the beginning...
     
    And although Jenny knew it was
wrong; well, fuck it. It was also right.
     
    Jenny and Sick Note waited until
the worker left the chamber. They moved across the big space, slowly,
confidently, in control. Their target was close, now. One of the main
Reprocessing Decks that also formed a structural connection point for the whole
plant. The Plant had four, one in each corner; foundation stones holding up the
roof and the towers. Blow the Decks, where the toxic crap was supposedly “reprocessed,”
and the whole factory would come tumbling down upon itself...
     
    As they drew near, Jenny stopped.
“Listen.”
     
    “I don’t hear anything,” said
Sick Note.
     
    “Exactly. The Reprocessing Decks
should be running 24/7. They’re not even operating. Which is incredible, seeing
as a hundred Super Tankers have just supposedly dumped their loads here for
reprocessing.”
     
    “Jen,” said Sick Note, softly. “You
don’t need to convince me. I’m on your side.”
     
    She gave him a dark look. “Sometimes,
I think they think I’m mad,” she said.
     
    Sick Note touched her arm,
tenderly for such a skinny little psychopathic madman. “Not me,” he said.
     
    Zanzibar came through on the net.
“You copy?”
     
    “Yeah. We’re on target. You?”
     
    “In position. The convoy is
eleven minutes away; we’ll hit it with so many bombs they’ll think it’s fucking
Detonation Day!”
     
    “Roger that. Will connect. Out.”
     
    “We on?” said Sick Note.
     
    “We’re on,” said Jenny, and
pulled a small, brown charge from her pack. “Let’s do it.”
     
    They moved towards the massive
Deck, which squatted in the gloom like a warship tipped on its nose. It veered
off, upwards, a curiously angled skyscraper. Sick Note looked around, not
nervous, but manically cautious. His weapon tracked different arcs. If they
were spotted now, they were fucked.
     
    Jenny knelt, and slowly spun out
thin loops of gold wire. There was a clack as the charge connected with
the metal, and tiny teeth chewed their rapid way into the alloy surface.
     
    Satisfied, Jenny rocked back on
her heels and glanced up at Sick Note. “We good?”
     
    “We’re good,” he said.
     
    Suddenly, both Jenny and Sick
Note’s comms burst into life. There was rattling gunfire and explosions. The
pitter-patter of falling debris. “It’s a set-up!” screamed Zanzibar. There came
several krumps. “They were fucking waiting for us! Get out! Get out now!”
     
    The comm went dead.
     
    Jenny felt her heart drop into
darkness. Hackles rose on the back of her neck and across her arms. Her jaw
clamped tight, and she gave a sideways glance at Sick Note. “Come on. Let’s
finish it.”
     
    “But...”
     
    “We’ve gone too far. We fucking
finish it.”
     
    They ran through the gloom,
unchallenged, heads low, SMKKs at the ready. Sick Note watched Jenny powering
forward, a woman possessed, and made sure they weren’t followed. Or watched. He
grinned manically. Hell, how would they even know? This place could be
rigged tighter than any high security bank. Just because it looked scummy from
the outside, what was basically a glorified tip, didn’t mean they didn’t
have access to all manner of high-grade observation technology. They could
afford it.
     
    They reached the second Deck in
just under four minutes, and Sick Note was streaming with sweat, wheezing, and
wondering if it was time to finally give up the weed. Annoyingly, Jenny was not
even out of breath. She knelt, priming the charge, as Sick Note tried to raise
Zanzibar, Meat Cleaver, Bull or Nanny on their comms; nothing. They were either
down and out of the game, or their tech had been compromised.
     
    “Shit.”
     
    “Nothing?”
     
    “No. Let’s get the shit out of
here, Jen. This is turning real sour and I don’t trust this place.”
     
    “Let’s go.”
     
    They made their exit with care,
and