Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2)

by Bard Constantine

  He had already lived a legendary life.

  Arthur couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy. Jett was everything he wasn't. Powerful and commanding, skilled and courageous. With his height of six feet three inches and chiseled physique, he looked every inch a super soldier, capable of being a one-man army even without the suit. He was the one out in the field, engaged in the action. Arthur could only stay in the command center and offer support as Incognito.

  Jett glanced at him with an amused expression. "You were saying?"

  "Oh. Sorry, Jett. I was saying that being Vigil is a bizarre experience. You'll deal with much crazier situations than this. Don't let it throw you off-balance."

  "This Dolos person knows who I am. Doesn't that worry you?"

  "Did he try to kill you? Or demand anything from you?"

  Jett blinked. "No."

  "Then don't worry about him. You'd be surprised how many people knew that Wayne was Vigil. Allies, lovers, even enemies."

  "Enemies?"

  "Yes. Like Mortis. He never revealed that secret to anyone out of a sense of jealous ownership. He didn't want anyone else to destroy Vigil, you see. It had to be him."

  Jett scrubbed a hand over his shaved head. "Wow."

  "Like I said—bizarre. You'll get used to it. The people that discover your identity usually fall into two categories: those who want something from you and those who want to own your destruction. I'd say Dolos is in the former category. Probably a low-key operator trying to make a name for himself."

  "Be nice if I knew what he wanted."

  "He told you: the end of Diabolis. Sounds like he has a bone to pick with someone in their organization. And if he's right about this Janus being their leader, that's a breakthrough in itself."

  "Sure. It just bothers me that he could find out about Vigil so quickly."

  We live in a city where surveillance is omnipresent. If one has been watching closely—which I assume Dolos has—then connecting the dots wouldn't have been hard."

  Jett folded his muscular arms. "If that's true, I might as well show my face when I go out. What's the point of the helmet?"

  Arthur guided his chair over to the workstation and picked up the battered helmet, looking at the damage from the explosion. "Protection?'

  "Yeah. Point taken."

  "Besides, I said if one has been watching closely. Few people have the means or time to do so. And that would have only been at the beginning, when you were just finding your way. Since then, we've taken the necessary precautions to keep you off most forms of surveillance."

  "Right. Like the electronic countermeasures you created to follow me around."

  "Exactly. When deployed, the ECMs do a great job of creating interference with any cameras in your vicinity. I've cloned your holoband to deceive anyone who might try to track you, and you've got your magic invisible cloak."

  Jett grinned. "Cape. And it came in handy during the fight as an offensive tool."

  "Well, you have to use every one at your disposal. Speaking of…"

  He guided the chair over to the command center nearby, where an array of monitors displayed surveillance feed from various points in the city, focusing on confirmed and suspected syndicate centers of operations. He clicked over to a video of a tall, muscular man walking down the street.

  Jett leaned in closer. "Who is this guy?"

  A faint smile touched Arthur's lips. "it's you, Jett."

  "Seriously—who is he? A mark we're tailing?"

  Arthur tapped a few keys. "Look again."

  The man's features blurred before morphing into a familiar face. Jett's eyes widened. "Wait a minute—"

  "Just a cautionary measure, Jett. You never know when someone might demand to know your whereabouts. Like your police captain girlfriend, for instance."

  "She's not my girlfriend."

  "Whatever. The point is, you'll have credible evidence of being somewhere else should the need arise."

  "Who is he?"

  "Tommy Jones. One of my employees in Golding Security Tech. He goes around the city repairing cameras that get damaged or sabotaged. Which, as you can imagine, happens quite frequently. He works long hours and travels all around the Five Districts. Since we upgraded your job status from sewer worker to GST, Tommy fills in the gaps when you're on Vigil business. The uniform cap he's wearing has a remote liner that projects a digital mask of your face to any camera that captures his image. All without his knowledge, of course."

  "The thing is, it's really hot out there. So, what if he removes the hat to cool off?"

  "Uniform rules are strictly enforced. He won't risk his job by taking the cap off for more than a few seconds. And if he loses it somehow, he's got a few spares in his van. This is a fallback measure, anyway. You should be fine, but we need to have all bases covered just in case."

  "Fine. Weird, but fine."

  Arthur studied him. "You seem a bit jumpy right now."

  Jett sighed. "I went to a Haze parlor today."

  "Should I ask?"

  "One of the girls at the Youth Haven goes there on the regular. Dangerous neighborhood. I was concerned."

  "But not just about her, it seems."

  "Her safety was the priority, Arthur."

  "Okay, Jett."

  "But … there was something else. She said she saw me in the Imperial War. And sure enough, they had files on me."

  "What kind of files?"

  Jett's fists clenched. "Memories. Stolen while I was in stasis by William Golding. Or his people, anyway. Just like when he created those synoid replicates of my team. Not just events like the war. People, intimate moments. It's like they reached into my head and pulled out everything about me. Then without any respect or regard, they packaged it, slapped a price tag on it, and distributed it to anyone who wants to pay for the experience. The experience of being me. It's…" His muscles tensed and he turned away, chest heaving.

  "A violation."

  "Yeah. To say the least. So when you mention Golding, it all comes back. I know you've infiltrated his businesses to try to bring him down, but we're not any closer to finding out what his endgame is. I want this to stop, Arthur."

  "I understand. But Golding is a resident of Haven Core, where we can't touch him. But if he's tied into anything on the outside, we can make life difficult for him. Maybe enough to draw him out. And you may have given me a valuable piece of information."

  "Yeah?"

  Arthur steepled his fingers, concentrating. "Yes. If Golding is distributing memories, it has to be a cover for something. We need to follow the money and flush out what he's up to."

  Jett rubbed his hands together. "Well, let's get started then."

  Arthur shook his head. "Jett."

  "Yeah?"

  "You need to rest. How much sleep are you getting?"

  "Not much. Don't worry about it—I feel great."

  "You barely survived an explosion only days ago. You might have escaped without critical injuries—"

  "Thanks to the armor. It held up nicely."

  "It barely held up. As it is, I had to scrap it for recycling. So, congrats: you get a new one."

  He gestured to the nearest uniform case, where the new armor was displayed.

  "Not only is it a bit more durable, it's also equipped with intuitive smart-tech. Based on your body movement and threat detection, it will automatically activate weapons and gear to shorten your selection time. Squeeze your thumb tightly to fire your gauntlet spanners, jerk your arm back to increase the power, stand on your toes to activate jet thrusters, etc. Proto will give you the full tutorial."

  "Great. The g-spans have been great, but I like the improvements. Can we go darker with the helmet? The silver one is great visually, but makes stealth a bit harder."

  "No problem. And since we're upgrading, might as well pick up some other toys while you're here." He gestured to the arms cabinet.

  "Nice." Jett looked over the display with an experienced eye, pausing to select a selecti
ve-fire railgun from its rack. "The syndicates are actively setting up ambushes for me. I think more firepower is in order."

  "More firepower means more lethal results. You've been careful so far, but this will change things. How the public sees you. How law enforcement will deal with you."

  Jett focused on examining the rifle. "I know. Can't be helped. A soldier has to have the tools he needs, or his mission will fail."

  "And you're prepared to deal with the consequences?"

  "I don't have a choice, Arthur. The syndicates won't go away by punching them out one at a time. They've declared war on me. I have to respond sooner or later. I'll try to keep things contained, but the scales will tip one way or the other, and I don't want to be unprepared."

  "You sure?"

  Jett looked up, face somber. "I'm sure."

  "Okay." Arthur hovered over. "Nice choice of weapon—a major improvement over your last railgun. Charon 3000—ambidextrous grip that also functions as the magazine well, X-ray and infrared targeting scope with smart aim and five-hundred-meter range. It fires conventional, stun, and inferno rounds interchangeably and is equipped with a breach-laser cannon under the barrel."

  "Breach-laser?"

  "Punches a nice-sized hole through nearly anything. Takes five seconds to charge and two minutes to recharge."

  "I'll take it."

  "I thought you might." Arthur glided over to the garage/hangar area. "Since your activities are becoming more complex, I figured personal transportation is in order. Take a look at the Stingray."

  Jett walked over, staring at the all-black, gleaming ground-to-air vehicle. "You shouldn't have."

  "Try not to wreck it the first week, and we're even."

  Narrow and aerodynamic, the Stingray had a long hood, sleek cockpit, and streamlined fairing from the front to the sides that spread out like wings and housed the anti-grav thrusters. The turbine fusion engine was stored in the rear, purring like a giant mechanical tiger when it hummed to life.

  Jett whistled. "This looks too sexy to take into the streets."

  "Sexy is the new deadly, then. Because this baby is equipped with stinger missiles, gatling lasers, and sonic cannons, not to mention a few other surprises. Proto will give you the tutorial. She's built for speed and evasiveness—something I know you'll find handy. Defensively, she has built-in ECMs to counter surveillance, and temporary cloaking for stealth. The cockpit fits two people—the pilot seat slides forward if you're taking a passenger."

  Jett ran his hand over the Stingray's gleaming surface. "Why would I do that?"

  "I don't know. Maybe you have to rescue someone like that time with your police girlfriend."

  "She's not my girlfriend."

  Arthur lowered his voice. "Or maybe you take on a partner. Who knows?"

  Jett glanced over as if Arthur had shouted. "Partner. Not the first time you mentioned that."

  Arthur shrugged. "The notion isn't foreign, Jett."

  "You were Vigil's partner."

  Arthur shifted in his chair. "That's right. So was Qhawa."

  "She's not here."

  "Your point?"

  Jett sighed. "Do you want me to say it?"

  "You think my disability is a direct result of my being Vigil's partner. That had he never enlisted my help, I wouldn't be in this … position."

  Jett leaned against the Stingray. "Look, I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

  "No." Arthur took a deep breath, exhaled. Calmed his fluttering nerves. "No, I don't mind. I need to talk about it, I think."

  "How did it happen?"

  "Mortis happened."

  "Some kind of syndicate enforcer, right? Skull helmet, armor, and gadgets like Vigil."

  "Warped reflection, yes. But he was never an enforcer for the syndicates. He worked for someone else."

  "Who?"

  "We never found out. He and Vigil often clashed, neither getting much of an upper hand. It was almost like a competition at first. A rivalry. Eventually, things turned ugly. The wounds they inflicted were more severe, their battles became more violent. The rivalry became a bitter feud. It all came to a head one hot summer night. I was tailing one of Mortis' crew and got impatient. Decided to bust them by myself. Long story short, it was an ambush. Mortis was there, waiting for Vigil. Instead, he got me."

  Arthur shuddered. "Even now, I can't remember all of it. The memory surfaces now and then like a corpse from the bottom of the river, murky and rotting."

  Jett took a step forward, empathy on his face. "Hey, there's no need—"

  Arthur raised a hand. "It's okay. Mortis beat me half to death, tortured me, and posted the video so Vigil could see it. Then he said he'd finish the job if Vigil didn't stop him. The only catch was that Vigil and Viper were dismantling a linked series of explosives that Mortis planted in the tunnels underneath the Warrens with enough timed explosives to level the entire neighborhood, killing thousands. Vigil had to make a choice: save them or save me. He chose the Warrens, leaving me to my fate."

  He exhaled a shuddering sigh. "He saved them. He and Viper managed to disarm the explosives. When he came for me, I was as close to death as anyone could be, my entire spine smashed nearly to powder by the beating. The miracles of surgery brought me back from the brink, fixed my face, mended my other bones, but my spine was irrevocably damaged, leaving me as I am now."

  Jett gazed at him with empathetic eyes. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

  Arthur waved the apology away. "It's ancient history now. Wayne retired as Vigil, driven by the grief and guilt behind his choice. I was bitter at the time, of course. I felt betrayed. It took a long time for me to understand the impossible situation Vigil was put in. Eventually, I was able to forgive Wayne. In my heart, anyway. I only wish I had told him before he died."

  "And what happened to Mortis?"

  "He tried several attempts to draw Vigil out, but Wayne stuck to his guns. He let the RCE handle things and kept out of it. Soon after, Mortis vanished as well. It was as if one couldn't exist without the other."

  Jett shook his head. "And you expect me to consider taking on a partner? If anything, that's a prime example of why I shouldn't."

  Arthur smiled bitterly. "Then you weren't listening. Vigil had help disarming those explosives. If Viper hadn't been there, it would have been a double tragedy. It was only her presence that prevented the Warrens from being blown sky-high."

  "Well, I don't think I'll be taking any applications for a sidekick anytime soon. For right now, Vigil works alone."

  "You sure about that?"

  Arthur directed his chair back over to the command center, pulling up surveillance feed on the main console. The footage showed an agile young woman in combat armor taking down a group of bangers. After she finished, she used a floating orbot to tag the wall with a name in bright yellow letters.

  Spitfire.

  Jett's eyes narrowed. "Who's that—one of those Vigilant people?"

  "I think you know who it is."

  Jett froze the feed, studying the still of the girl as she walked away. Her face was covered by a hood and goggles, but the smirk on her lips was familiar. Too familiar.

  "Yeah, I think I know who it is: a major pain in my ass."

  "Don't act like you didn't know it was going to happen. She hasn't been training with Qhawa for nothing."

  "I didn't think it would happen so soon. Figured I'd worry about it later."

  "Things rarely happen when you expect, Jett. The streets are dangerous out there. And it's going to get worse. Much worse."

  Jett nodded, jaw clenched. "I know."

  "Might want to check up on your girl. Just saying."

  "I will. Where are we on the Vigilant movement, anyway? I don't like it. People are getting killed trying to imitate me. I never expected that to happen."

  "It's the way of things, Jett. When you become a symbol, you have to expect it to affect people."

  "I'm not trying to be a symbol. I'm just trying to help this city."
/>   "Then keep trying. The Vigilant will either flash and burn or turn into something we might be able to use. Either way, you can't focus on that right now. There's too much on your plate already. And we have moves to make."

  "Fine. But can you try to find out who this Sentry person is, at least? If we find her, maybe I can convince her to tune down the rhetoric."

  "Already on it, Jett. I'll let you know if I uncover something."

  "Okay. I'll see you soon."

  "Where are you going?"

  Jett grinned, jerking a thumb toward the Stingray. "Are you kidding me? I'm taking her out for a spin."

  Ⓥ

  Tim LeBlanc sat in a church pew, crammed in because the place was packed. Divinity churches weren't usually so crowded, but the Warrens was the worst neighborhood in Neo York. Poverty and spirituality usually went hand-in-hand. When your life was one desperate day after another, you tended to believe in the miraculous. Anything to give you a spark of hope, something to provide the strength to keep enduring despite the despair around you.

  "You know what people don't talk about anymore? Sin. Even the mention of the word gets an eye-roll or quick change of subject. Y'all know what I'm talking about."

  The church had seen better days. Most of the windows were boarded over, the pews scuffed, the paint faded and peeling. Roughly half of the chandelier lights worked; the others flickered or were just burnt out. Electric misting fans whirled in the corners, blowing hot air and vapor over the parishioners. Most had tiny hover-fans in front of their sweat-beaded faces as well, the small devices humming quietly. It didn't do much good. LeBlanc had long since removed his tie and opened his shirt down by three buttons to try to ventilate his body's heat. Sweat still stained the armpits of his shirt, and he felt beads crawl down the hairs of his legs like liquid insects.

  "And why do you think that is? Because the existence of sin is an unpopular belief. It clashes with the concept of choice. With freedom. Imagine if we—gasp—actually were accountable to a higher power? To judgment?"

  LeBlanc nodded along with the others, some who vocally added their agreement. Divinity was the only religion sanctioned by the United Havens, an amalgam of Judeo-Christian beliefs deemed acceptable by the authorities. Something for the people to hold onto while editing any content or view considered controversial. Most ministers and pastors stuck to a bland, all-encompassing preaching style—stimulating but insubstantial, like junk food.