by Liam Clay
But there’s more. No one is quite sure how it happened, but ever since Porter swapped out your old retcom for the new one, you haven’t just been broadcasting your senses and surface thoughts to the world. You’ve been releasing your emotions too. People are going crazy over it. Over you, Anex. And thanks to those recordings, everyone knows that Korezon orchestrated the twin bombings. They also know that the attack on the Underworld was premeditated, and that you were sent into the Hive on what amounted to a suicide mission. But your feed cut out when you passed over the wall onto the island.” She points up at the ceiling. “So there’s an entire city up there dying to know what you and Alpha platoon have been up to since.”
“I...how...what?”
Now Shion speaks for the first time. “I know this is a lot to take in.” he says softly. “But we don’t have much time. The revelations in your feed weren’t all good news for us. Thanks to you, it is common knowledge that my anti-technology stance was a ploy meant to limit Kore Pictures film revenues. Granted, I have gained some moderate followers as a result, but my power base among the anti-tech community has been greatly weakened. As a result, most polls now place the race at a dead heat. And with the election just a week away, a final push is needed to get us over the line. Our hope is that releasing the rest of your story, coupled with your publicly declared support for the Realist party, could be that something.”
“You...me...whozit?”
I seem to have lost the power of speech, but it doesn’t matter because nobody is listening to me anyway. Instead they’re all staring at the jammer, which is sitting on the floor behind Devin and Tolam. Then Delez is on his feet.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You don’t even know what happened to us on the island yet. Do you really want to blindly release all of that info to the public? Not to mention that as soon as the Hive section of Anex’s feed goes out, Korezon is going to know we escaped, and that we’re making a play to steal our kids back.”
“I’m sorry.” Vogel interrupts. “Did I just hear you correctly?”
“Yup. You’re going to find this hard to believe, but we’ve got the Hive sewed up. That shit is ours now. But if we don’t get our kids back, Korezon will hold onto them as indefinite bargaining chips. And we’ve got to do it now, before our three weeks run out.”
Crossing his arms, Shion studies us one at a time. “You are aware that we could destroy the device without your permission, yes?”
“Sure you could.” Delez says pleasantly. “And then the whole city would know about that, too.”
“Very true.” Shion considers further. “You appear to have us between a rock and a hard place. I see no choice but to help you.”
.
“This is fucking nuts - you do know that, right?”
Lucy is standing at my shoulder in the crowd, conducting an inventory of her weapons (which Nervous has just returned).
“How so?” I ask with a half smile.
“Well for starters, there are three thousand of us now. I’ll be amazed if we make it to the Slump undetected, never mind the upper levels.”
“But we will be going up through the Charleston, remember? That building has been a gutted ruin since the last time Korezon clashed with the Aussies.”
“And once we start crossing skybridges on our way to Kore Tower where the kids are being held?”
“Well obviously that part will be trickier.”
Lucy throws up her hands. “You people and your damned optimism. I swear it will quite literally be the death of me.”
Although its makeup is diverse, the army mustering around us is far from a rabble. The Aussies (who, I’ve been told, constitute the triumphant hardcore faction of the Prison’s recent civil war) are seasoned fighters, and their weapons are second to none. The Realists have supplied 500 soldiers as well, and although they aren’t mad dogs like the prisoners, they have been fending off assassination attempts on Shion’s life for years. And finally there’s the Silver Circle. Fighting isn’t their strong suit, so they’ve given us a dozen hackers who will handle any technical challenges we encounter along the way. They make for uneasy compatriots though, united only by a shared hatred of Korezon.
At least I don’t have to feel bad for Peace. I had assumed she was hoping to find the Aussies all dead, and now she has to work with them instead. But she is already trading jokes with Nervous, and it slowly emerges that the hardcores are the closest thing to a family she’s got. It was the politicians she hated, and they are long gone.
In other news, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m famous. This is going to sound like bullshit, but becoming a celebrity was never my intent. My plan was actually to get into editing. I had my eye on a two-year vocational program, and the application required me to submit an amateur showreel. And so I’ve been talking to an imaginary audience for months while I racked up enough footage to play around with. Only it turns out somebody was watching, and feeling too. A whole lot of somebodies. Even now, as I stand here, I am recording material that millions of people will ride in on once the jammer goes down (assuming everything goes to plan). How am I supposed to respond to that?
We have mustered in an exercise yard that is straight out of an old prison movie. Nervous calls the march from his position atop a weight bench, and then jumps down to lead the way. Delez offered to have us scout ahead using our nanodrones, but the prison leader either doesn’t trust us or is afraid we will get ourselves killed (or both). We have been instructed to stay near the middle of the pack.
When our turn comes, we filter out of the yard and onto a winding path cut into the cavern wall. An hour later we reach the roof, where a narrow tunnel takes us under the foundations of a seriously ancient building. Reaching a dark stairwell, we embark upon a long and tiring ascent. The sound of three thousand pairs of boots echoes up and down the shaft.
The plan described to us was rather vague where the border was concerned, and so the higher we climb, the jumpier I get. When Peace activates the link, I assume it is to impart some final piece of intel. Instead she starts blasting heavy trap music straight into our brains, and somehow this is exactly the right thing to do. I roll my shoulders, focus only on what’s around me, and try to think survivalist thoughts.
Then gunfire breaks out somewhere above us.
“So much for this building being empty.” Delez mutters.
“I suppose it was a lot to hope for.”
The shooting continues, and I wait for there to be a stampede back down the stairs. But these are the Aussies we’re talking about, and so the reaction is exactly the opposite. I find myself borne upward on a tide of bloodhungry prisoners. Devin and Tolam are struggling to keep hold of the jammer, which Amy is basically riding as she taps away at its control panel. Peace is laughing her head off in time to the music, and Lucy is throwing elbows at anyone who comes near her. I’m not sure where Fort has gotten to, but there’s no time to look for him plus I don’t really care. The shots are close now.
The Charleston border crossing was torn apart during the army incident years ago. If this was any other building, a Topside demolitions team would have filled it in with epoxy-bonded rubble and called it a day. But Carlel never had the balls to return here after his defeat, and so when we surge out of the stairwell, it is into a dilapidated but traversable 49th floor. Chain link fence abounds, and most of the guard booths that bisect the space are still intact.
I have about a millisecond to take all of this in before I get shot in the stomach. The force knocks me to the ground and I lie there, more surprised than injured, as my fellow soldiers are mowed down in similar fashion. This isn’t small arms or even assault rifle fire, I realize dazedly - only a machine gun installation could cause this much mayhem. Propping myself up on an elbow, I peer through the crush of bodies.
And spot what I’m looking for. Only the railgun’s muzzle is visible, spinning faster than the eye can follow. Two figures crouch beside it, half hidden behind scavenged partitions of bullet
proof glass. Something twitches to life inside me, and now I’m up, pushing through bodies in the direction of the gun. A bullet ricochets off my armored shoulder and another one strikes my leg, but I’m fully committed now and only a kill shot is going to stop me.
First, I throw a handful of nanodrones into the air. Then I focus on a single clear image - just like Ethan taught me all those weeks ago. Almost immediately, a roiling cloud of dark matter coalesces around me. There is some confused shouting, and the gunfire slows as both sides try to make sense of what they’re seeing. I break into a run. Reaching the makeshift bunker, I dispel the black cloud and replace it with a blinding burst of white light. The railgun operators cry out as I vault into their enclosure, sonic shear already telescoping from its sheath. A pair of diagonal cuts and the two men become four, bodies slewing apart like filet mignon under a steak knife. It is unbelievably disgusting but as always, the sight has no physical effect on me.
The same cannot be said of the Aussies. Screaming with euphoric bliss, they charge past my position and begin a savage assault on the guard booths. I try to join them, but my left leg gives out under me. I hit the deck hard, but then the platoon is at my side. Devin and Tolam use the jammer to shield my body while Fort hoists me into a seated position.
“You good?” He asks gruffly, probably embarrassed to be showing concern.
“Not sure.” I reply. “At what point does a bruise make the jump to internal bleeding? But I’ll live. What’s going on, though? Who are these guys?”
Fort pokes at one of the bodies with distaste. “Bunch of roiders in black monkey suits? Your guess is as good as mine.”
Something clicks. “Bouncers.” I say. “Carlel hired a bunch of Topside club muscle to head us off.”
“But how did he know we were coming?” Devin asks.
“He must still have spies in Australia.” Lucy replies.
After a long silence, Delez raps his knuckles against the jammer. “So if Korezon knows we’re coming, what are we still carrying this thing around for?”
We all turn to contemplate the steel cube, which has definitely seen better days.
“Sorry to be obtuse.” Tolam says. “But could someone please describe what would happen if we were to, you know, smash this thing to bits?”
Amy supplies the answer. “The second this device goes dark, Anex’s entire feed will become a matter of public record. The populace will get front row seats to everything he’s done and felt since entering the Hive, up to and including this moment.” She smiles oddly. “And I’m pretty sure my brother will have some legitimate civil unrest on his hands.”
Delez scratches his chin. “Unrest, you say? That could be helpful.” He looks my way. “It’s the inside of your head we would be televising though, so it’s your call.”
A thrill runs through me that is going to require examination at a later date. (Am I developing a star complex?) But the answer seems clear.
“Do it.”
Delez grins. “Hoped you’d say that. Smashing stuff is fun.”
CHAPTER 33
So that’s that. All the cards are on the table, everything that can be said, has been. My leg loosens up a few minutes later, and we rejoin the action in time to finish mopping up the bouncers. Some of them surrender toward the end, and there is a great deal of undignified begging and pleading. But it doesn’t do them any good; the Aussies really are a ruthless bunch. I can’t bring myself to join in the slaughter, but I don’t try to stop it either. God only knows how much Korezon paid the bouncers to come down here, and when you take cash for murder, I know from personal experience that you waive all right to mercy.
And then we are safely into the lower floors of the Slump. The Charleston has been abandoned for years, but the scavenging outfits are afraid to come here, and so I get a bit nostalgic as we pass rusty food carts, sagging tent villages and neon revenge studio signs - some of them still flickering with intermittent life. I missed this city, I really did. It may be a literal representation of economic inequality, and weird as shit to boot, but there is something truly alive about Opacity. Or maybe that was just the rat squirming out from under my boot.
The police are waiting for us on the hundredth floor. We are near the front of the pack now, fighting alongside a contingent of Realists. I’m not a huge fan of the cops myself, but Shion’s people hate them with a fiery passion (years of politically motivated harassment will have that effect). The firefight rages through a succession of corporate lobbies, open plan offices and pastel corridors. It’s a running battle: the police always falling back to higher floors with us forever chasing, our feet kicking up typhoons of white dust.
We pass the 120th floor, and then the 140th. The police are retreating more quickly now - either by design or because we’re winning, it’s impossible to know. Occasionally, someone will trip an unexploded ordinance left over from the first Charleston battle. This is how Devin dies. One second he’s sprinting down a hallway just ahead of me, the next he’s being hurled into the right-hand wall by a mine embedded in the left. I want to help him (although anyone can see that he’s dead) but the human tide drags me past.
A chunk is missing from Fort’s right arm now, and an angry gash has opened on the crown of Lucy’s shaved head. My injured leg has gone numb and my shoulder is on fire. Peace is uninjured and looks to be having the time of her life, while Delez could be out for a walk in the park for all the emotion he shows. Tolam is lost in grief for his friend, and finally there’s Amy, who is observing everything with clinical interest.
“Why won’t these pansies turn and fight?” Fort grunts as we pelt down the main drag of an abandoned mall.
“Because they’re trying to spread us out.” Amy tells him.
“What for?”
“So that when Carlel detonates the floors he has rigged to blow, we will be separated and unable to reorganize. Assuming the entire building doesn’t collapse, that is.”
“What! How do you know he’s going to do that?”
“Well obviously I don’t know for sure. But it’s what I would do in his position.”
“God damn it.” Delez says. “How much time do you think we have?”
Amy tilts her head, thinking. “Not long.”
“Not... jesus Amy, why didn’t you tell us this before?”
She shrugs. “I assumed you had already figured it out for yourselves.”
Delez looks like he might lose it, but in the end he just growls and shakes his head.
“Alright, that settles it - we’re jumping ship at the next skybridge.”
“I’m all for that.” Fort says. “But has anyone even seen a bridge yet?”
“Um...”
As it happens, we come upon a bridge not long after this exchange. Or what remains of one, anyway. All that’s left are a few support trusses and a mess of wiring; everything else has been eaten away by acid rain. My first reaction is to say fuck no. But this is not the time for prima donna shit and besides, Peace is already going for it. The wind tornadoes her platinum hair as she climbs out over the abyss, and for a moment she ceases to be the girl I know and becomes the Peace of Opacian myth. Which gets me thinking about how I’m an even bigger celebrity than she is now. But one look at Tolam’s face snaps me out of it. The next few hours are going to be hard enough without me turning into a vapid fame whore.
Peace is halfway across when Amy’s prediction comes true. A resounding boom trembles through the building, and the entire structure lurches to one side. I’m the only member of the squad who keeps their footing, and so no one else sees Peace wobble, windmill her arms frantically, and then tumble off the bridge. I reach the spot where she went over in four long bounds. Taking hold of a bundle of wires, I swing out over the edge and make a wild grab for her left hand. I miss, but she manages to latch onto my wrist with her right. And there we dangle: me hanging onto the bridge for dear life, with her hanging onto me in turn. The soup churns around us in great billowing eddies, disturbed by whatever i
s happening below.
“Hey, Anex.” Peace calls up to me.
“Yeah?”
“Whoever is writing the script for this reality show of yours is a hack. The old ‘dangling from an unstable bridge’ routine? Talk about clichéd.”
I burst out laughing, but then the Charleston lurches for a second time. “You guys better get out here!” I yell to Delez. My voice is lost in the tumult, but the Fractal doesn’t need me to tell him the score. He scuttles out over the trusses on all fours, keeping his stance low. The others are right behind him.
“Okay, pull us up!” I say when he reaches our position.
“How?”
I can understand his dilemma. Both my hands are otherwise engaged, and there isn’t much he can do from up there. Peace might be able to climb me like a ladder, but that would be a risky maneuver at the best of times, and these are not them. The Charleston may be going down by degrees, but it’s definitely going, and the bridge is being shaken to hell in the process.
“This part is never a problem in the movies.” I complain. “What a load of bullshit.”
Delez purses his lips. “Could you maybe swing one of your legs up for me to grab?”
Sadly, we never get to find out if this would have worked, because the chewing gum holding the Charleston together finally gives out, and the entire building starts to fall - for real this time. The bridge changes angle at terrifying speed, and then snaps free with a sound like a rubber band breaking. Thankfully, it has disconnected on the Charleston side. The recoil slingshots us into the building opposite, there is a stomach curdling fall, and we jolt to a halt.
At first, I am too disoriented to even register my own survival. But up eventually reasserts itself as up, and down as down. The bridge is hanging vertically against the building next to the Charleston (which is now empty real estate). I am still clutching my trusty wire bundle, and Peace is still holding onto my other wrist. She is yelling something at me, and may have been for some time.