by Liam Clay
At the same time, Lucy conjures an army of mech-suited warriors and hurls them at the enemy. The stooges have no idea what to do. I start to advance, firing in controlled bursts every few steps. Delez does the same on the far side of the hauler, and someone else (it can only be Peace) makes an impossible headshot on a sniper in a nearby bell tower. The rest is just a formality.
We take seven hostages. Once they’ve been incapacitated with gel-tape, our attention turns to the wounded. With the exception of Amy (who is good at everything) none of us are medics, but we do our best. Setting bones, sewing up gashes, cradling heads until the last breath comes. It’s long and messy and far harder than what came before it. I don’t need to check my analytics to know that most of you are tuning this out. Spike for violence, trough for aftermath, that’s how the Anex show works.
Almost all of the casualties are Afflicted. And witnessing the lack of concern shown by the Mezareens hardens us against them. When we’ve done all we can, the squad goes to find Tesla.
“You just got 16 innocent people killed.” Amy tells her.
“Quiet, girl.” The headwoman snaps. She’s putting on an iron face, but I think that today’s events have stretched her near to breaking point. She isn’t as used to death as we are, and neither are the bodyguards arrayed behind her. “This is on all of our heads.” She continues. “If you’d trusted us, we wouldn’t have had to come here in force like this.”
Tikal snorts. “If we’d trusted you, the salesman would be dead by now.”
“Why should we let him live after what he’s done? My people have suffered enough because of that man.”
“And what about the Afflicted he was trying to help? Or were you planning to cure them yourself?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would he try to help them?”
“Because it turns out he’s got a conscience. Which is more than I can say for you.”
Tesla’s nephew Rook is acting as one of her bodyguards. Now he points a greasy finger in Tikal’s direction. “Shut your gob, you crimson bitch.”
But before the words are even out of his mouth, Amy is moving. She erases the distance between them with small shuffling steps, deceptively fast yet smooth enough that he doesn’t think to pull away. Then she reaches out and breaks his thumbs like cheap chopsticks.
We all get very busy after that.
Delez is forced to take Tesla hostage by holding a wrist-mounted dart gun to her neck. Francis and Peace bring their weapons to bear on the bodyguards (minus Rook, who is left to writhe in the dirt). Lucy throws up a cloakscreen showing our two groups conversing quietly. And after a rapid-fire link exchange, Tikal and I walk out of the holo and through the waiting Mezareens to the trio of women guarding Jinx.
“Tesla wants to see him.” I say shortly.
The women look to what they think is their leader. Lucy’s holo makes an impatient gesture, and they allow us to lead the salesman away. We’re almost clear when the headwoman starts to yell at the top of her lungs. And since Lucy’s version is doing no such thing, this gives the game away. Hands and steel mandibles reach for us from every direction. I blink out a pattern, and my armor goes electric. Tikal follows suit a second later. Jinx gets a jolt of juice but the hands fall away too, and now we’re half running, half dragging him back to the others. Lucy lets the holo vanish, and when the Mezareens see that Delez has Tesla dead to rights, the scene freezes over. I turn back to face the mob.
“It’s a shame things had to go this way, but we can’t let you kill the salesman! He’s promised to take us to the people who designed the pooled link software.” I feel Jinx shift in my arms, but he knows enough to keep his mouth shut. “So we’re just going to leave now, okay? Please don’t try to follow us.”
“Wait!” Tesla says behind me. “Did the salesman really come back here to help us?”
“Can you think of another reason why he would have?”
“No, I can’t. And it was definitely the council that bombed us today?” She is speaking slowly and clearly - letting her people catch up, I think.
“Yes. They’re holed up in the Spoke, treating the sick with high explosives.”
“Then they must be stopped! And after seeing what you people can do... we may need your help bringing them down.”
“But how can we trust each other now?” Delez asks, sounding amazed that the possibility is even being discussed.
“By providing assurances.” Tesla replies. “You can keep me hostage until this is over, and we will keep one of yours in return.”
The Fractal scratches his head. “But that puts us in a worse position than we’re already in.”
“Does it? If this turns into a fight, you might make it out of here alive. But we would almost certainly catch you in the fields. And even if you somehow made it to our borders, we have your vehicle under surveillance.”
“I told you we shouldn’t have left it behind.” Amy says to Francis. And then to Tesla, “You can take me hostage.”
The headwoman stares at her with a blend of fear and curiosity. “What are you?”
“Nothing you want to be fucking with.”
“I can see that. Very well, you’ll do.”
This exchange confuses the crowd, which has the odd effect of easing the tension as people turn to each other for clarification. (None of them witnessed Amy’s thumb breaking escapades earlier.) I would like some time to consider the motive behind Tesla’s abrupt change of tune, but we don’t have any to spare. The only thing keeping us from each other’s throats is the need to roust the council from their bolt hole.
.
Somehow, Amy has become our de facto leader. And although I have serious misgivings about this, I decide to let things ride for now. She has singled out one of the council stooges for questioning. He is a fresh-faced Asian youth with sleek black hair that hangs to the shoulders of a soiled soldier’s coat. Ripping the gel-tape off his mouth, she crouches beside him while he cries quietly.
“Please don’t kill me.” He says between sobs. “The councilors have the granary vault codes. I had to do what they said or I would have starved.”
Amy smiles at the guy, who is only about 17. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to kill you. Then who would lead the assault on the Spoke?”
“Are you crazy? They would light us up before we got within five blocks!”
“Then I suggest that you come up with an alternative. Try using your imagination.”
The kid wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “My grandmother is always telling me I don’t have one.”
“Then this is the perfect time to prove her wrong. Or I could just cut your balls off and leave you here to bleed out - whichever you prefer.”
He shrinks away from her. “You remind me of grandma, actually.”
“Well I’m sure she’s a fabulous woman.”
CHAPTER 9
The kid’s plan isn’t going to win him any medals, but his grandmother might conceivably be impressed. The Spoke gets its water through an enclosed aqueduct that stands about eight meters above street level. It is supported by sandstone arches with elaborate pictograms carved into them, which I am currently using as handholds.
Delez is in the lead. He reaches the aqueduct and climbs onto it, staying low to avoid being seen. The rest of us do the same. His sonic shear takes a chunk out of the curved concrete, and we all crowd around the opening. There are eight of us in total: me, Delez, Tikal, Francis, Lucy, two of Tesla’s ballsiest bodyguards and the council stooge, whose name is Ryo. Peace has retired from play to guard Tesla, and Amy has been taken to a secure location for the same reason. (Peace argued that she and Tesla could keep each other hostage to save on manpower, but the headwoman thought that would defeat the purpose of the whole thing.) Jinx has also been left behind.
Sunlight glints off the dark water below. It’s moving faster than I expected: not quite a torrent, but definitely gushing. Delez doesn’t seem fazed though. Tossing his spheretorch into the hole, he sa
ys, “Alright people, last chance to back out. No one will think any less of you if you do.” Which is just a passive aggressive way of calling the bodyguards shaky-kneed shits. Ryo makes a polite noise.
“I would like to back out, please.”
The Fractal laughs uproariously. “Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor about this, kid.” And then he pushes the stooge into the water. “What?” He says to Lucy, who looks less than impressed. “Fine, I’ll go make sure he doesn’t die.” And true to his word, he vanishes into the tube as well.
The bodyguards go next (after some cajoling) followed by Lucy, Francis and Tikal, leaving only me.
“Dad?”
“Hi Sophie. Look, this isn’t really a good time...”
“I know, I’m accessing your feed right now. Don’t worry though, the child lock is on so all I’m getting is PG grade audio/visual.”
“But I specifically told you not to touch my feed at all!”
“Yeah well, you’re not here to stop me, are you? Anyway, I just called to say that what you’re about to do looks really fun. So try to enjoy yourself for once, please? I’ll be able to tell if you don’t.”
“Yes dear.”
“Oh, and Dad? Watch out for Amy. I think she might be going a bit crazy.”
“I will.”
Then I jump. The water reaches out to embrace me, and now I’m shooting along at race car clip. I blink my torch on without releasing it from my shoulder, and try to enjoy the ride as per my daughter’s instructions. It isn’t hard. The water only reaches halfway up the tube’s sides, and although I’m moving fast, the speed is manageable. Tikal’s torch is lighting the way ahead, and when the chute starts to angle downward, I have enough warning to make the adjustment.
Then we’re being spit out into a concrete cistern. A steel catwalk has been bolted to the wall a few meters above water level. Ryo - who seems to be developing a flare for breaking and entering - swims over to a rope ladder hanging down from it.
“I used to do sentry duty in here.” He explains. “It was my favorite job, actually, because nothing ever happened. But we don’t have enough people to watch all the entrances anymore, so I knew it would be empty.”
From Ryo, we know that one of the councilors contracted the link virus early on, and was expelled from the tower by the others. The remaining three are named Osaka, Ptolemy and Morilios. Osaka is an immense woman of almost seventy years. She held the most power before the disaster, and is the driving force behind the councilors’ current stratagem. According to Ryo, she is a cunning self-preservationist and manipulator. (So, you know, an average politician.) Ptolemy is an androgene near forty years of age. The moderate of the group, ve withdrew to ver rooms weeks ago, only emerging to eat and drink. Which leaves Morilios. Before the virus, she was a young overachiever destined for great things. But the Thresh’s collapse pulled the rug out from under her well laid plans, and something cracked in the aftermath. She blames the Afflicted for her fall from grace, and is using the full scope of her abilities to wipe them out.
We climb the ladder and assemble before a heavy iron door. Ryo fishes a keycard out of his pocket and holds it to a reader. Nothing happens.
“It should work.” He says worriedly.
“Let me try.” Delez replies. He slashes his shear across the reader, and it explodes in a shower of sparks. Then the door swings open. The stooge looks impressed.
“How did you know the alarms were malfunctioning?”
“Trade secret.” Delez replies mysteriously, and then mouths ‘oops’ over the kid’s head.
The door opens onto a draughty stairwell. The sound of rushing water fades as we ascend. Reaching a set of doors built at a 45-degree angle, Ryo pushes them open and steps up into an extensive cellar. Stacked barrels fade away into darkness, and the smell of spirits is overpowering. The stooge looks around morosely.
“15-year-old whisky, aged in genuine oak barrels. My grandmother only lets me try the cheap stuff though, and just on special occasions.”
“How tragic for you.” Tikal says. “Now get moving.”
Ryo ducks his head and leads us to a ladder with a trapdoor at the top. We climb up, and he puts a finger to his lips. “The tower’s grand hall is right above us. There will be guards.” He hesitates. “I know this is a longshot, but could you try not to kill them? They’re all just fighting for food, you know.”
“And how would we go about doing that?” Delez asks.
“Maybe we could use that holo-tech you fooled us with.”
“What, and just walk right past them?”
“Sure, why not? None of us have had proper training or anything. Half of them are probably asleep at their posts.”
The Fractal looks at Tikal. She growls, and then relents. “I suppose we can give it a try.”
The squad has never employed stealth tactics before, and our virgin effort doesn’t begin well. The trapdoor creaks as we slip through, and two guards come over to investigate. Fortunately, Lucy’s cloakscreen is some of her best work. They approach to within a dozen paces of us, and neither notices anything out of the ordinary. After a cursory check of the area, they return to their positions.
The Spoke’s grand hall is deserving of the name. Occupying the entirety of the tower’s ground level, it has four arched entrances spaced at even intervals. A spiral staircase draws the eye in the middle of the echoing space. Built of the same rough sandstone as the tower itself, it passes through a void in the ceiling and vanishes into the heights.
From the recessed alcove where we’re standing, it’s a twenty-meter dash to the base of the staircase. Then we’re running up the stairs in tight formation, the velvet carpet killing our footfalls. I feel like a knight invading an enemy castle. We are nearing the second floor when a tremor runs through the staircase. Whoever has been firing on the city is still going strong. My blood boils at the thought of some psycho taking potshots at helpless Afflicted, and I start to wish we hadn’t promised to exercise mercy.
The second floor is also a single chamber. The floorspace is devoted to a double row of benches facing an elevated stage with an ornate podium to one side. Ryo motions for us to stop.
“All weddings and trials - and we have a lot of both - happen in this room. By tradition, no one is supposed to be here unless an event is taking place. So we should be safe for a minute.”
“Good.” Tikal says. “Now, which councilor should we go after first?”
“I wouldn't worry about Ptolemy. Ve wants nothing to do with what’s happening. Morilios is going to be a problem, though. She never leaves the battlements these days, and her boys - that’s what she calls the soldiers who follow her - are up there too, bombing the city to death.” He shivers. “They’ve gone bad in the head, I think. The rest of us stay away from them.”
“We'll save her for last then. What about Osaka?”
“She’s in her office most of the time. That's on the administration floor just above us.”
“Take us there.”
The admin level is a place of oak, brass and faded green light. Hidden inside Lucy's cloakscreen, we pass dim offices with name plaques on the doors. The majority are empty. But clerks still occupy a few of them, hands resting flat on their desks. The world they know is gone, yet still they cling to the routines of their old lives. Lost in the past, they do not notice us.
We reach a door that stands apart from the rest. The name Osaka is stenciled onto it in gold lettering. Delez tries the handle, finds it unlocked, and pushes the door open on silent hinges. The office beyond is austere and cold. Every piece of furniture and stationery has been arranged at right angles, with not a single slip of paper out of place. The councilor is reading a letter. Pouched cheeks hang down over a weak chin, but her eyes are clear and perceptive. She looks up in annoyance as the door opens... and flinches when it closes again, seemingly of its own accord.
“Who's there?”
At a nod from Tikal, Lucy lets our screen fade. The woman open
s her mouth to shout, but Francis points a dart gun at her face and she reconsiders.
“Who are you?”
The councilor’s voice is dry as drought and rapier sharp. Behind her, arched windows look out over the ruin she has made of the Hub.
“None of your fucking business.” Tikal replies. “We’re here to relieve you of your duties.”
Osaka leans back in her chair, seeming completely at ease.
“Why, do you think you can rid the Thresh of this plague faster than I can? Because I assure you, that is not possible.”
“Plague? Those are your own citizens out there! They need your help. And instead of giving it, you’ve been killing them wholesale.”
“The tumor must be excised before the body can heal. If you are too soft to see that, then you are unfit to occupy my position.”
I can see that in her mind, this woman is simply doing what needs to be done. Just like my girlfriend is always preaching. But who decides where the line between necessity and evil is drawn?
“Fit or not, we are assuming control of the Hub. The only question is, will you go quietly or do we need to make an example of you?”
The councilor’s laugh is utterly devoid of humor. Then she reaches under her desk, faster than I would have thought possible. A revolver appears in her hand - and drops to the carpet as a dart tears into the sagging flesh of her neck. The projectiles are meant to incapacitate. But Francis must have hit an artery, because blood suffuses the lace ruff of the woman’s shirt. Her chin drops to her chest, and she stops breathing.
“Oh shit.” Francis says. “Sorry, Ryo.”
The kid has gone white as a sheet, but his expression is one of shocked relief.
“It’s okay.” He says quietly. “She was an exception to the no kill rule. And so are Morilios and her pets.”
“Let’s finish this, then.”
The Spoke's top level lacks the ostentation of the lower areas. Bare floorboards creak underfoot as we enter, kicking up dust with every step. A caged elevator shaft occupies most of the space; ammunition and spare gun parts line the walls. Morilios has drawn the elevator car up to the ceiling. It hangs five meters above us, sunlight filtering around its edges. The control panel that operates it has been disabled as well. The guns are deafening here, and the walls shake with every blast.