Resonant Abyss

by J. N. Chaney

  “You came back for the artifact, didn’t you,” Ozzie said, his gravelly bass voice adding to the pain in my skull. “That’s why you’re here.”

  I wanted to reply, to say something snarky, but I could barely think, let alone speak. The pain was unbearable.

  “I should have figured,” Ozzie went on. “With the failure in Sellion City, I should have known they’d send someone after me.”

  Sellion City? Despite the blistering pain, I at least heard that connection. Did this mean that Ozzie was behind the job on Oragga’s vault?

  “Oubrick was sloppy,” Ozzie said, suddenly confirming my suspicions. “And my enemies sent you in retaliation. You’re with a syndicate, aren’t you, mate. Couldn’t have me back in the game, could they.”

  So Ozzie really was trying to return to his old profession. Seems Lars had been closer to the mark than we realized. And he was, no doubt, trying to use the artifacts to leverage his way back in. At least, that was how my brain put everything together when squeezed like a lemon. But it still didn’t explain why we’d been chased back on Veradia…

  Or had it? Maybe the hit team that had chased us was syndicate. That certainly would have explained how well funded and well connected they were. And if they thought we were trying to aid Ozzie, of course they’d want to stop us—even more if they thought we had artifacts to trade.

  “Too bad for them they’ve failed to kill me and they’re going to lose their mine.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, hardly recognizing my own voice.

  “Those monsters in the abyss… something’s stirred them. Something you did, probably. So it’s time to leave, mate. And no one is going to stop me. Least of all some syndicate hired gun.”

  Ozzie poured on the pain, squeezing me harder than I thought possible. I yelled as another loud crack sent a shard of light piercing through my consciousness. But while the bastard had been monologuing, I’d removed the blade from my belt and wrapped my bloodied left hand tight around the handle.

  “Then I hate to disappoint you,” I said, barely audible.

  “And how’s that, mate?”

  “I’m not with the syndicates.” Then I jabbed the knife straight up.

  25

  Ozzie winced, then cried out in pain. As soon as he did, his hand came off my head, and the plates of my skull popped back into place. The pain was so unbearable I could hardly see straight. But the man’s hand was off me, at least for the moment.

  I blinked several times and noticed my knife protruding from under his ribs. Whatever it had hit had been vital. Blood surged out of the wound like it was shooting from an over-powered water pump.

  Ozzie placed his one good hand over the wound, fingers spreading around the knife’s handle. I doubted he’d remove it, knowing how much more it would bleed when he did. His right arm still seemed out of commission—shiny crimson blood leaked from the gunshot I’d left near his shoulder.

  “You bastard!” he cried, still straddling me with both legs.

  I managed to bring my MX090 around, but the monster of a man batted it away, seething in rage. The rifle clattered aside, too far to reach.

  “You’re going to pay for this!” Ozzie roared, then raised his fist and delivered a crushing blow to my face. The pain shot through my head like a lightning bolt. Small stars filled my vision, and I felt a sudden urge to fall asleep. But something inside me screamed, willing me to stay awake. I knew if I blacked out now, I was as good as dead.

  I looked up to see Ozzie raise his fist for a second blow. I wouldn’t be able to take another like that. His clenched hand came down and I leaned away, narrowly avoiding the blow. Instead, he punched the floor and swore at me, blood still pooling into my chest from the knee wound.

  My eyes focused on the handle protruding from his rib cage. I reached out and grabbed it, then wrenched the blade up and down as if prying a piece of machinery loose. The effort produced a blood curdling cry from Ozzie. It also forced him to peel off of me.

  Suddenly free of the man’s gargantuan weight, I rolled aside and brought my knees up, forcing myself to all fours. My head still ached, but I was in survival mode. I had to end this, or else Ozzie was going to end me.

  Seeing that I was against the far wall behind Ozzie’s desk, I reached a hand to the office-width sliding glass doors and pulled myself up. As I did, my eyes caught sight of the main quarry a few hundred meters below, and several kilometers below that, the valley floor that stretched to the horizon. I’d nearly forgotten the commanding view Ozzie’s office had of the mine’s mountaintop operation.

  “Why do they insist on such high offices?” I mumbled as I struggled to my feet. I thought of the holo thrillers, musing on villains’ obsessions with power and heights. “I mean, what’s the matter with ground-level offices?”

  I felt dizzy as my knees and back straightened. I pulled my eyes from the nerve-racking view and refocused on my enemy. But before I turned, I heard Ozzie’s boots pounding the wooden floor. I saw him charging out of the corner of my eye, then felt his body slam into me. I guessed it was the equivalent of being struck by a hover truck at full speed.

  If my spine hadn’t snapped under the impact, it was pretty damn close to breaking in two. Pain lanced from head to toe, and I heard my ribs pop. A split second later, however, the glass behind me exploded. Our bodies blew through the transparent sliding doors in a cascade of broken glass. We flew two meters and crashed onto a sparsely furnished balcony. Ozzie rolled off me and slammed against the deck’s minimalist railing, composed of three thin cables running between metal posts.

  Glass shards stuck me in more places than I could count, even despite the protective qualities of my thin exosuit. I’m pretty sure the tag didn’t read “Ozzie Rated.” I pushed myself up, glass biting into my hands.

  Ozzie, likewise, rolled to his belly and began to stand, knife still plunged in his chest. His right arm remained limp to his side, but his left hand was ready for a fight. The man’s bearded face looked more like a rabid animal’s, blood and foam coming from his lips, and he had a crazed look in his eyes. For the briefest moment, I wondered if this was what the women he’d abused had seen just before he’d assaulted them.

  “Mr. Oppenheimer?” came a frantic voice from back in the office. For the briefest of moments, Ozzie’s eyes looked over my shoulder. It had to be one of his staff—most likely Ino. But it didn’t matter. That guy was just a helpless little twit—

  Ozzie ducked.

  Automatic gunfire erupted from inside the office, blowing out the glass and showering the balcony with bullets. I dropped to the deck, landing back in broken glass as more of the stuff rained down on me. I covered my head with my arms, doing my best to roll to one side—any side—and avoid being struck by whoever was firing.

  The bullets continued coming. My ears rang with the concussive barrage, and I could pick out the sound of brass casings pinging off the floor. I was nearly to the right edge of the deck when the weapon’s chamber pin clicked. The magazine was dry.

  The prospect of a two-against-one fight brought on a new burst of adrenaline. I summoned my strength and leaped to my feet, but my overanxious effort threw me against the railing. I caught myself as I looked down at the quarry. The resulting wave of vertigo was almost paralyzing.

  I blinked once and pushed myself off the railing, focusing on the gunman inside the office. Sure enough, it was Ino. And he was reloading. Convinced he was the greater threat, at least for the moment, I growled and charged back into the office. The man looked up in surprise as I ran at him, closing the gap faster than even I expected. He dropped the gun and put his hands up as if to stop me, but I was committed. I slammed into his chest, knocking his glasses off, and toppled over Ozzie’s desk. Ino gave out a gasp of air as my body weight compressed his lungs against the floor. Then I summersaulted off him and onto the middle area rug.

  By the time I’d rolled to my knees, Ino had also righted himself. He pulled his coat back to revea
l a set of knives strapped to his abdomen.

  “You’re taking your cooking classes very seriously,” I said.

  “These aren’t for cooking, Mr. McBride,” he replied, removing one and flipping it in his hand.

  Just then, Ozzie stumbled back into the office. “Kill him!” he ordered.

  Ino threw the first knife at me with so much speed I hardly had time to react. Fortunately, I was lucky, and the man’s aim was off. The blade whizzed by my left ear so close I heard it break the air. Instead, the weapon collided with the wall somewhere behind me.

  A second knife was in his hand, and he flung it at me with better aim. This time the blade hit me in the shoulder, sticking into the bone. The force of it pushed me back, but I managed to stay on my knees, and even stand to one foot. By the time a third knife was ready to launch, I was charging Ino again, closing the gap.

  I slammed into him and pinned his body against the front of Ozzie’s desk. But the man hadn’t released his knife, and I felt a searing hot stab drive into my back. The blade, however, was stopped short, striking a rib instead of the long jab into a lung. Still, it hurt like a bitch.

  I looked up just as Ozzie used one of his huge boots to kick his desk toward me. The impressive amount of force shoved Ino and I back onto the carpet with Ino lying on top of me. Knife still in hand, he raised it up and jabbed. I crossed my arms, deflecting the blow, but not before the blade sliced my forearm. Ino jabbed again, and again I blocked it, receiving another long cut. Then faster than I could think, Ino produced a fourth knife from his belly strap and started stabbing me with cat-like dexterity.

  Bang!

  One of Ino’s blades spun out of his hand. The man yelped and looked up. I craned my neck to see Rachel standing inside the doorway coming from the waiting room.

  “You fuckin’ closed the channel on me, Flint!” she yelled. “I told you never to do that again!”

  Ino threw his remaining knife at Rachel, but I jerked him aside. Still, the throw forced her to dodge, which meant her aim for the next shot was off. I heard her pistol bark and saw splinters fly out of Ozzie’s desk. With Ino off me, I rolled to my feet, but not before I heard more gunfire coming from the direction of the shattered glass doors. I dove for the cover of one of the couches and rolled to a stop. Ozzie had retrieved one of his pistols and was firing like a madman.

  For her part, Rachel had taken cover behind a wooden case filled with old looking swords. Ozzie alternated shots, firing once at me and once at Rachel. The assault had us pinned down, at least for the moment. He’d run out of ammo eventually.

  Before that could happen, however, Ino was back on his feet and charging Rachel’s position.

  “You take Ozzie!” she said to me, then looked at the steward who had leaped off the closest couch and was coming toward her, his leg outstretched in a flying kick. His leather shoes hit her hand and knocked her pistol away. Both of them crashed into the corner and fell in a heap.

  “Go!” Rachel said again. “I’ve got this bastard!”

  Ozzie’s firing had ceased. This might be the only window I’d get. I ripped Ino’s blade from my shoulder bone and then darted from behind my cover. I charged straight for Ozzie’s desk. The thug noticed me and looked up. He was fumbling with another magazine in a desk drawer, but he wasn’t going to be able to reload. I was moving too fast, and it was time I repaid him for shoving me through the glass doors.

  I propelled myself over the desk headfirst and drove my good shoulder into his chest, trying to aim for the knife that was still stuck there. I was beginning to think that maybe I’d hit bone with it—surely it would have fallen out by now. But my blow missed the opportunity to drive the knife in deeper. Still, my momentum knocked Ozzie backward and, once again, we flew onto the deck.

  His back slid along the broken glass, taking us right to the wire railing. Ozzie reached up and grabbed my neck, instantly cutting off my airway. But I still held Ino’s throwing knife, so I started hacking at Ozzie’s arm. The few cuts I managed to make succeeded in lessening the man’s iron grip, enough that I could yank myself off him. I tumbled to the deck and pushed myself up. Ozzie, likewise, was standing. But before he could get fully erect, I threw a kick at his head. My boot landed on the side of his head, knocking him off balance. Convinced this was my moment, I charged him, driving the throwing knife into his gut. But as I collided with him, two things happened.

  First, Ozzie grabbed my hand where it clenched the knife protruding from his chest, and held it there. Even if I had the leverage to recoil, his grip was simply too tight. Second—and far more importantly—Ozzie toppled over the railing and took me with him.

  Once committed to the long fall, Ozzie let go of my hand and reached for the lowest wire of the deck’s railing. His giant paw snagged the wire, and his body jerked to a halt. I managed to wrap my arms around the man, sliding down to his waist before I stopped. I looked below and saw both our feet dangling far above the quarry.

  Don’t let go, Flint, I told myself. And stop looking down!

  “What are you gonna do now, mate?” Ozzie asked from above.

  “Me?” I asked in reply. “You’re the one with only one good arm, mate.” Ozzie’s right limb was still out of commission. Which meant, unless he let go with his left hand—sending us both to our doom—he only had his legs to work with.

  Suddenly, Ozzie threw several scissor kicks at my lower waist, trying to wrap his knees around me. I fought off the first few attempts, but he had the advantages of larger limbs, height, and superior leverage. By his fourth attempt, I was unable to keep him away, and he wrapped his legs around me so tightly that the effort drove the air out of my lungs.

  Resisting every instinct that said otherwise, I let go with my arms and fell fully into his legs. Had he been thinking fast enough, that was the moment to release me—I was completely at his disposal. Instead, he held me fast. Which gave me a split second to reach overhead and drive my knife into his armpit.

  Ozzie roared. His chest convulsed with the effort, shaking like a hover train engine. Instantly, his legs released me, and all my weight hung on the knife lodged in the side of his upper chest. The blade slid down, cutting into bone and muscle. I knew I only had seconds before the knife or Ozzie’s grip gave out, so I used my other hand to pull myself up the man’s chest and then leap for the railing’s lowest wire.

  As soon as I felt the cable touch my palm, the knife in Ozzie’s chest broke free and tumbled below us, trailing a stream of blood. I grabbed hold of the wire with all my strength, bringing my second hand up to join the first.

  Ozzie and I were eye-to-eye. But my grip was slipping due to the blood in my palms from all the glass. Was this bastard really going to outlast me simply because he had a stronger grip? Gods, this was not how I wanted things to end.

  Ozzie started to laugh just as a tremor began shaking the deck. I couldn’t tell if his laugh was moving the wire, or if this was another quake… another worm. I looked over at Ozzie, dangling from the deck with one arm, bleeding from several holes in his chest.

  “You’re pathetic, mate,” Ozzie said. He spit a mouthful of blood into the wind. “All that, and you still couldn’t stop me.”

  I tried getting a better grip on the cable, but my hand slipped free. I threw it back up, regaining a feeble hold.

  “It ain’t over yet,” I said, trying to believe my own words.

  “Yeah it is, mate. And once I climb back up there, do you have any idea what I’m going to do to that woman of yours?”

  “What’s that?” said a voice overhead. I looked up to see Rachel standing over us. Her face and hands were covered in blood and she held one of the swords from Ozzie’s display case in her hand.

  Ozzie tried to speak but Rachel cut him off. “You’re going to rape me just like you’ve done to hundreds of women before me? Just like you did to my sister?”

  “Sister?” I asked, not realizing I’d said the word out loud.

  Ozzie chuckled. “You expect me
to remember one face out of thousands? How quaint.”

  “No,” Rachel said. “I expect you to remember them all.”

  Ozzie spit up at her, but only succeeded in smearing his own cheek with salvia.

  “We’re going to play a game, Ozzie,” Rachel continued.

  “And what’s that?”

  “It’s the same game you played with your victims. It’s called, how much pain can you endure before your life isn’t worth holding onto?”

  Ozzie glanced over at me in confusion.

  I let out a quick breath through my nose, then said, “Oh, you’re fucked.”

  Rachel took the sword and laid the blade against Ozzie’s pinky finger. With a gentle back and forth motion, she started plying the blade past the flesh and into his bone.

  Ozzie threw his head back and screamed, tears chasing one another down the sides of his face.

  “Does your scream remind you of anything yet?” Rachel asked so calmly that it gave me chills. “Do you see their faces yet?”

  But all Ozzie could do was weep, biting his lip until it drew blood. I watched as Ozzie’s pinky finger separated. The tip bounced off his bald head and then tumbled into thin air.

  Rachel moved on to Ozzie’s ring finger. The sword blade sliced into the skin and started sawing smoothly into bone.

  “You little bitch!” Ozzie cried.

  “Wrong answer,” Rachel said, then pressed with all her weight until the blade snapped the finger in two. The fingertip popped off and fell away, spinning as it descended out of sight.

  Ozzie tried to tighten his grip on the cable. His blood made it just as hard to hold as it was for me. The wire shook. Again, I wondered if it was just our muscles giving out, but I noticed the shattered glass on the deck begin to vibrate.

  As soon as the sword blade touched Ozzie’s middle finger, he cried, “I see them. I see them all.”

  “All?” Rachel asked, pressing the weapon into the knuckle.

  “Yes, yes. I see them all.”