Under the Skyway (Skyway Series Book 1)

by James K. Douglas

  “How many of these have they stolen?” I asked no one in particular.

  I believe Jennifer may have asked me what I said, but it’s hard to say. Every thought I was having stopped when I heard the chime of an arriving elevator.

  Chapter 19

  I moved to take cover, but Jennifer beat me to it.

  Throwing the bagged prototype on her back, she wrapped her arms around my waist and leapt backward. We slammed into the wall to the left of the elevator. The concrete wasn’t gentle on my head, but there was no time for proper recovery.

  The doors slid open and two rifle barrels extended into the room. Without thinking, I reached for them both. Taking the pair into my right hand in one sweep, I squeezed and crushed them together into a single mass.

  A carbon steel fist swung for my head as I withdrew. I ducked below it as it knocked a crack in the wall where my skull had been. Jennifer shot a high kick over my ducked form, making contact with the face mask of a black combat helmet. My attacker’s head snapped back and stayed there as his knees gave out and dropped him to the floor.

  His partner emerged from the elevator, already drawing a sidearm. That was a mistake. I charged him, crossing the few feet between us to get in close and throw the hardest punch I could. Military bionics are durable, but not terribly fast. My punch came in over his raising arm and contacted his head, between where his eyes should have been. I saw the helmet crack and begin to split as his body moved away from me, carried by the force of the impact.

  Even with an exceptionally well placed stance, Newton's laws still hold sway. The reaction to my action was that I was nearly knocked back off of my feet, forced to grab the elevator’s opening to avoid falling down. It was then I realized that, like all the others, this was a team of three.

  A spiked steel ball the size of my head swung for my chest. I caught it, barely. My bent elbow and the coils of artificial muscles absorbed most of the impact, protecting me from a killing blow but not keeping me from being propelled across the room. I crashed through the spine’s pedestal. Shards of it ripped through my jacket, but not the impenetrable vest beneath it. Though I was relatively unharmed, the bruising was going to be impressive.

  As I sat up, an intimidating suit of military power armor emerged from the confines of the elevator, righting itself to a full nine feet. Its carbon steel plates were painted in black and gray urban camouflage and cut at such sharp angles that the whole machine took on a hateful appearance. Thick neck protection surrounded a helmet that came to a sharp point in the front, as if it was intended to be used as a weapon.

  Jennifer was already unloading her SiCo Max Nine on the machine, the soft clicks of her suppressed fire turning into ricochet pings as she looked for a seam to exploit. He swung a long arm at her sideways. She easily dodged the lumbering swipe while reloading her weapon.

  There must have been a decent brain under that helmet, because rather than wasting time chasing a woman with bionic legs, he turned his attention back to me. He charged and I dodged, using the strength of my arm to shove myself upright and out of the way, barely ducking a long swing of the mace he used as a right hand. I danced away from him, his long mechanically enhanced legs keeping pace with my human meat and bones. Too many swings of his mace and lunging grabs of his metal hand came uncomfortably close, each one an inch nearer than the last.

  After Jennifer had emptied two clips into the suit without leaving more than a scratch, she decided to change tactics. With my back against a wall and the next blow on its way in, Jennifer charged to my rescue. She moved like a blur, coming in from my left to sweep the legs out from under him. A quarter ton of man and machine hit the ground as I scrambled out of the way.

  The attacker took a wild swing in Jennifer’s direction, hitting nothing but air. Sitting up, he had to roll over onto his knees before he could get his feet under him. Through all the heavy plating, the pilot never felt me climb onto his back.

  I slipped in behind the neck guard and wedged bionic fingers under the edge of his helmet, wrenching it upward. The pressure seal popped and the helmet bounced to the floor. I grabbed for his skull, capturing only his cooling hood and a few hairs as he forcibly bucked backward, shrugging me off.

  He was quicker than I had expected. I hit the ground and he was on me, gripping my bionic forearm with his powered left hand. For the briefest moment, I thought I recognized his face, the face of a one handed soldier. Then he slammed his mace into my shoulder. All thoughts were washed away in the white noise of pain. I hadn’t designed the arm to feel pain, but ripping the nerve implant from the connected nerve was going to give it to me anyway. I would have passed out instantly had it not been for the pills I’d taken earlier.

  “I was hoping we’d see each other again.” His words seeped in around the corners of the pain. My severed arm lay on the ground beside me, its battery sparking. “I suppose we’re even now, and yet I just don’t feel satisfied.”

  Jennifer appeared again, raising her weapon. Shots pinged off of the power armor’s raised hand. Jennifer’s weapon again clicked empty. The familiar man took the opportunity to take up my arm and hurl it at her, damaging the black casing of a computer tower as she ducked behind it.

  A true professional, the armored man wasted no more time on words. He would take his satisfaction now, rather than risk losing it. Raising his spiked mace, he allowed himself one small smile. Not to brag, but I faced my end with eyes open.

  I wondered if it would hurt, if I would feel my skin splitting, my bones cracking. I wondered if there would be a flash of light or just blackness when the mace crushed my brain into jelly. I wondered why, through all the pain, I was now mentally naming every jelly I knew.

  And I began to wonder what was taking so damn long.

  “Get out of the way!” came Jennifer’s voice.

  I drew up my legs and got to my feet. I had forgotten how difficult even simple tasks could be when missing an arm, but I still got myself out of the way by the time the armored man came to his knees, coughing and gagging.

  Jennifer rode his back at an angle, her legs stretched straight and together. The black and gray scarf had been rolled up into a single length of unbreakable cloth and wrapped around his neck, her grip on it bolstered by the gecko bands. He reached for her, grasping and swinging, but the power armor simply did not allow for that kind of flexibility.

  In less than a second, she bent her knees, readjusted her grip on the fabric, and straightened again. The force of it crushed something inside his thick neck. His head sank forward, and the armored body soon followed.

  “Come on,” she said, taking her scarf back. “We’re out of time.”

  “Hang on,” I said, stumbling over to the dented computer tower.

  I nearly fell over while bending to pick up my right arm. It was damaged severely, the bicep smashed to bits while the shoulder was unrecognizable. The forearm and hand were potentially salvageable, but at the time that wasn’t what was on my mind. It was my arm, and I just didn’t want to leave it behind.

  The pain was disorienting, but no longer debilitating. With a bit of guidance I made it to the elevator. I leaned against the inside wall while Jennifer briefly darted back out.

  The cake box remained in place, barely jostled by the fight. Jennifer opened it, causing a small clock to pop out. A soft beep accompanied the passing of each second, with only fifty-eight left to go.

  In my ear, a security captain reported in to his commander. The attack on the outer wall of the ground floor had apparently stopped. A full cell had taken position on the bottom three floors, prepared for a breech. Another voice called for a report from “Team X.” It was Dr. Alexander Marshall’s dusty old voice in my ear. I blame the pain delirium for my response.

  Tucking my right arm under my left, I reached around to press the button on my earpiece. “Uh, everything’s under control,” I said in my best Han Solo voice. “Situation normal.”

  Jennifer stripped the I.D. off of the nearest bi
onic commando and slapped it on the elevator’s panel. She double tapped the button for the bottom floor and we were off at an accelerated rate.

  When the eighty-fifth floor went past, I heard Marshall’s voice again. “What set off the executive floor alarm?”

  I snickered to myself at how he had fallen into my ingenious trap. “We had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh, everything’s perfectly all right now. We’re fine. We’re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?”

  The seventy-third floor zipped by as Dr. Marshall demanded my identification code. Jennifer pulled back the shredded arm of my jacket to examine my stump. She didn’t look happy with what she found.

  “Looks like the titanium implant in your humeral head is still solid. Maybe we can re-attach your arm temporarily.”

  “Why?” I asked. “It won’t be useful.”

  She took my arm from me and pressed the damaged clamp into place. “You walking around with your arm in your hand is going to draw attention.”

  When she was satisfied with the attachment, she lowered the cloth of my jacket back over the mangled mess. After a second more of looking at it, she gathered the ripped bits of my sleeve and tied them onto the shredded remains of my damaged bicep, I assume to give it more support. When she was finished, she wrapped her scarf asymmetrically around my neck so that it hung low around my destroyed limb. I tried not to think about the soldier’s neck it had been around a moment ago.

  The sixty-second floor passed as Jennifer raised a finger to her ear, asking, “How are you guys doing?” After listening for a moment, she pressed the button again, saying, “Okay. Circle wide and come back to the nearest exit. We’re on our way. Watch your backs and report anything unexpected.”

  “They alright?” I asked.

  “A few breathless security officers showed up and fired a couple of shots.” The elevator came to a stop. “They returned fire and got out of there. No one was hurt.”

  With a chime, the back wall of the elevator opened. We stepped out onto an unpowered maintenance alley of the Skyway. The elevator closed behind us, concrete sections shifting back into place to appear as a plain, flat wall.

  Before we moved two feet, an explosion shook the building. I looked up to watch a fireball shoot out from the top floors of the building, and flinched as concrete chunks rained down onto the Skyway’s clear roof. While I was distracted, Jennifer reached into my pocket and pulled out my air filter mask, pressing the little button to flip it on.

  “Put it on,” she said. “There’s going to be cops, and we can’t be seen here.”

  I did as she said, pressing the mask to my face. It barely covered my mouth, nose, and eyes, but it would be enough to make me unidentifiable in the commotion. As my partner donned her own mask, I took a few deep breaths through my filter and wiggled my mouth around to make sure the device would stay securely suctioned to my face.

  When she was ready, we moved quickly out to the powered walkways where panicked pedestrians fled the area. Screams of horror and awe echoed down the tunnel. Police officers in blue uniform shirts and slacks were already on the scene, moving toward the Marshall Engineering building to see if they could assist anyone. If anyone noticed the state Jennifer and I were in, they likely just assumed we were victims of the incident on our way to get medical care.

  We moved with the crowd, keeping up a brisk pace on the moving walkway, Jennifer’s arm under mine for support. No one but us moved toward the ground level exit. No one but us knew that the danger was already over.

  I noticed that Jennifer left her I.D. in her pocket until we reached the exit, most likely to avoid being registered too close to the incident. I doubt she ever would have been suspected, though. Just like with Rossi’s hotel, I knew who they were going to blame. This was all going to cause issues later, but you have to solve today’s problems today.

  At the bottom of the Skyway exit, ballistic glass doors opened to the smiling face of my aunt, out of her power armor and back in her long coat. Stumbling out, I clipped my shoulder on the door. I heard the clamp click. My arm dropped, pulling free the material of my right sleeve and splashing down into a puddle of Skyway runoff water.

  Aunt Lou kissed me on the cheek as I climbed into the back of the armored truck. A moment later, Jennifer climbed in behind me, my arm in her hand. Louise closed us in and banged on the wall twice. In seconds, we were on the final leg of our plan, a circuitous route back to the AlterBionics building.

  “We have excellent doctors,” Jennifer said. “They’ll fix you up.”

  I sat back on the uncomfortable bench seat, propping my feet up on dormant power armor and resting my head on the steel wall behind me. Closing my eyes, I focused on the sound of the engine and the vibration of the road. Nothing could truly block the pain, not even sleep.

  Chapter 20

  I woke in a bed. Cool white sheets and a thin white blanket were draped over me and tucked up under my arms. Laying on my back, I felt heavy and comfortable. Normally, I’m a side sleeper, but I felt rested nonetheless.

  The room around me looked like a hotel room converted into a hospital room. My bed had guardrails and a display showing my heart rate and brain activity, but the chair and couch nearby were plush and deep, clearly made for comfort. A single painting on the far wall depicted the AlterBionics tower standing alone against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.

  My attention was drawn to the window. Blue and green neon lights in the distance were magnified by heavy drops of rain on the glass. Sliding out of the bed, I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me, tying it about my waist with both hands.

  The arm, my arm, was both brand new and very familiar. The design was much like mine had been, but cleaner, more precise. Where there had been rough edges, it was now smooth, almost organic. The braided coverings for the artificial muscles appeared custom made, with no gapping at the ends. The whole thing was a deep, rich black, blacker than my recycled materials ever could have gotten.

  “Ah,” came a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize from the opening door, “you’re awake.”

  “Apparently,” I responded.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “A bit groggy, and very happy the pain is gone.”

  I turned to take a seat on the bed. My visitor was wearing a long lab coat and stethoscope, and carried a digital pad. Unlike my previous doctor, her hair was long and brown with no visible tattoos, but she had a competency about her that I liked.

  “Your old nerve implant was damaged beyond repair. Your new one shouldn’t take long to heal up, so long as it doesn’t get jerked out again. You took a bit of damage to your bone implants, too. It had to be replaced, so no heavy lifting for the next two months.”

  “Thanks for your work, doc.”

  “You’re welcome, but you should thank Mr. Wright. He wants to see you, by the way, as soon as you feel up to it.”

  The doctor excused herself, letting me know that I had clothes in the closet. I checked and found my jeans and boots, a new blue T-shirt, the ballistic weave vest, and a brand new black field jacket. I dropped the blanket and slipped into the clothes, The jacket fit well, and in the pocket I found my phone, wallet, and watch.

  Stepping out of the room, I wandered the hallway for a minute until I found the elevator. The rooms on this floor were all numbered and seemingly identical to the one I had been in. Consciously and unconsciously I flexed my new hand and arm, testing their range of motion and responsiveness.

  When the elevator doors opened, Jennifer greeted me with a smile. “Jackson,” she said, “I was just coming to collect you.”

  “How are you doing?” I asked, stepping inside.

  “A bit tired. I went through a full maintenance check on my legs, got a couple of minor things repaired. I’ve slept, but I’ve also spent a good bit of time discussing the potential fallout with Mr. Wright.”

  “That’s good,” I said, flexing my bionic hand. “I’m looking forward to giving him my own report.” />
  “Oh?”

  The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Her question may have been rhetorical, maybe not. Either way, I had no intention of responding.

  “Mr. Bell,” called Wright, rising from his desk. “How’s the new arm?”

  “A little heavy,” I said, crossing the room.

  “It’s not heavy,” he said with a chuckle. “Your last one was too light. This one’s the exact weight of your left arm. I have to admit, your comments before inspired me. I’ve allowed this company to get too far from its roots. So, I’m starting a new line, something more analog, with a much more approachable price point.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Yours, of course, is free, along with a lifetime parts and service warranty. Consider it a bonus for going above and beyond.”

  “I appreciate that, sir. Is there any other work you’ll need tending before we conclude the contract?”

  “No, nothing else.”

  I brought up the contract on my phone and placed the device on his desk. The contract enlarged to the desk’s display and Mr. Wright pressed his thumb to the bottom line, scanning the print and concluding the contract.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, sliding my phone back in my pocket. “I have my final report ready, if you’re ready to hear it.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Your payment’s already been sent.”

  “Standard procedure, sir. I like to make sure my clients and I have a clear understanding of the events.”

  “Really, it’s not necessary. Ms. Nadee has already given me all pertinent information.”

  I felt my jaw tighten, my brow lowering. “Sir, I insist.”

  David Wright seemed to pause for a moment, assessing me. “All right,” he said, pulling his chair back under him. “Proceed.”

  “The night before you called me, I was doing a basic security detail for Mr. Achille Rossi. He was having a meeting with Ms. Amanda Tsai. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was attempting to set up a sale for the prototype, a backup deal from what I can figure, in case the primary deal didn’t go through. Unfortunately, Dr. Alexander Marshall isn’t fond of competition. He sent one of his best men in to send a message, but he made the mistake of sending him alone.