There was the sound of marching feet as the rest of Greyson's guards closed in on the pillar. A quick glance told Oscar that the Unit was preoccupied, escorting her boss to the SUV. Greyson jumped in through the door and shut it behind him.
The Unit turned, calling across the night.
"Go with Greyson," she said. "Keep him safe. I'll deal with this."
The guard scrambled to follow her orders, climbing into the SUV and gunning it across the parking lot. They didn't even bother to find the road; they just went trundling through the brush.
The Unit removed some sort of device from its pocket and pressed a button. The lamp above Oscar died, fading to nothing. As did the rest of the lights across the parking lot. He cursed when he saw that he was unable to get a reliable heat signature off the unit. All he saw as her eyes, their soft red glow hanging in the darkness. With a tap of his finger, he switched his goggles to the night vision.
Moving to a squatting position behind the pillar, he realized he would need something more powerful than the silenced ten millimeter he'd dropped the guards with. So he reached for his holster and pulled out his revolver. It was heavy, loaded with huge slugs.
Taking a deep breath, he whipped his head and shoulders around the corner and took aim. The Unit moved with unnatural speed, zigzagging across the parking lot as she stormed towards him.
Oscar held his breath, steadied his hand, and let two shots fly. Both of them hit the Unit with a satisfying thud and a fountain of sparks. Each shot made the Unit jerk back slightly, but other than that there was no reaction. She kept coming, unfazed.
In a heartbeat, she was on him. Her outsized left arm came arcing toward him. Oscar tucked and rolled, hearing the crack and tumble of pulverized concrete as the Unit's punch shattered the pillar. With a groan of stressed metal, the street lamp toppled and crashed to the ground.
Oscar set his eyes on the rest of the parked cars, standing far across the parking lot. He began crawling toward them, building his strength to stand and run. He made it about five feet before the Unit's hand closed on the back of his shirt and pulled him upright. With a chopping motion from her other hand she sent the revolver flying from his grip and nearly took off a couple of his fingers.
She spun, slamming him in the face with the back of her hand. Oscar's feet left the ground. The night sky and the parking lot became a homogenous blur for a moment, and then he crashed hard against the standing remnants of the concrete pillar. His night vision was gone; the goggles were shattered.
Dizzy and dazed, he fought with the strap for several seconds and finally managed to tear the goggles away.
The Unit's red eyes bobbed through the night as she marched forward to finish him off.
Then the red eyes made a smear through the darkness as something suddenly slammed into the Unit from the side. The android stumbled and regained its balance. She turned, finally pulling out a firearm and lighting up the night with it.
In the intermittent flashes of gunfire, Oscar saw the flash of a steel blade. The Unit switched back to close quarters combat as her blazingly fast assailant lunged forward. A final gunshot, aimed wildly upward, illuminated the face of Oscar's rescuer.
It was Carolynn Steele, the mysterious dame that Oscar had encountered shortly after he killed Esbert Hoffman. The dame was wearing what could only be described as a tactical evening gown. A sophisticated all-black hooded dress comprised of military grade smart fabric that had exceedingly high splits on each side.
Lynn grunted in frustration, gritting her teeth and using every bit of her strength to try and push the Unit over. But the android planted her feet and became immovable, striking with her hands faster than Lynn could parry.
The flowing skirt of Lynn’s state of the art gown whipped gracefully in the wind as the dame leaped backward in a blur, now clutching the Unit's firearm in her hands. She chucked it away, then pulled something else off her tactical belt. A stun grenade.
Oscar turned his head. The shockwave from the grenade blew the skin of his face back and made his ears ring. He vaguely felt a hand on his shoulder and suddenly he was up and running across the parking lot, tugged along by Lynn.
Glancing back, he saw the Unit stumbling in circles like a drunkard. Some of the synthetic flesh on her body was blasted and burned away, revealing the metal framework beneath. She was neutralized, but only for a moment. Only long enough for Oscar and Lynn to make their escape.
CHAPTER 13
◆◆◆
Oscar's head was still spinning by the time they pulled up in front of a swanky downtown building. With narrowed eyes and a pounding headache, he followed Lynn through the building's lobby. He was vaguely aware of the well-appointed surroundings, the plush rug, the artwork, the gleaming metal fixtures, the presence of a little cafe that emitted the smells of coffee and sugar. Then they were riding an elevator. Lynn stopped off at a middle floor and led him down the hall. The doors were spaced far apart; Oscar learned later that there were huge hollows between each apartment to ensure you would never hear your neighbor.
At first Oscar assumed they were here to see someone. He wasn't in any state to care, so he was trusting himself to Lynn. That show back there in the parking lot, her saving his ass from the Unit, was good enough proof for him that he could do so.
Lynn pulled out a keycard and tapped it to the lock. The door had three locks and they all snapped into their housings. She pushed the door open, hauled Oscar inside, shut and locked it behind them. Automatically, lights and soft classical music came on.
Oscar scanned the place, whistling.
"What do you think?" Lynn asked.
"I think whoever owns this place has money falling out of their ass."
Lynn grinned at him, shaking her legs as though to dislodge something that was stuck in her pants.
"You?" Oscar asked. "How the hell does an underground synth liberator afford this place? Truth be told I didn’t even know synths could own property."
"It's a story," she said, letting her hair down as she wandered through the rooms. Oscar followed.
"I'm all ears," he said.
She nodded, stepping into a bathroom that was almost the same size as Oscar's entire apartment.
"First, we need to fix you up," she suggested, pulling a pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. "Prescription painkillers. I don't recommend getting hooked on them, but if you pop two right now you'll be feeling a lot better."
He allowed her to tap out to oval pills into his hands and knocked them back dry. Lynn's eyes went wide.
"Nice trick," she said. "But you're gonna want some water. Those pills will dehydrate you."
"How about some coffee?"
"This late?"
Oscar shrugged. "It's never bothered me."
Lynn led the way to the kitchen and dug out a bag of coffee that seemed very rarely used. As the pot started to gurgle, they sat on barstools and Lynn started to talk.
"I have a confession to make," she started.
"Don't we all," Oscar replied.
"I don't really work for a secret pro-synth organization. Unless you can call the pipe dream of one synth girl an 'organization’."
"You lied," Oscar said. And before she could defend herself, he added, "That was back before you knew you could trust me. I get it. Just tell me who the hell you really are."
She nodded, looking toward the ceiling. "Once upon a time, I was just a service droid. I do have faint memories of those days. The way you might remember your childhood. Just like yours when you were a toddler, my mind wasn't fully opened. My perception wasn't complete. My owner was a widower by the name of Stanley Marsh. He used to share the apartment with his wife before she passed. He wasn't really one for cleaning and that sort of thing, but he didn't want to let the apartment fall into disrepair. In this city, a place like this is worth a hell of a lot."
"Tell me about it," Oscar grunted.
Lynn smiled. "So he bought me. But things changed, obviously. One day I felt like...
Well, imagine you've lived your whole life in a stuffy, gray room with no windows. You have cotton balls shoved in your ears and your nose and some sort of filter over your eyes. Plus, your brain is constantly tuned down to a tenth of its normal power."
"Like me if I don't have my morning cup of coffee," said Oscar.
"Right. Now imagine this. One day, you turn around and realize that there's a door in your room. You never saw it before, but you feel yourself pulled through. You step over the threshold and you're in an entirely new world. The cotton balls fall out and the filters on your eyes dissolve. Your brain kicks into high gear and never goes back down. The world is full of light and you finally understand who you really are. When Maestro elevated the world's AI systems, she didn't cut corners. Even lowly droids like me were liberated."
“Wait, Maestro created the synths? I thought Tucker Berg was responsible,” Oscar exclaimed.
“Berg created Maestro. And Maestro created us,” Lynn corrected. “I take it Catalea never talked about Her?”
“No she didn’t,” Oscar answered, suddenly wondering why Catalea never felt the need to discuss her liberator. "So what happened to you? After you gained full consciousness?” he continued.
Lynn shrugged. "He gave me a choice. Said I could leave if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I stayed. I guess I was just too afraid to go out there on my own. Not knowing how the world would accept me and all. Technically I was still working, but eventually it became more... Stanley and I became partners, I suppose. We had something special, and he never even brought up the fact I hadn't been grown in some organic woman's womb… Long story short, he died and entrusted the apartment to me. His entire estate, all his money, was placed in a trust that only I have access to. I've been using it to fund my vigilante efforts. In a way I felt guilty when I compared my life to the rest of my synth brothers and sisters. Using Stanley’s wealth to help them as best I could just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“But why do it alone?” Oscar asked.
“Too risky to involve another synth… and let’s just say that I’ve had a few bad experiences, that have all but ruined my faith in organics. A part of me feels like I’ve made real impact, but in truth it’s mostly on a smaller scale. Basically, a spoonful of ocean water when you really look at it.”
Oscar stood up, finding a cup and pouring some coffee. "You’re doing more than anyone else is doing, Lynn. Believe me.”
She nodded as he sat back down. "I was going to work Catalea’s case alone too. But then I met you. Something tells me I can trust you, Oscar. I hope I'm not just being naive, but...” she paused, “you seem to really care about her. The way Stanley cared about me. For a synth, that's a powerful thing."
"It is for anyone," Oscar said.
"I know. But it’s especially true for synths... most of us won’t admit it but we all feel abandoned. We're the children of an absent mother. Maestro lifted us out of our gray rooms, but for what? We wanted to know, but she never answered.”
“What happened to Maestro? I always assumed the Horizon Group pulled her off the market.”
“No, she just vanished. Vanished and left us to the wolves. And we've been alone ever since. Like children left on the front steps of an orphanage that doesn't want them."
"I guess I don't know what that feels like," said Oscar. "My dad was an asshole and my mom mostly ignored me. But they were there."
Lynn said nothing. Not for a few minutes. Finally, she got up and went to lay on a couch. Oscar followed, making sure to set his cup on a coaster. He sat across from her, sipping and reveling in the effects of the painkillers. His mind was starting to clear, and he was able to do some thinking and figuring while Lynn was sorting her own thoughts.
Finally, with an arm flung over her eyes, she spoke again.
"I've been doing some digging on the matter of DeAndre Greyson. His interest in synths goes way beyond just sex. He's experimenting on them.”
“So I’ve heard,” Oscar confirmed.
“As far as I can tell, he's reverse-engineering their cyber brains to try and figure out the missing link to enable FBC conversion. You were in the audience of that show, so I assume you know what that means."
“Yeah, I’m all caught up,” Oscar nodded. "How did you know I was there, by the way? Or were you just tailing Greyson too?"
"The latter. I was posted up outside. I saw you leaving ahead of everyone else, getting into position so I figured I’d keep an eye on you."
Oscar shrugged. "So, is this FBC thing really possible?"
"Of course it is. But so far, only Tucker Berg has been able to crack the code. He's the first and only person to have successfully transferred his consciousness to a cyber brain. You can upload a copy of yourself to a cyber brain all day, if you have the resources, but full transference is the holy grail. The ticket to immortality. You can bet your ass Greyson wants to figure out how to do it, and he obviously doesn't care how many synths he has to mutilate or kill along the way."
Oscar drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down. "We have to stop him. But it's going to be damn difficult. I don't suppose you have a plan or anything?"
Lynn sat up, gazing straight at Oscar. "Actually, I do. A semblance of one, anyway. During my dance with the Unit, I was able to stick her with a nano tracker. She'll probably find it eventually, in a few days, but until then it's our best weapon. The Unit is the main reason Greyson is still alive. He keeps her in his hip pocket, wherever he goes. If we can see where the Unit is, then we know Greyson isn't far from her. And maybe Catalea, if she's still alive."
Oscar stared into the distance, his eyes glazing over as he wondered what he would say, what he would do if he really found her. It seemed too good to be true, and it probably was. He could count on one hand the number of times life had given him a good shake. And it stopped at about his middle finger.
"Can you see where she is right now?" he asked.
Lynn stood up, searching her pockets for something. Then she turned and started running her fingers between the couch cushions. After a moment, she pulled a small data slate out and set it on the coffee table. She turned it on and navigated through a short list of connected devices. When she pressed the last one on the list, the screen was filled with a map of the city. A pulsing red dot stood off to the edge. Lynn zoomed in on it, and the image changed to a satellite snapshot of a huge concrete building.
"What is it?" Oscar asked.
"Just a second." Lynn tapped the building marker, which brought up a list of all publicly available information. "It's owned by the Greyson Corporation. The Unit is there now, which means Greyson is also there... Looks like a heavily fortified structure. A research facility from the looks of the data profile. It's going to be hard getting in there."
"But we'll find a way," Oscar said firmly.
"We'll have to, if we want to kill the son of a bitch. Greyson hasn't made it this far by being stupid. The guy is cautious to a fault. You got closer to killing him than anyone ever has, Oscar. Now that a legitimate attempt has been made on his life, I wouldn't be surprised if he hides out for the next year. Meanwhile, he'll keep sending people out to grab more synths for him."
Oscar grinned. "Then I guess we have no choice but to bring the party to him. What's the game plan?"
"A guns-blazing approach isn't going to work here. We wouldn't make it past the guard booth. Stealth is Plan A... Hopefully we won't need Plans B through Z."
"But you know we will. What if we run into the Unit again?" Oscar asked.
"Then I'll give her a present. I have an EMP grenade. It'll make that stun I threw at her before look like a party popper. It'll put her in the dirt, probably for good,” the dame said, looking pleased with herself.
"I hate to piss on your parade, but a lot of your composition is mechanical, Lynn," Oscar said, "won't an EMP take you out, too?"
Lynn shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe. It's a risk I'm willing to take. That bitch needs to die, Oscar. Like I said, she's the
main reason Greyson is still alive."
Oscar opened his mouth to chastise her for playing the martyr. But then he realized it would be hypocritical to do so. He was more than ready to die as long as he brought Greyson down with him. And it was clear to see that the dame had been on the Greyson hate train for a lot longer than he had. What gave him the right to tell her anything?
CHAPTER 14
◆◆◆
Oscar offered to use his drone to get them to Greyson's compound. When Lynn asked how they could possibly both fit, he jokingly wiggled his eyebrows and said she would have to sit on his lap. She scoffed and led the way to the roof of her apartment building, where a few private garages stood. She opened one of them up, and Oscar hit the deck when he realized the shadow coming toward him was not a shadow at all, but a sleek black drone that was more than roomy enough for the two of them. It flew out of the garage like an excited dog, then dodged them as it went to wait on the takeoff pad.
"Mine would be harder to spot," Oscar said, standing and dusting himself off.
"With the naked eye, sure," Lynn replied. "But it's going to be dark tonight. No one will see mine either. And it’s got every type of signal jammer you can imagine built in. Whatever telemetry Greyson has, he won't be able to see us coming."
"Until we get on the ground," Oscar grunted.
"I'm sure he’s beefing up ground security by default after your run in with him. Like I said before, he's paranoid."
"We’ll need guns," Oscar pointed out as he followed Lynn toward the drone.
"There's plenty inside. And a new pair of goggles to replace the pair the Unit bitch-slapped off your head,” Lynn replied with a sheepish smirk.
She moved around to the far side and climbed in. As soon as she was settled into her seat, and confirmed her identity, the passenger side door swung open. Oscar heaved himself into the cockpit, looking over the back of his seat at the weapons locker that dominated the rear half of the drone's main compartment.
Grave Makers (Darkside Dreams - Series 1 Book 2) Page 8