by Wesley Chu
The two stood toe to toe, scowling into each other’s faces. James wasn’t sure if he could take Levin in a fair fight, but he was wound up enough to try. They might be on the same side, but years of animosity and bitterness didn’t just melt away because they had the same goals.
Fortunately, Grace got between them, waving her hand at her face. “You two are getting me all hot and bothered. This is less than useful, and neither of you is inspiring the masses.”
Both of them glanced over at the two dozen Elfreth frozen in place, staring. James had broken his own rule. These people either looked up to or feared them. Either way, that made this little tiff look bad. The gossip was going to be rampant. Elise was going to hear of this.
“We’re doing it wrong,” Levin repeated in a quieter voice.
“Well, feel free to update us savages when you figure out a better plan.”
Levin scowled and stomped away.
Grace’s gaze followed the former auditor. She turned to James. “He’s not wrong, you know. You and I have had this discussion before.”
James shrugged. “Of course he’s not wrong, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of just being right. Unless he has a solution and an actionable plan, being right isn’t enough. Besides, he still hasn’t thanked me for breaking him out of prison.”
She looked over at James and shook her head. “Sometimes, pet, you’re a petty little shit, you know that?”
He shrugged and turned his attention back to unloading the collie. “I’d like to think I’m just standing up for all of us, the little people Levin’s so quick to dismiss. This fight affects everyone. By the way, did you retrieve the medical analyzer machines and medicines for Sasha like Titus asked?”
THIRTY-TWO
SHOT ACROSS THE BOW
When Weck was a kid, he messed up a lot and ran with a bunch of tunnel rats. Finally, his pap had had enough and told him that he had better get his ass straight and pull his own weight in the colony. “Don’t be a dreg,” Pap had said, “because those that can’t afford air don’t get to breathe for free. They get shipped off to that shithole in space.” He would point up into the domed sky and then reinforce his lecture with a metal rod to Weck’s bent rear.
Eventually, Weck got the lesson beaten into him, and he followed his pap’s advice. He stopped running with the tunnel rats, fulfilled his Luna citizenship hours, and began earning a respectable commission at one of the largest and most powerful megacorporations. By all indications, he had done what Pap had said. He wasn’t a dreg. However, somehow, Weck ended up shipped off to that shithole in the sky anyway.
“I hate Earth,” he said, chewing and spitting cany weed as his team of five hunkered down for the night on the seventy-third floor of a building identified on the map only as the Pierre. “I busted my ass so I wouldn’t end up here.”
Weck’s hound pack was assigned the unfortunate task of surveying the block east of the Central Park jungle, south to Sixtieth and east to Madison Avenue. According to his pack leader, Co-op forces were coming through here next week, and she wanted every floor on the block fully surveyed.
Usually, that would be more than enough time for the job, but no one had accounted for how much trouble buildings next to Central Park were to survey. The dense jungle in the center of the Mist Isle had grown outward in every direction, getting its stinking tentacles into all the adjacent structures. Thousands of massive vines and branches—some as thick as a man was tall—jutted into the buildings through windows, cracks, and doors. Some of the larger plants had made their own entrances by smashing through walls.
To top things off, the wildlife here—Weck wasn’t even counting the savages—was particularly dense. Already, in the first building, a relatively modest eighty-two-floor residence, his team had run into four different packs of large cats and a pit of humanoid snake creatures. His men had flamed out one of the cat lairs, but had decided to leave the rest to the main force.
Surprisingly, the tribes here were sparse. Nonexistent, almost. Weck and his men had thought the savages would congregate around the jungle, much like the wildlife did, but they had barely seen more than a few small groups here and there. They found evidence of habitation on several sites, some quite large, but they all seemed to have been abandoned. He guessed the Senior Securitate’s new plan of spreading fear and terror among the primitives was working.
They did find a small savage tribe lingering in the area. Weck and his team of five had stumbled upon the twenty or so savages just as they were roasting dinner—some large deer-like creature. His boys had decided that they would rather have venison than their rations, and the twenty primitives weren’t much of a threat, so they swooped in. The savages were taken by surprise and didn’t put up much of a fight. Within minutes, Weck’s pack had killed half the tribe and sent the rest scurrying away.
His men were clearing the floor when he saw a pair of eyes hiding under a blanket. He pulled the blanket off and discovered a young, scrawny boy, probably no older than eight. The little animal smelled like piss. Weck pulled him to his feet and pushed the savage against the wall.
“Not too smart, are you?” He grinned. He put his hand on the dirty urchin’s neck and aimed the gun at his forehead. Before he could pull the trigger, the animal bit his hand and ran off. Smarting, Weck fired twice but missed both times. The little savage scurried under a broken table, and then fled the room.
Marl wanted to chase after him, saying it was more humane to put down the kid than to let him get eaten by the cats and dogs and snakemen, but the roasted venison smelled delicious, and it was getting dark. Whatever little light managed to shine through this accursed fog was fading, and no one felt like wading through the darkness looking for savages to euthanize.
Weck, shaking his smarting hand, sat down and threw his pack off. “Go after him yourself if you want. I’ll be sure to eat your portion before you get back.”
The rest of the guys laughed and settled around the fire. By all indications, the small tribe had been living here for years. They occupied half a floor of the building and even had crops on the balconies. Weck and his team ate their fill and stretched out around the fire.
“I can’t wait until this project is over.” Rindle yawned and stretched. “I thought when I got the commission, I’d be fighting the Radicati, not wading through this cesspool. I mean, every time I inhale, I feel like gagging.”
Weck took out his pouch of cany weed and tossed it to Rindle. “You know, when I was a kid back on Luna, I once asked my pap why we lived there and pay for air if we can just move to Earth and get it for free. He smacked me on the back of the head and told me anything that’s worth having is worth paying for. I didn’t really get it until my first trip to Earth. He was an asshole, but Pap got it right.”
“The free air here is what the freeloaders deserve. Those of us willing to work and pay for it deserve the clean stuff,” Rindle added. “Capitalism and corporations will save humanity.” The men around them echoed in agreement.
“Listen up, boys,” Weck said. “Turn in early. We got a whole block to survey and less than a week to do it. The pack leader’s not going to chew me out for missing another project deadline. Rindle, first watch, then Zimm, Marl, and then Giggy. I’ll take the morning.”
“Why do you always get the last?” Giggy asked.
“You get to be the last when you’re lead.”
Weck’s pack settled in just as night swept over the isle. Whatever dim light was shining through the haze was gone, and the only thing staving off the darkness was the small dying fire at their feet. The four not keeping watch were soon fast asleep.
It seemed no sooner had he closed his eyes than Weck heard a muffled cry and then a shuffling of footsteps. Like any good soldier, he was up in a blink with his blaster out. He must have slept a few hours at least. The fire was only embers. The three men around him were still asleep and he could hear a shuffling just outside in the hallway.
“Rindle?” Weck whispere
d, turning his head beam on. The line of light painted the walls as he swiveled left and right. “Associate Hound Rindle. Report.” When he received no response, Weck kicked the man next to him. “Zimm. Get up. Sweeps the floor—”
A thud in his chest knocked Weck onto his back. He had been in enough battles to know when he had been shot. He groaned and looked down, frowning when he realized that it was an ax sticking out of his chest. He tried to call out an alarm but only hisses escaped his lips. Weck put his left hand on the ax and tried to pull it loose. The pain almost made him lose consciousness.
He slumped back down to the ground and watched as the night came alive. Zimm sat up and stared mouth-open at the wooden handle growing out of Weck’s chest. As soon as he tried to stand, a shadow flashed from behind, and blood poured out of his opened throat. More shadows flew into the room, several flying past Weck’s head beam in a dark blur.
The other two men were able to get to their feet and fire off a few shots. The room flashed as Marl’s rifle strafed across it. He must have hit several of the attackers, because a chorus of screams followed. Then his rifle stopped firing and the blackness swallowed him whole. Marl fell at Weck’s feet, his eyes wide open.
Just as soon as the attack began, it ended, and the room was silent and dark again except for Weck’s head beam and the sound of his heavy breathing. Several bright white lights bathed the room, brightening it as if it were day. Weck shielded his eyes as one of the sources shined directly into his face. When he finally adjusted, he saw that he was surrounded by savages. Weck’s eyes widened as a small figure stepped in front of him.
It was the boy who had gotten away. The boy stared at Weck stone-faced, then he looked up at the man next to him and nodded. The man, draped in all black, unsheathed a knife from his belt. He offered it handle facing out. The boy took it and looked at Weck. The words that came out of his mouth sounded like gibberish.
“I don’t speak savage.” Weck coughed and spat blood. “I should have gutted you when I had the chance.”
“He said he has avenged his parents by bringing us to their murderers. He claims all your deaths as his. We have given them to him.”
The savage’s Solar English was barely understandable, but it was natural; he wasn’t using a comm band. “Where did you learn…” Weck never finished his sentence. The boy rammed the blade into Weck’s chest opposite of where the ax was still lodged. He gasped and spat out blood, then he fell over to his side. Weck’s last thought before dying was how much he hated Earth.
* * *
Elise walked with Eriao under heavy escort across the three kilometers from the All Galaxy Tower to the scene of the first battle between Manhattan and the Co-op. Both Eriao and Murad had counseled against her going, but she had insisted. This was the first volley of their war to drive the enemy off the island, and she wanted to witness it.
One of the lookouts stationed at an outpost in that area had heard gunfire. He had gone to investigate and found a boy running blindly through the building. The boy had told him what happened, and the lookout had sent the alert through to the All Galaxy. Elise had been awakened early in the evening and notified that a small Co-op squad had been detected. Eriao, now the de facto war chief of Manhattan, had made the call to stage an ambush and draw first blood. The two of them had decided to venture out to see the historical first battle together, though by all accounts, it wasn’t much of a fight, ending within a matter of seconds.
They were escorted into the room, and Eriao immediately went off to the side to talk to Murad, who had led the battle. The first thing Elise noticed was the row of nearly twenty bodies arranged neatly at one end of the room. Murad had said they were the Taj, a tiny friendly tribe that never bothered anyone and only wanted to be left alone. Now most of them were dead by the hand of Co-op soldiers.
Elise looked to her left and saw the five other bodies. They wore a gray variation of the standard Valta uniforms and looked surprisingly ordinary in their corporate armor. Back in Boston, the Co-op had primarily used ChronoCom monitors to do all the hard lifting. She wondered why that was no longer the case. It didn’t matter. The enemy was hunting them, and the Elfreth—no, the Manhattans—had finally hunted back.
She noticed one particular Valta guard off to the side. He had an ax and a dagger stuck into his chest. “What happened to him? He looks like he was executed.”
The Elmen striker, standing next to a young boy, spoke. “The boy who survived, Foss, said this man was the leader. We gave the boy his justice.”
Elise felt her body tighten at those words but kept her face calm. She knelt down in front of Foss. “You’ve had a long night. Would it be all right if we take you back with us to find you a warm bed?” He nodded and allowed the guardian to lead him away.
Elise spun on Murad. “No more executions. If we find a survivor, we take him back and interrogate him. We’re not savages.” She winced at that word. It had come out inadvertently.
“The invaders do not offer us the same quarter,” Murad said. “We would have to share our food and bed with the enemy.”
“Just because the enemy has no respect, it doesn’t mean we won’t. If they’re alive,” Elise emphasized each word, “bring them back. Understand?”
Murad nodded, though the expression on his face showed disagreement. “It will be your word, Oldest.”
“Murad,” Eriao said, walking up to them. “Strip the dead Valta troops of their armor and weapons..”
“Yes, War Chief.”
Elise looked out the window at Central Park. “Does the Co-op avoid the park there?”
Murad nodded. “All do, Oldest. To walk into the Central is to walk into death.”
“There’s more of these small Co-op teams in other buildings?”
“We have had sightings of at least two more so far,” said Eriao. “Scouts have reported other massacres like this over the past few days.”
“Several small tribes are still scattered in the area. They are all at risk.” Elise pulled up a map and ran her finger along the street until it reached the East River. She looked up at Eriao. “Can we defend everything south of this line?”
Eriao studied the map for a few seconds. “I’d prefer to move it further north, actually. That jungle on the western edge is a perfect defensive point. If our line is too far south and they break through, they can spill westward.” He drew his finger a few blocks north of Sixty-third Street. “Make our stand here.”
Elise took a piece of chalk and drew a line on that street from the edge of the park to the East River. She looked up at Murad. “Have all buildings south of that line checked for Co-op forces. That’s our new border. I want all Manhattan forces moved up and ready to attack any of the enemy forces that cross it. It’s time we start defending our people.”
A small smile appeared on Murad’s face. “Yes, Oldest.” He tapped his hand twice over his heart. “We defend Manhattan.”
THIRTY-THREE
PREY’S BITE
Kuo looked at the three-dimensional map of the island rising up from the table. She had just lost another veteran hound pack who last reported in on Seventy-fourth and Third. She noted the location on the map and checked the watch line.
All across the island, inside and outside Co-op-controlled space, her hound packs, trooper pods, and monitor squads had gone missing. It was as if the entire abyss-plagued island had risen up at the same time. In the past seventy-two hours, nine of sixteen units had failed to report, whereas she had lost only one in all of last month. Unfortunately, the damn fog made rapid responses impossible. Sometimes, it took over a day before she realized a team was missing. Could the tribes in the south half of the Mist Isle be this much more dangerous?
No, that was impossible. By all indications, these savages were relatively homogeneous in strength. There was no way any of the tribes could be so much more powerful than the others. If that was so, a dominant tribe would have taken over the entire island years ago. Something had changed. Either they
had organized, or they were receiving outside help.
That last theory seemed most likely. Whoever had been hitting her people over the last few days had been smart enough to take all the bodies, but the evidence of battle on the walls and floors, the random ejected shells, clips, and shrapnel, told a different story. Everywhere her investigators looked, there were signs that these spear-chucking savages were teching up. Blaster fire, beam weapons, gauss projectiles. Someone, some corporation, possibly, was arming these primitives. The question was, who?
At first, Kuo thought it was the Radicati Corporation, Valta’s leading competitor and enemy. However, it made little sense for them to get involved in this project, or to even know this project existed. The Radicati were busy waging a four-way war with Valta, Finlay, and the dominion colonies.
The fact that Kuo was so far away from that war made her grit her teeth. This project was important to the company’s long-term strategy and was considered a promotion for Kuo, but this was still the backwater of the solar system and far away from the real action. The real climbers on the corporate ladder were the ones fighting on the front line.
The most recent development was certainly not going to help her cause. She had to send Sourn a status report by tomorrow. The last thing he wanted to hear was that she had lost sixty people to a bunch of rock-throwing takers living in squalor. To make matters worse, her most recent request to Young for more monitors had been rejected. Blast that nonprofit fool. The man was becoming a serious problem.
She was still no closer to locating the temporal anomaly. In the end, that was all that was important to Sourn and the board. She could waste hundreds of lives and thousands of units of energy and worth, but as long as she captured the scientist, this mission would be considered a success.
She still wasn’t sure why the liaison was so adamant about capturing her, other than wanting to enforce the contract. It made little sense unless there was something critically important about this scientist. So far, Sourn had been tight-lipped about it, only saying something vague about how there was something this anomaly had that Valta needed.