Shards [Book Three]

by Peter W Prellwitz

  I picked up my bra and put it on. It was a far cry from the marvel of engineering, fashion, and comfort that I used to have. It wasn't even a bra, really, just a length of cloth, about two meters long and twenty centimeters wide. The idea was not to give me support—I was only modest in the bust department and it didn't look like I'd be getting much bigger. Its main function was to de-emphasize my figure and help pass myself off as a boy—at least from a distance. I don't know how much safer it made me; Neither ripers nor NATech goons cared much who they attacked. The main rule was the younger the better. And I was very young. But the cloth strip, snugly wrapped, at least gave me illusory comfort, and I'd take whatever comfort I could get. I pulled on my clean shirt and pants, and slipped my sockless feet into my shoes.

  By now the still flowing water was as cool as it was going to get. I drank my fill, then stopped it up. It would be another thirty minutes until darkness let me move around, so I tried to pass the time by cleaning my room. Since Miss DeChant had been “out” in the last week, everything was nearly perfect. In any event, there wasn't a whole lot to clean. So I sat down and wrote out a small note to her, filling her in briefly.

  I'd picked my room out less than three days after the 179th dropped me off here. It was a small office located inside one of the hundreds of gutted warehouses and factories that made up the core of Glendale. There were thousands of such little rooms, but this one was perfect. This one had been a factory, a monolithic building that housed the huge lathes and presses used to turn out ion engine casings for the starships of the twenty-third century. When they relocated to Orbital Station R in the twenty-fourth century, they took what they could and left the rest. What remained was obsolete and too bulky to justify moving and created a deadly maze of heavy equipment, oily surfaces, ambush points and long falls to the basement. And I knew the whole place. My room was against an outside wall that bordered an open field. It could get very hot during the day, but stayed warm on these cool October nights. It had only one exit—a weakness—but it was buried in a tiny side alley that itself was hidden from the street. And if an emergency came up and I absolutely had to get out, I had my energy pistol—thoughtfully given back to me by Jody before they brought me here—and could take out the wall. It would never be my home—shards never referred to where they lived as home in the hope that one day they would have a real one—but it would do.

  Best of all, it was close to the Resistance Glendale base and I had a nicely disguised route there. It was at the base that I spent most of my time. And when I wasn't there, I was here. I did not move around very much. If I sharded in a place where I wouldn't be found by the Runners—as we called the Resistance patrol—there was precious little chance of my surviving the attentions of anyone else. I had undergone a temporary sterilization to prevent pregnancy, but that was the least of my worries. The last woman shard caught by ripers died the day after her attack. The last male shard caught by them was found dead.

  I waited another two years for the thirty minutes to pass, and then it was finally time to go. First, dinner at the base. Then, my endurance permitting, a long session with Mike. The excitement inside me was almost a living thing. Just another few of these sessions, with Alan along as chaperone and right hand man, and everything that I'd been through and been put through would pay off. I quietly closed the door to my room and picked my way to the outside.

  * * * *

  The corporal had just finished his third canteen of water of the day when the subdural signal behind his ear pinged. He put down the canteen and lifted his rifle. The gun was fully charged and lethal up to one kilometer, provided the shooter was good enough. The corporal was a great deal more than good enough. He squinted through the night sight and looked at the only exit from the shard's room.

  She stepped out carefully, a slip of a girl with long hair tucked into her shirt. He'd been warned over and over to always be careful and never take her for granted. If she discovered his presence here, he'd be dead within the hour. He never doubted it. He'd been working around shards and Cues for twenty-six years, and the first lesson you learned was never underestimate them. So when she looked across the open field in the general direction of the warehouse where his elevated sniper nest was, he became completely motionless and made sure to not look directly at her. Rumor had it that shards seemed to know when they were being watched, and again he didn't doubt it.

  He looked casually back at her through the sight and felt a small relief to see the back of her head. Although she was over two hundred meters away, he was confident he could punch a neat hole through her skull with a quarter-second burst. He was the best in the squad, and his squad was the best in the region. He watched her as she picked her way through the trash-strewn alley before disappearing around a corner. Putting the rifle down, the corporal reached for the fourth canteen and waited in the darkness for the soft tone to go off again.

  * * * *

  It took me thirty minutes to make the trip to base, twice as long as when I was more myself. I had to rest several times and wait for my muscles to stop quivering. In a way, this was the worst part about sharding: those few hours after an episode waiting to get my strength and wind back. Over the past month, that time seemed to be getting longer and longer. No matter. Another week or two and I could take as much time as I wanted to recover. But first ... I pushed off from the pile of crumbled masonry I'd been resting against and went on.

  Five minutes later, I dropped down the last flight of stairs and walked through the grungy door. There was an easier entrance, but it was more exposed, and used only for emergencies. Shards that still had some control came this way.

  Alan, where he always was when not on the streets, looked up from his terminal. I was on a platform a floor above him, but the ceiling was easily ten meters high, so we were in the same room. A large smile came across his tired face when he saw me.

  “Hello, there! Glad to see you up and about.” He narrowed his eyes and looked. “Abigail, right?"

  “Uh-huh. Miss DeChant's still in bed.” Once she learned how to move around, Miss DeChant started using this route. The girl did, too, but everyone I talked to said they could tell in an instant when I was the girl. Miss DeChant and I were more difficult to tell apart. Until we talked, that is. Apparently Miss DeChant had a very recognizable French accent.

  I went down the steps along the wall to the lower floor where Alan was. He stood up so he could catch me when I jumped into his arms. I gave him a huge hug and a kiss high on the cheek, about the only place his beard wasn't. He set me down and mussed my hair. He seemed like a big brother to me. He smiled one of his endless smiles and jerked his head toward the kitchen.

  “There's some soup and fresh bread in the kitchen. Help yourself. Dorothy's over at Hoc and Chiv's place, but she'll be back in an hour or so. She'd love to see you."

  “And I'd love to see her. Uhh, could I ask you to get me some soup, Alan? You and I need to get a bunch of stuff done with Mike tonight, and if I walk in there, Miss DeChant might walk out, and that would really throw a wrench in those plans."

  “You're going back on so soon? Is that wise, Abigail?"

  “No, it's not wise at all. In fact, it's downright stupid. That's why you come along, Alan. So I don't have to pay for my stupid mistakes. But things are reaching a head and I'm on a schedule."

  “And the schedule is...” he prodded.

  “Six more days as me should do it. Probably nine or ten days over all. I want to be in the best shape possible when we cross.” I snatched a roll from his soup plate and shoved it in my mouth. Rude, I know, but he was done and there was no point in wasting food. “Is the equipment in yet?"

  “Don't talk with food in your mouth. Uh-huh. It came in yesterday. We needed you to calibrate it, though, so it's still in its retropressure crating."

  “Cool. I'll start work on it after we're done in the puterverse.” I walked to the back room where we kept our best access point, still chewing on the bread.

 
I stepped through the inner door and into level twenty. Mike kept a permanent gate in this room, and only Alan and I were allowed in. Truth to tell, only Alan and I could come in, and stay conscious, even though level twenty was not a prime number and therefore easier than nineteen or twenty-three. Having it at level twenty helped in two ways. It gave Mike time to slap shields around Alan before we went total, and it was an effective, but not fatal, deterrent for anyone who wandered in here. Mike hadn't given me a lot of details on Posen's last few seconds of life, but the picture was still pretty clear; I wouldn't wish that kind of agony on anybody.

  Thinking of Posen, I realized I hadn't thought of him much in past months. When my induced sharding episode ended, I was already in Glendale. It was another week before I could access. When Mike told me he'd carried out my sentence, I'd felt a flash of satisfaction that Posen was dead; but as the days passed, I'd come to feel remorse as well. Was it my place to pass a death sentence? Yes, it was. He was a traitor, under the same sentence of death when caught. And he'd be unable to impose his wretched will and ideals on the 179th. But despite all that, and despite everything he had done to me, I took no pleasure from his death. It was needed, and was carried out, quick and without intention to torture. There was nothing to be gained by punishing beyond what was needed. The Bible said an eye for an eye, but many people didn't understand that God was saying just an eye for an eye, and no more.

  I shook the cobwebs out of my head. Keep your focus, Abby As I said, I walked into level twenty when I passed through the door. A quick glance around showed me it was our favorite spot near the Quantum. Sunk down near the bank, the black barriers that were present even at this level were hidden from sight. The only large landmark was the partial span that reached over the Quantum. Mike was leaning against its massive, ancient base.

  “Hey, kid.” He gave me a big grin, much the same kind that Alan gave me, and held out his arms.

  “Hiya, pervert.” I gave him a big hug and clung to him for a long time. It was these moments that I ached for. With Aaron gone, and my life stampeding toward inevitable dissolution, I found it easier to think of the fantastic. I had wondered once if I could fall in love with a cyberbeing of my own writing. I knew now that I could. Through everything, Mike had been there for me. Mike and Kiki. How could I not love them both?

  He pulled me away, but kept an arm around me. He lifted my chin and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. Soft flickers of plasma raced between us. He'd changed so much since the last package of coding I'd given him. He took his execution of Posen, and his new powers, very seriously. I closed my eyes and kissed him back. Warmth, love, peace, and security flowed over me. And healing.

  I leaned my back against him, still wrapped in his arms, and we stared out across the Quantum. The far side looked darker these days. Or was that just my imagination? The calm before the storm? I sighed.

  “What is it, love?” Mike asked softly. He was still a first class jerk. And there'd always be a little leech in him, I suppose. But like now, he could be very sensitive. Not that I'd ever tell him that. He'd brush it off and say something crude. Although, maybe not. He had changed a lot, even to projecting himself taller, to better protect me.

  “I was just thinking of my past three years, Mike. So much has happened."

  “And so much more to come.” He added.

  “I suppose. At least for the next week or so. After that...” My voice tapered off and I sighed again. “Mike, I sharded as the foundry again."

  “That makes ten times in the last three months.” he said thoughtfully. “More than the all the others combined, not counting Miss DeChant and the girl. I wonder why."

  “That's what I thought. My guess is that it's the most basic of the ripes. Or the most repetitive. According to what we dug up, all I did for over 130 years was—"

  “You mean, all it did for over 130 years.” Mike corrected gently.

  “All right. All it did for over 130 years was repeat the same basic set of instructions. A false persona isn't supposed to cross the riping barriers, but I wonder if something so repetitive can leave a deeper mark ... leave a ma-ma—” I started sobbing.

  “Hey, hey, Abby. Settle down.” He gave me a reassuring hug. “Let's not talk about that now."

  “Oh, Mike!” I began crying. “I don't want to die! My life's not much, but it's mine! And I don't want to give it up yet! There's so much to see and do and experience! Does it have to end now?"

  “Yes. Yes it does.” He said unsympathetically. I jerked away from him angrily. I turned on him, my fists clenched.

  “You jerk! How can you say such a mean thing?"

  “It's not mean, Abigail. It's true. If you follow every documented case of sharded dissolution, you'll be dead in a few months. Maybe only a few weeks."

  I couldn't believe my ears. And I had thought he was sensitive. I started pounding on his chest.

  “Stop it! Stop it! Don't say those things!” I couldn't stop crying now. He grabbed my wrists and pulled my face close to his. He held me like that until I looked into his pale green eyes, so empty, yet so full of expression.

  “Fine. I'll stop it if you stop it.” I stared back at him and stopped struggling. He let my wrists go, but I didn't move. I just kept staring at him.

  “Abigail, I know what's coming, and it's tearing me apart. But it's like you said to me when I didn't think it fair. You said, ‘You're right, it's not fair. Deal with it.’ And that's what I'm saying to you. Deal with it.

  “We've been looking for an answer to this dissolution for a long time. I've made over six trillion searches, trying to put together just the right combination to find a cure. I haven't found it. I haven't stopped looking, either. I still have hope. And so should you.

  “In the meantime, we have work to do. Work you have devoted yourself to and work you created me to do. If your Maker is only going to give you three years, then let's use it wisely. That book He wrote, the Bible. In it He said, ‘So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of it own.’”

  “Michael!” I said, in shock. “How in the world...?"

  He shrugged, betraying his pleasure with a slight grin. “I have access to 717 translations, plus the original Hebrew and Greek, and I know how much value you put on what He has said and done. I don't know if I have a God. If I do, I hope your God is mine, too."

  “Ruth."

  “Eh?” He said. “Oh, from the Old Testament. Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, take those words to heart, kid, and let's live with what's already ours, and not worry about what's not.” He groaned. “Oh, man! That sounded so lame!"

  “No it didn't.” I giggled at his smirk. “Well, maybe a little. But, it sounded nice, too.” I gave him a big, shameless kiss on his mouth. “Okay! I'm better now!"

  “That's nice,” said Alan, walking up behind us. “So, what did I miss?"

  “That, Lieutenant Lockwood,” I laughed, “is none of your business."

  * * * *

  “Worms! Three seconds, Abby!” Mike's voice yelled through the solid data-rock. “Move your pretty little butt!"

  “I need twenty! Alan!” I called out. I was lying on my back, both my arms buried inside the memory conduit that was in turn buried in the pitch-black rock.

  “Got it, Abby!” Alan jumped down to the surface to engage the worm, leaving me to concentrate on the data-mine. These things were tricky. If I didn't direct the packet burst exactly right, the rerouting would be flawed and a valuable link would be lost. Worse, invaluable lives would be hurt. This conduit was a primary pool used for organizing the medical databases on three continents. It had a split picolink back-up, which would kick in less than one billionth of a second after condui
t failure, but I had already taken care of that one. I'd also mined the migrated dynamic imprint. I couldn't afford to leave a single trace of NATech's presence left after detonation, or like a virus, it would grow back.

  I heard loud explosions as Alan dealt with the worms. From the sound of the patterns, he had chosen to imitate a surge failure. On the outside, it would appear as though the worms had received too much power and had begun tracking themselves, which inevitably left a big mess. Mike would already be mimicking the surge at the lower access levels. They made quite a pair. I turned my attention back to where it belonged.

  The rock faded away and I could partially see the mine. It was now completely filling the conduit. Everything looked hazy because we were on level nineteen and I didn't want to enrich the data stream with UTC. That really would cause a surge.

  “Give me a seven-way indicator, please.” Obediently, seven lights appeared, showing the proper alignment of the mine. I rotated it while shifting the top edge back. Five lights began flashing. I pulled it down. One light went off, the other two flashed, for a total of six.

  “Phase drift ascending from negative twenty-five until unit lock.” The mine tingled in my hands, then became hard again as the seventh light started flashing. Bingo.

  “Set and activate in five, four, three...” I took my hands away, and the conduit disappeared as the rock became opaque. I rolled onto my stomach and dropped down through the lower rock to the battle area. I could stand to work off a little steam.

  I fell clear of the roof of the cavern and saw Mike and Alan duking it out with not one but three worms about five hundred meters below me. A fourth one lay in pieces, its glowing guts painting a nearby black barrier a light gray.

  Mike had one, Alan another, which left one for me. I was in free fall, so I shot out my wings to gain some maneuverability. I didn't play around with my feathered ones, though. This was for real. Steel rods, razor sharp along the leading edge, telescoped up and out from my back. The wings crackled with power, sending out blinding light from their molecule-thick surface. I went into a full power stoop, aiming myself at my worm.