His eyes locked with Mission's for almost a full minute. Their power did border on the hypnotic. Mission broke the spell by shaking his head and saying, "You are in ... "
Paine grabbed him by the wrist. "I'm not interested in your assessment. Play your part or watch your people die."
Mission's mind raced. Taking this guy as a hostage was out. He could hold him for less than a second before Paine broke Mission's arm off. He pictured the room and what would happen as they entered. At least for an instant, everyone would look up to see them enter. At that point Pete or Carson or Montag could make a move. But what? And how would they know it was time to do something?
Paine twisted Mission's arm behind his back and pushed him up the hallway. The ultrasonics grenade. If he could just get a hand on it, he could take out everybody in the whole place and they could walk out. He would look for the instant when he could put his hand inside his coat.
Sergeant Pete Wells' training sessions continually proved effective and Mission's team was no exception. As Mission entered the front door of the hotel, Montag palmed a smoke grenade in his left hand with his thumb inside the ring.
Among other interests, Pete practiced an amateur magic act in his spare time. He understood how easy it became to accomplish the impossible by controlling where the audience's attention would focus. Thus, when Mission had motioned for them to drop their guns, Pete pulled out his Winston with a flourish, insuring that no one noticed his left hand darting inside his jacket for an ultrasonics grenade.
Meanwhile, Carson looked over the group guarding them. Not the brightest in the world. They formed a circle around the three of them, almost guaranteeing that they would kill more of themselves than the enemy if a fight broke out.
He located two syns almost directly across from each other with automatic weapons. He slowly positioned himself between them. With just a head fake before he dropped to the floor, they might kill five of themselves on each side of the circle when the heat turned up. He looked over at Pete who motioned with his eyes toward the hallway Mission and Paine had taken. Carson understood immediately. The moment when they reentered would be the optimum time of distraction. For at least an instant, every head would turn toward the hall. And he bet that Mission would make a sound or gesture upon entering to sweeten the pot. He looked over at Montag who witnessed the entire non-verbal conversation and nodded his head.
Mission could only move forward in response to Paine manhandling him up the hall. Just before they came in sight of the lobby, he coughed hoping all eyes would focus on their entrance. When someone twists your arm behind your back to hold you, your only real option is to drop to your knees, turning slightly to keep from dislocating your arm. The counter to this move is to drop to your knees along with your captive, never releasing your grip. So Mission depended on his team for distraction.
At the sound of the cough, Wells allowed the ultrasonics grenade to fall from his hand and roll under one of the chairs. The syns looked around to see what fell and Montag bounced his smoke grenade off the ground. Carson dove for the floor as the gunfire exploded. Mission dropped while pulling a 180 to face Paine as he slid from his grip down between his legs. Paine kicked him in the side and he felt a rib snap. As he pulled his foot up to stomp again, Mission caught him on the inside of the thigh with his foot and threw him onto his throne.
An explosion rocked the left hand front of the lobby and threw splinters of furniture and synthetics across the area. Mission noticed a fighter frozen in place and knew the ultrasonics were working. The gunfire continued at a steady pace and Mission realized that Paine also employed human mercenaries in his combat force. Crazy, not stupid.
The center of the combat raged inside the radius of the smoke grenade and visibility ran at zero except for muzzle flashes. Along the periphery, Mission noticed that fires started up like weeds on a summer lawn. The rugs, the old furniture, and the hotel structure itself burned.
Mission flew across the elevated area and dove on the ground to enter the smoke. He found about an inch of clear vision on the bottom of the floor. He kept looking. A mercenary smashed the back of his head with a rifle butt and he rolled over stunned. The merc came at him again and Mission caught him with his left hand and juiced him with 20,000 volts. It didn't kill a human, but it didn't improve their hand/eye coordination either. Mission hit him three straight times: nose, forehead, and throat. He kept looking. There! Mission crawled over to Montag and grabbed a magnetic interrupter clip from him. He slapped them on the frozen syns as fast as he could. A shot hit Mission and ... no! It penetrated his coat. He heard sputtering. He ripped his jacket back to see an orange explosive without a ring sparking like crazy. He snatched at it and threw it toward the pulpit, but it exploded in mid-air. The shrapnel pelted him all over and he hoped the flak suit held up. The eighth syn he came across lay on his stomach and Mission grabbed his foot for a purchase to pull up to the shoulder blades.
The ultrasonics died and the syn came alive and rolled over, reaching for Mission's throat and missing but latching onto his collar. The syn pulled Mission toward him so fast that his arms flew back so that he couldn't use the interrupter. This syn wasted no time. As Mission's face moved toward him, his stiffened finger on the left hand pushed toward his eye. It happened so fast. Less than a tenth of a second for Mission to realize he would die, to look into the cruel expression of his executioner, and then too see that face explode into flame.
Pete screamed over the barrel of his smoking Stiletto, "You're goddamned lucky I like it."
The fight really stepped up now that the ultrasound had died. The smoke started to clear. Mission checked. He and Pete in the middle. Carson to the right holding down that side. Yes! Montag snaking under the seats down the center. He used the orange explosives to simply blow hell out of the other half of the lobby and Pete followed suit.
The entire lobby burned out of control and it became difficult to take any bearings, but Mission thought they had eliminated most of the resistance. He caught Pete's eye and motioned toward the door. He nodded and soon Carson moved with him while Montag who was closest to the door laid down a covering fire. Mission moved toward the pulpit. Now it wasn't the grenade, it was the smoke from the fire that obscured his vision. He choked and pulled out his oxygen supply. He worried that the syn tore the hose when he snatched him by the collar, but he bit down on the valve and tasted the sweet oxygen. He reached the steps to the elevated area and as he put his hand up on the floor, he saw shoes just beyond it. He rolled frantically and ... ZZZIPPP! A sword almost four feet long shoved completely through his flak suit, the right side of his abdomen, and out the back and deep into the floor. As quickly as it stabbed him, it pulled free. Mission rolled diagonally while swinging his arms to try and ward off another thrust.
He heard coughing nearby and he circled on his hands and knees, hoping that the tight fit of the flak suit cut down on his blood loss. There! It was Paine alright and Mission managed to get behind him. He would juice him from behind and be done with it.
"Help me! Oh God, please help me!"
Mission crawled toward the sound and then realized who it was. He looked up and saw Sabrina, pleading for her life with flames licking closer and closer. How in the hell would he get her down? He looked around but there was nothing to see except smoke and flame. He would die if he didn't get out soon. Inspiration struck him. Wary of Paine, he crawled over to the refrigerator pulpit and pushed it slowly over to the wall. He stood on it which put his head up to the level of her head. He whispered, "It's Mission, but I'm going to have to hurt you to get you down."
He tugged on her wrist and the nail gave a bit, but her screams were more than Mission could stand. The command implanter. He pulled it out of a pocket and put Sabrina to sleep. He yanked her arm free with sudden panic, and then the other. He climbed up on the huge, rickety cross to get to her feet, realizing that when the nail came out, she would probably take him to the ground with her. The feet weren't as easy. Her entire w
eight pulled down on the nail, making it very difficult to apply the force needed coming straight out.
Suddenly Mission entered free fall and he tried to twist and land on his feet. Sabrina's dead weight refused to cooperate and he landed with a leg underneath him and Sabrina on top. His leg was hurt badly. They rolled over twice just as the carpet pile on the floor burst into flames and spread to the cross.
Mission considered the length of the trip to the lobby door, lugging Sabrina with one good leg. Out of the smoke Paine appeared, stabbing him again. As the sword came down on his heart, Mission slashed out with his right forearm. pushing the sword off to the side, but cutting his arm to the bone.
As Paine struggled to pull the sword out of the soft wooden floorboard, Mission tried to get out from under Sabrina without compounding his leg injury. He squirted out, and got to his feet, or foot, mostly hopping, circling Paine, with thoughts of Susan abruptly charging into his mind. Paine stood just in front of the burning carpet and when Mission moved within six feet of him, he brought the sword full overhead for the kill. Mission saw Susan laughing at him after the horror movie, and he charged as fast and as hard as he could. He struck Paine in the mid-section with his shoulder and they fell into the flames. As they hit the wall, the flaming cross shuddered and fell on them. Paine absorbed the brunt of the blow with one of the arms striking Mission.
He couldn't get up. The flak suit protected him from the flames, but he saw blood spurting from the severed artery in his arm. He wouldn't make it. He didn't save Sabrina. He wouldn't see Susan again.
Susan.
"Oh Jesus!"
Mission woke in hell. This monster with his face and his hair on fire stood over him. And started pulling him out from under the cross. Mission recognized the clothes. Montag came back for him. Trapped under the burning wood, Paine whispered, "Pilate. I forgive you. I forgive you all."
Mission screamed, "Sabrina. She's right over there. Get her!"
In another instant, Montag pulled them outside. Carson doused their synthetic protector with a fire extinguisher and set him on a stretcher.
Pete screamed, "That's what you were doing? Risking your life to save a syn? You're crazy Mission."
A med tech applied direct pressure to the artery while another tried to cut the flak suit off him. Mission knew he was hallucinating. Army aircars and tanks parked all over the place, General Steele, two hundred soldiers, and Susan. Susan.
He heard voices saying, "The human risked his life to save one of us. That makes no sense."
Mission managed to move. He yelled, "It does make sense. But synthetics staying here, that doesn't make sense. This is a human world with human laws. You can't be free here. But you can go to New Angeles and be part of a synthetic society. Your own world. My name is Mission. You can contact me through Paradox and I'll guarantee you safe passage there."
He fell back down on the pavement. Pete stood beside him, incredulous. Then Carson walked up, calm…detached. He looked at Pete for a second, and then noticed Sabrina, unconscious, but still functioning. Carson stared at her for several long seconds and then kneeled beside her. He cupped her head in his left hand, and with his right hand, gently stroked her hair, and then nodded to himself. “Maybe he’s not as crazy as he looks.” He locked eyes with Mission and nodded. “Maybe.”
Carson walked away, toward the soldiers. Over his shoulder, he called, “Mission, you owe me a beer.”
Mission looked at Susan and she ran over. He smiled and said, "What did I tell you? It ran like clockwork."
"You are without a doubt the biggest horse's ass in this solar system."
"I love you too. They ... they hurt Sabrina badly. Can you restore her to just before this happened? ... you always look so pretty ... "
By this time, they had strapped him onto the stretcher and moved him into the medivac aircar for a now familiar ride.
70
Mission woke with the light bright in his eyes. A doctor asked Susan if she had any questions and she said, "Yes. Do you give special rates for regular patients?"
She saw Mission's eyes open and moved over to him. "How do you feel? Or do you feel anything?"
He smiled and said, "More Dilaudid."
He motioned her closer and said, "Paine will destroy us all."
"Mission, he's dead."
"Doesn’t matter. We have to talk. You, me, Chandler, and the Professor. Tell them please."
He blinked. He felt like he looked at her through the wrong end of a telescope. He could sense himself fading back into sleep. "How are you Susan?"
She smiled. "I'm fine."
The next time Mission woke, Susan sat beside him and ... and her parents sat in the visitors chairs looking thrilled to be there. Susan whispered, "I have a surprise for you."
Sabrina and Montag stepped into his field of vision. Mission laughed with delight. "Sabrina, you look wonderful. No ill effects?"
She shook her head. "I have no memory of what happened, but Dr. Susan told me what you did. I want to thank you."
Mission shook his head. "No thanks are necessary. I’m delighted that you’re back to your old self. And Montag, you’ve recovered from our battle?"
"Sufficiently so. It is you we worry about."
"Well, there's no need. You saved me Montag. I was helpless and resigned to death when you showed up. Thank you."
Montag answered, "As a wise man said very recently, no thanks are necessary."
Susan's parents stepped up to the bed and Hugh said, "You look like hell, Mission."
"Well thanks, Hugh. You're looking good yourself."
"You keep this up, you're gonna make my daughter very sad."
Mission shook his head. "No, no, no. This is real progress. I didn't get shot this time."
Susan said, "Then how do you explain the bullet hole in your trench coat?"
"My coat got shot. I didn't."
"Mission, when you're wearing a coat and it's shot, I think that counts as being shot."
"Well I say that if you can't show me a bullet hole in my body, then I didn't get shot."
As they continued to argue, Monica turned to Hugh and said, "I had no idea they were so in love."
On the third day, Mission noticed he was in traction. "Hey Susan, is this leg broken?"
She nodded. "Two more days and they’ll be ready to put you in a cast. Carson and Pete received commendations and were called immediately to those islands off Africa's east coast. Price of success, I guess. They said they want to go drinking when they get back, but you have to buy the first round."
Mission smiled. "I don't know if I'll be drinking when they get back, but we’ll get together."
"Your requested visitors are here."
Mission looked up to see Chandler and the Professor. "Hello gentlemen. I'd like to talk about Paine."
They pulled their chairs up and nodded. Chandler started to speak and then stopped. Then he looked at Mission and said, "You’ll be happy to know that forty-eight synthetics have requested asylum in New Angeles. Your sidewalk speech had some impact."
Susan said, "That reminds me, Arthur Atwood called for you yesterday. New Angeles held elections and overwhelmingly adopted the City Charter and Articles of Incorporation. Atwood remains their leader and refused the title of President, electing to stick with City Administrator. He said to convey his thanks."
Mission smiled a strange smile. "How about that? It will be interesting to chart their progress over the next ten years. That is good news."
He turned back toward Chandler and the Professor. "Now, Paine. What can you tell me?"
Chandler and the Professor both hung their heads. “All that we know about him has come from you. The fire burned too hot, and his brain was melted, destroyed."
Mission asked, “What about using facial recognition? An artist’s sketch and then you trace back against models you’ve leased?”
Fenwicke had a worried look. “It’s very strange. We got a virtual photograph from Sabrina before
we restored her previous memory. No matches against our database.”
“How can that be? We know Atwood had his looks modified. Is it possible that Pioneer, or some other party was sponsoring synthetic plastic surgery?”
This was a disturbing chain of thoughts, and everyone’s faces reflected the sobering possibilities.
Mission took a different tact. “Anything from Sabrina, anything from any source that gives us insight as to how Paine penetrated the synthetic logic construct?”
Susan answered. “No, clearly Paine saw through Sabrina from the start. He told her nothing of any use.”
Fenwicke added, “We’re performing code reviews to look for the fault. So far, nothing.”
Mission said, “So you’re reviewing program language code. I’m sure you performed a comparison between the program code and the object code that actually executes in the brain.”
Chandler looked up, puzzled. “It’s the same thing.”
Mission shook his head. You’re telling me that you’re 100% certain that there’s not a single patch in your entire brain program?”
Chandler was about to say yes, but his position was undercut by the Professor scribbling notes furiously. It didn’t matter, Mission already knew the answer. When programs passed even an elementary level of complexity, patches were a reality.
Mission nodded and said, “This is probably moot anyway. How many lines of code are we talking about?”
Susan replied, “Forty million.”
“Yeah, so your chances of finding the error without an example of the flaw occurring, in a program of that complexity is…infinitesimally small. Unfortunately, there is an even more disturbing possibility. What do you think your chances are of discovering the fault, if it was deliberately inserted into the code?”
Susan was definite. “No. That makes no sense. Why would someone do that?”
“For reasons that make sense to them.”
Chandler permitted himself a small smile and said, “But it doesn’t really matter. Paine is gone and we won’t see synthetics being turned anymore.”
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