The datapad, eight by ten inches, caught moonlight in a smear of white across the otherwise onyx surface. Anna tilted it back and forth, using the glare as an impromptu mirror to check her face.
She jammed the datapad back into the bag; it was far too cold and unstable down here to dawdle. Anger and relief mixed. Gordon could have killed her, or put one of those bombs in her, but they had simply drugged her and set her loose. She shrugged out of her coat and ran her hands all over under her clothes, searching for anything out of place: bugs, trackers, electricity where there shouldn’t be. All seemed normal, save for the raw marks caused by the handcuffs.
He must really want that bloke dead if he let me go. She thought of her friends, clueless of the danger she’d gotten them into merely by existing. Gordon, you bastard.
The NetMini was obvious in purpose and she dropped it into her coat pocket before she moved on to examine the small black case. She spun it around in her fingers until she found a release button. It popped open, revealing six small red cylinders with red crosses on the ends. A nervous giggle echoed up from the hull of the boat as she mistook them for some manner of narcotic.
Trembles shook all of the injectors out of the case, sending them clattering to the floor. She stared at them, her mind craving zoom. Anna clutched her arm to her chest until the shaking ceased, and gathered the injectors back into the case except for one. Mr. Carroll had given her some of these once; he called them stimpaks. Each one contained a solution of synthetic adrenaline, base biomatter, and nanobots. The combination could repair minor damage to the body at the same time it provided a burst of energy.
The safety cap went flying at the behest of her thumbnail, and she pulled her sleeve back to expose skin. After a faint hiss, the empty slipped through her fingers to the bottom of the boat with a clack. Icy coldness from the nanobot-laced fluid swam up her arm. Warm tingling circled where the restraints had been, the marks vanished, but discomfort remained. Her toes and fingers were two shades shy of numb and the howl of the wind brought cravings for a warm place to hide. Anna forced herself upright and wobbled, flailing, to the front of the boat.
A rusty ladder led up the side of one of the pylons about ten feet ahead. She fell to her knees and pulled at the mooring line, hand over hand, drawing the tiny craft forward. The wet rope further chilled her hands. By the time the boat thunked against the concrete, her teeth chattered. Anna tossed the satchel over her shoulder and dragged her achy body up the rungs until she could peek over the edge. The dock stank of industry and pollution, though the air was a touch warmer than below. Without the shield of the sunken waterway, the stiff breeze fluttered her coat and hair. She forced herself over the top and hurried out of the gale into the cover of stacked cargo containers.
Light drew her through a maze of enormous boxes to an alley alongside a warehouse. Conversations and the occasional fit of laughter wandered in from the lit frontage. At the edge of the building, she peeked out of the dark and stopped breathing.
A group of about a dozen men in long black coats emblazoned with silver crosses arranged themselves around a loading dock by an old, dead lorry. Some stood at street level, leaning on the platform, others sat on crates up top, and one rummaged through a shipping box in search of an unopened synthbeer.
Quite a few had sunken lines traced over the side of their faces, the telltale mark of implanted neuralware. Here and there, an obvious mechanical eye glowed green or amber; a lime green light within the pupils of otherwise normal looking eyes gave another man away as augmented.
Four women sat among them, wearing the same coats and some sporting visible cybernetic augmentation.
Anna retreated into the alley with a spin, back pressed to the wall. Her memory of the attack sent her sliding down the wet metal until her chest met her knees. Even through the fog of the miserable state she had been in that night, the attack leapt to the forefront of her mind as though it had happened only minutes ago. She held her trembling hands out, staring at them. Guilt came on at the question of what her life would have been like if her father did not beat her for breaking expensive things. How could he have known the more he yelled, the more it happened? Those Crossmen were different; they wanted to pay Spawny back for stealing. They would have attacked her regardless of what she could do―without her power, she would have been helpless.
Anna gathered her wits and stood, thinking she might walk out into the street and away like nothing was amiss. From where she was, she had two choices. Go swimming, or wander past them in plain sight. She glanced up at a broken window two stories overhead, but there was no way to climb up to it. A long exhale came with the hope that maybe they’d leave her alone if she didn’t look at them. Crossmen had more of a reputation for stealing augmentations, turf warfare, and robbery than attacking women, but who could say how they’d react to her alone.
More likely they’ll be after me like hounds on a fox.
Venturing a peek, she squinted at their number. There were thirteen. All things considered, it would be far better to slip away into the night. That number was too many to influence with her telepathic invisibility, which could deal with a handful at most. Making them not see anything would be impossible to maintain.
Anna held her breath and edged into the street, as far away from them as she could get against the right side wall. She moved at a pace as if she carried liquid nitroglycerin in a Dixie cup, hoping not to attract their attention by fast movement.
James’s choice of boot earned him a future kiss; the padded soles made no sound.
Anxiety manifested as sweat, the taste of salt upon her lip. She felt like a mouse sneaking past snakes.
“Hey bitch!”
Somewhere behind her, a NetMini detonated.
“Fetch me a beer,” yelled the same man.
“Sod off,” replied a woman. “Fetch this.”
Voices laughed.
In the second or four it took her to rein in her startlement, two more small things erupted with sparks. They’re not talking to me. She resumed breathing.
“Hey, white.”
The man’s voice so close almost stopped her heart. Anna whirled, finding a tall Crossman a step behind her. She splayed the fingers of her right hand, ready to strike.
“Nasty part of town, this. You shouldn’t be alone, kid.”
She couldn’t move or breathe. Her gaze dropped to her chest for an instant before snapping back up to the man’s face. The baggy coat hid her breasts, her height made her look young.
“I-I’ll be okay.” She forced a smile that lasted only a second. “Thanks.”
“Some nasty business goes on ‘ere at night. Where’s your folks?”
Fingers relaxed, hands stuffed in pockets. “Waitin’ on me. I should go.”
She started away, but his hand clasped her shoulder. Anna froze.
“You sure? Things out here would eat you alive.”
Anna made eye contact and opened herself to his surface thoughts. He thought she was fourteen or so, a runaway. He attributed the terror in her face to fear of a pimp, not that she felt terrified of being so close to him. She couldn’t believe it. He wants me to go home. This is a Crossman?
“S-sorry. I… Friend of mine got attacked by some of your mates.”
The man folded his arms. “Oh, what’d they do to pick a fight?”
“She…” Anna looked at her boots; fear became anger. “They almost raped her.”
“Bollocks. That’s not how we operate.”
His anger made her take a step back. His surface thoughts were… true. The concept of a Crossman committing rape offended him as much as it horrified her. She turned to the side, confused, nauseous. The stink in the air didn’t help settle her stomach.
Impostors?
“Did three Crossmen die a few nights ago?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding. “What’re you gettin’ on about? You know somethin’ bout it?”
“Yeah… I was there.”
He pushed her aga
inst the wall, holding her firm, but not hard enough to hurt. “What’s your game, luv? What are you tryin’ to do here?”
She stared into his eyes. His anger waned at the sight of her crying; his thoughts said his confusion equaled hers. Anna explained the events of the alley, leaving out how she killed them, and pinning the deaths on unknown men in black coats. Genuine tears came with her remembering his weight on her back and the cold metal on her bare skin. Her retelling left her sounding like some street kid Penny had taken under her wing.
“Bollocks.” He rubbed his mouth, pacing back and forth. “We’re not like that, girl. Cross-men. We’re the good guys. Vigilantes. We wouldn’t do that, especially not to a schoolgirl.” He pointed at her, finger an inch from her nose. “Somethin’ aint right.”
“Innit.” Anna bit her lip. “I-I gotta go.”
“Gatherers lurkin’ that way,” he said. “I’d rather not leave you alone.”
“It’s awright. I’m little and I know how ta hide. They’ll come after you. I ain’t got no parts installed, they won’t bother me. Look, mate. I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-three… Just short. I’ll be okay.”
The Crossman scowled at the street, obvious in his discomfort with letting her wander off alone. “I don’t like it but, if it’s what you want. Somethin’ ‘appens, scream. We’ll be there.”
Anna gave him one long, confused stare before she walked off. Rows of darkened streetlamps lined both sides of the road, shot out years ago and never replaced. Shadows crept along the ground from the moon, drawn by bodies that lay against old buildings. The wharf district played home to the type of augmented crazies too far gone even for Coventry.
It looked empty, but any one of the dark spots ahead could be hiding an attack. Here, she ran little risk of being violated in the traditional sense; these men wanted body parts. If she had no cyberware to steal, they might take organs instead. Rumors abounded. Some claimed they occasionally ate their victims.
That which terrified most people reassured her. The more cyberware someone had, the more vulnerable they were to her. Confidence gave her the walk of a soldier, and she went two blocks before the hypersonic whine of a vibro-blade powering up sliced the air behind her.
A group of a half dozen creatures that could no longer truly be called men shambled out of the darkness behind an abandoned warehouse. Many stood stooped to one side under the weight of crude replacement arms. Hoses, wires, whirring bits, and glowing eyes leered at her. What patches of living skin remained visible through the spaghetti of tubes glinted dirty and pale. Yellowing teeth bared through grins as they advanced; their posture said they looked forward to the chase as much as the kill.
Anna frowned at the lead man with a blade where his hand should be, at the tip of an oversized metal arm. Amber threads of light swam over him where electricity coursed through wiring both beneath and outside his skin. The power cell in his shoulder glowed like a miniature star and made her smile. She clawed at the air and drew her clenching fist away from him as if pulling at unseen fabric.
Blue lightning flashed out of his body, lapping at the ground and crawling up his face. With a flick of her wrist, he whirled about and fell to the ground; the impact sent crawling sparks searching the wet pavement in random directions.
Anna took a step at them. “Who’s next?”
The Gatherers hesitated; the street hung in quiet stillness disrupted by whirring cyberware and questioning murmurs. Glancing from her to their wounded man, they neither attacked nor retreated. When the injured one gasped and pushed his chest up from the pavement, Anna heard James’s voice in her head.
“You are better than these wretches.”
A snarl escaped her as she reached at him with both hands. A flower of lightning burst from his back, spinning into the sky in a rapid series of blue flashes. Horrendous screaming preceded blood flying from his mouth; his eyes exploded into rivulets of boiling foam. He collapsed to the ground, dead.
She held her arms apart, palms to the rear and fingers splayed. Sparks cracked between her hands and the wet road. Sympathetic azure flashes, manifestations of ionized air, nipped and popped randomly upon all of their bodies. Anna hardened her glare, hoping she looked meaner than she felt.
“One down. Who’s got the next dance?” Run off, you bastards. Don’t make me kill you all.
The others scattered like roaches from the light. She dusted at her coat; little sparks crept over the wool as her hands brushed it back into place. Even if The Gatherers had the inclination to sell out a psionic to the government, Old Bill would shoot them before they had a chance to speak.
Several blocks east of The Ruin, she caught a whiff of food on the air. An all-night noshery nestled in a wedge-shaped building overlooking a three-way intersection. She sent a longing look at it, her initial sadness at thinking of the credstick she had left back at Coventry faded when she recalled the black bag. The NetMini from her pocket powered up, but she gave it a suspicious stare seeing it linked to her old PID.
How the devil long have they been watching me?
With a few swipes of her finger, she was in the financial management section of the GlobeNet, discovering she had a balance of two thousand five hundred credits. The deposit occurred less than an hour ago, and was unlabeled. Hardly a fortune, but it would be plenty enough for a meal.
With the eagerness of a schoolgirl running to recess, she darted toward the glowing windows at the angled corner.
en minutes after taking a seat in a booth at Bennie’s, the warmth of the place reached through the numbness in her toes. Her fingers cradled an oversized cup of orange herbal tea, leeching warmth. Small and cozy, the little restaurant held only three people at this hour: Anna, the waiter, and the man in back working the food machines.
“Whod ya do ta yer ‘ead?” inquired the waiter as he set a sandwich in front of her.
She touched her cheek. “What?”
He traced a line over his forehead. “Dat’s a dodgy sorta burn ya got there.”
“Oh that…” The lights flickered. “I got stuck with a Jiancorp sens-helmet.”
“Ahh. S’wot you get usin’ dat cheap shit. You need anythin’ just ‘oller.”
She rummaged her pocket for another stimpak and stuck herself in the arm with it. Seconds after the initial chill faded, tingling surrounded her head as well as her handcuff marks. Rubbing her ankle through her boot, she scowled at the food. Sudden remembrance of the devil’s bargain she agreed to dulled her appetite for a few minutes with worry for her friends, long enough to take out the datapad and turn it on.
A middle-aged man smiled up at her from the holographic display as she nibbled. Subsequent pages of data sent her into a choking fit that made the waiter run over to check on her. Careless in appearance, she made a deliberate motion to flip the pad upside down by the time he arrived. When he satisfied his concern she was not choking and walked away, she slid it off the table and held it in her lap out of sight.
Lord Connor Thompson, a moderate among the Lords Temporal, was the target of CSB Agent Gordon’s request. He wanted her to arrange a lethal accident for a Member of Parliament. The datapad held maps, schedules, access codes, and lists of names of everyone expected to have contact with him on a daily basis. Every bit of information an assassin could ask for was there, enough to plot infiltration from any number of angles.
Anna switched it off, stashing it as fast as possible into the bag. If she was seen looking at such a thing, the authorities would be after her even if she chickened out. The Gatherer in the alley was a wretch of a creature, a hazard to anyone normal. She felt only a little guilt about killing him, less than the Crossmen who had attacked her and Penny. In light of what she had learned of that gang, a new wave of unease settled in. The idea of murder for money, even if it would keep her two friends and an innocent child out of secret detention, seemed impossible to consider.
I kill him or they hurt the only people I love. No way out. I could just off myself.
; On an intellectual level, she knew she should eat, but she did not feel hungry. Anna forced herself to pay attention to the food. Her stare wandered over empty seats and tables to the forlorn waiter half-asleep by a reefer counter full of desserts. Beeps and explosions from whatever game the cook played in the back echoed over the din of a small holo-vid player hanging from the ceiling by the waiter. Reruns of the day’s news dwelled at length on the results of a Frictionless match. Man-U was not involved, so Anna ignored it.
At quarter to three in the morning, Bennie’s had the same sort of somber atmosphere one would expect at a wake. The few people who showed up did not really want to be there, did not care to speak to anyone, and only wanted their meal to be done with. Hours from now, the place would be alive with impatient businessmen, tourists, and a twenty-minute wait for a seat, but now it held a wretched loneliness that seeped into her.
No sooner did she think of Twee than she heard a man’s voice say ‘Faye Taylor.’ Devon Meath, one of the reporters on the BBC news, stood in front of Nine Clifton Hill above the scrolling text ‘Molester Deacon Confesses.’
“…who is still missing. Ordinarily, the BBC does not report the names of victims of sexual crimes; however, Miss Taylor is missing and presumed at high risk. The Met is asking anyone who may have seen the girl to contact them.”
Anna leapt from her seat, jogging to the counter by the image. “Oi mate, turn that up.”
The man reached up and waved past the sensor on the device, increasing the volume.
“I’m here outside the home where, in a startling turn of events, Mr. Nigel Bell, respected deacon in the C of E, has just made an announcement confessing to the fact he engaged in inappropriate contact with a neighbor girl, thirteen years of age.”
Devon glanced over his shoulder at the puffy-faced man on the porch flanked by police. A crowd of citizens gathered on the sidewalk, behind a line of more police. The image swerved left away from the reporter, closing in on the beady-eyed Mr. Bell in his powder-blue pullover.
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