Archon's Queen

by Matthew S. Cox

  He squinted.

  “Ben…” That same eerie voice emanated from the speakers. “Would you be a dear and turn ninety degrees to the right?”

  For no particular reason, he complied. As soon as he stopped moving, a bullet came through the broken window and lodged in his cybernetic left arm with a sparking clank, rather than his heart.

  “Thank you Ben.” The vid call hung up.

  He grunted and ran through the door, dragging Anna despite her pounding on his natural arm. Once in the hallway, he set her on her feet where a number of other, much smaller, security personnel gathered around Lord Thompson.

  Before she could take a step away, he pushed her into the wall and gathered her arms behind her back. Anna sighed as hands patted her down.

  “No weapons sir,” said a voice above the back of her head.

  Lord Thompson moved closer, waving off the man reaching for handcuffs. “That won’t be necessary, Clive. She could’ve killed me easily if she’d wanted to. What’s going on?”

  “Everything is on that disc. The CSB wanted a psionic to kill you to stir up paranoia.” She waited while the guard removed the restraints. “They’re terrified at the thought you might regard us as actual people.”

  “Sir, we’ve got reports of hostiles outside. It’s not safe here,” said another man, grabbing at Thompson’s shoulder.

  Anna adjusted her shirt back into place. “Seems your security can take it from here, Milord. It would be healthier for everyone concerned if I was nowhere near you. Am I free to go?”

  “I never did get your name, miss…”

  There was no time to debate the thought. The CSB already knew who she was. Having an ally in Parliament couldn’t hurt. “Anna Morgan, Milord.”

  Having little need for stealth, she ran for the stairwell and followed it around a graceful sweeping arc to the ground floor. Tall bay windows offered a view of the utter chaos that reigned outside. Security forces swarmed the grounds in search of the shooter, trading shots with unseen assailants. Anna headed for the main entrance, crashing to an abrupt halt with a fleshy thud against unmoving white doors. A quick psionic tug drew the power out of the magnetic locks and she shoved one side open. When she released her control of the electrical system, the magnet pulled it closed with such a noise some of the men whipped around thinking a shot had been fired.

  Two bullets bounced off the porch near her boots, sending her into a panicky sprint toward a row of security vehicles collected in the roundabout by the door. A van, two cars, and three motorbikes sat unmanned in the glare of floodlights. Anna leapt onto one of the bikes and got it moving forward from the force of her impact.

  Another shot nicked the left side mirror as she accelerated through the grounds and ducked through the half-closed gate. Hitting the street, she fishtailed her way through a turn and gunned it. High-pitched whining came from both hollow wheels as electric motors spun the treaded rings that served as tires. She picked up speed, and the frame extended. The bike grew longer and lower. Anna leaned forward and tried to remember how to ride; the last time she touched one of these was before she knew what zoom felt like.

  “Like riding a bike, right?” she muttered.

  Light flashed in the remaining mirror, making her look back and up. A small military VTOL craft, only large enough to carry two people, swerved around a tall building and bore down on her. Black stealth coating ate the light, making the parts that were not windows or weapons seem like a hole in reality. It resembled an abbreviated fighter craft, short and stubby with a fat central body. The side door was open, through which a man leaned with a rifle. Red lights winked from both tips of the ‘V’ shaped tail, and the downward canted wings bristled with rocket pods.

  Sweet mother…

  Anna wrenched the bike into a hard left around a corner a second before the man fired. Glass shattered out of sight behind her as she whipped around a building. The VTOL lumbered after, skidding through a turn, almost gouging the windows from office skyrises. She screamed as her balance faltered around another corner, a shot skipped off the road behind her. Unable to maneuver so low to the ground, the pilot climbed out of the canyon of office towers where a small mistake would cause a crash.

  She accelerated through a straightaway, believing she had lost the plane. A near miss sprayed her in the face with fragments of paving. Too scared to speed up, she hit the brake. Another shot hit the road in front of her. The VTOL vanished behind a glittering tower up ahead as she leaned into a right turn and twisted the handgrip. A sudden burst of speed drilled her into the seat and came close to throwing her through a pack of shrubberies along a central island in the road.

  Above, the whine of ion thrusters roared as the plane zipped into view. Two missiles leapt from the wings, riding smoking spirals. Reacting on instinct, she pinned the accelerator. Heat and light splashed over her from an explosion. She gasped, glancing at the mirror as the wreckage of a parked car spun, flaming, into the street.

  They’ve lost their bloody minds.

  Buildings and streetlamps shot past in a blur of color and shrapnel. Turn after turn, the damnable thing managed to follow. Not brave enough to push the bike farther than she had done already, she searched with wild eyes for anything she could do in order to get away. A couple of blocks ahead, an old red sign beckoned her to an ancient stairway boarded up longer than she had been alive.

  Anna aimed for it and ducked her head. The bike shattered through splintering planking as the VTOL swung around into view between two buildings. She feathered the throttle and bounced down stairs into the old abandoned Tube system.

  The pavement behind her erupted into a fireball.

  Debris blew past her, laced with flames driven by the downblast from the VTOL as it lurched to a halt above the subway entrance. Scraps of false wood clattered on the stairs. Not looking back, Anna focused on the small patch of headlight offering a glimpse into the darkness of another world.

  nseen drips broke the silent dark with intermittent chirps. At a standstill, the electric bike made little noise other than emanating a faint presence that made one feel as if they were not alone. Anna turned the headlights over cobwebs, decay, and the dust covering everything on the old train platform. With the advent of autocabs and the maglev trams, the old tube system had been left to the use of whoever was desperate enough to venture down there.

  Rumors abounded regarding what lurked below the city. Some held they were simple poor people, much like those in Coventry, who eked out a living in a sort of neo-primitive society separate from the world above. Others claimed various military research projects involving gene manipulation had been exiled down there, but most regarded them as beyond credible. Tales of cyber gangs, organ thieves, mad bot-makers, and everything else one could imagine had circulated at one time or another. What had once been a mover of London’s people had become a mover of London’s imagination.

  She slumped forward, resting her forehead on her arms across the handlebars. In a place the VTOL could not follow, she hoped for a moment of peace. If its crew had jumped out, she had some faith the random turns she had made over the past few spans of tunnel had gotten them lost as much as she was.

  The sound of splintering wood made her jump and whirl to the rear with a gasp. A vibrating light source slid along the curved wall of the track tunnel. To the right, the clatter of multiple people moving broke the silence. She pivoted the handlebars toward the noise, stunning half a dozen men with the sudden glare in their eyes. Clad in greyish brown rags, they wore a mixture of old cloth, leather, and scavenged bits of metal. Feral, they reacted to the sight of her with growls and blocked their eyes with their arms. Knives, swords, and crowbars gleamed in the light from her borrowed bike.

  “Some welcoming committee…”

  White tiles exploded away from a column a few inches above her head with the sound of a gunshot. A headlight hovered at the point where the track tunnel opened. Another bike idled there, a large figure upon it.

  A
gent Gordon’s voice echoed through the stillness. “I thought we had an arrangement.”

  A baritone laugh preceded another shot and more tile dust. Yeah, you wanted to arrange me right into the fucking ground, bastard. She twisted her hand and the bike surged forward, pulling a small wheelie as she leapt down to the tracks. Gordon’s headlights came around the curve behind her, gaining. A camera flash of azure lit the tunnel as he fired again and a ricochet pinged above her. Her console flickered, threatening to burn out from her surge of fear.

  Old light mounts flooded the shaft behind her with showers of orange sparks as her panic tugged at forgotten power lines. Up ahead, the tube split at a fork; she jumped the tracks and went left, hoping Gordon would flub the maneuver and wipe out. Alas, he kept right on her.

  Barricades came at her one after the other, appearing in her headlights seconds before she had to react to avoid them. Whoever lived here had fortified this tunnel against attack; it made her think she headed right into the den of a gang.

  Gordon’s headlights vanished for an instant behind a heavy cloud of brown fog and smashing noises. He had taken a barricade head-on and driven right through it.

  Weaving around the debris slowed her to a pace not much faster than she could have run, though it had an equal effect on him.

  “There’s no point to running, Morgan,” he yelled. “I’ll find you anywhere in Britain you go.”

  After a dozen improvised walls, the passage opened up, and she got up to about sixty-five before hanging right and ducking a series of bullets, which sparked off the walls. He fired at an almost casual pace; she imagined him aiming, squeezing off a shot and savoring the sound it made before shooting again. She coughed at the taste of dust and mold, letting go with one hand to try to pull her shirt over her face. A wobble in the steering ended that battle as she slammed both hands onto the grips and slowed down to keep control.

  Gordon yelled as he fired, whatever he said lost to the thunderous echo of his sidearm in the confines of the Tube. Anna ventured a peek over her shoulder, at only blinding glare. She screamed when she looked forward again―a hanging cloth came out of nowhere. She drove into it, unable to react in time. It tore loose from the ceiling and wrapped over her, sending her into a fit of frantic screaming and flailing. Terror hit a crescendo that caused her power to leap out of her control. Both bikes flashed with azure clouds of staccato lightning and went dark. Sudden deceleration made her lurch over the handlebars, tumbling head over ass until she hit the curved wall and slid to the ground. Somewhere in the perfect dark, the crash of Gordon’s bike careening through an improvised barricade startled her upright.

  Her head throbbed; the total lack of light made her feel dizzier. Gordon moaned. She grasped at the wall, hurting everywhere. As hard as she tried to contain it, she whimpered as she pulled herself upright. By some miracle of luck, she had not broken anything. If I make any kind of light, he’s going to shoot me. Before she could take a step, a headlight came back on, forming a cone in the heavy, swirling dust. A second later, Gordon’s bike lit up a dozen meters behind.

  Anna sprint-limped for her ride, tripping over the irregular ground and landing on it. Gordon fired over her; the timing of the miss was too perfect. He’s bloody toying with me. She closed her eyes and projected a bright arc into the nearest fragment of track. The sudden flash made him yell.

  He growled.

  She did not wait around to see how long he would stay blind, hauling her motorbike upright and throwing her leg over. Her entire body tensed from pain as she twisted the handlebar and shot a spray of gravel and dirt to the rear.

  Gordon fired out of the dark; the shot burned a slice of pain over her left thigh from a graze. She curled her body tight to the bike, trying to find the courage to drive faster in such an environment. Artificial light glowed from further down the tunnel, indicating the presence of another station.

  Seconds later, the tunnel expanded to a platform. She jumped a stack of wood and swerved across dusty red tiles. The bike slammed through an old trash bin, tearing it loose from the wall and sending it bouncing. Gordon followed her maneuver, destroying the impromptu ramp in a spray of planks and splinters. He weaved for a gap in the support columns and gunned it, coming up along her right side beyond a blur of passing white archways. Air rushing through the openings between pillars created a thrumming sound as frightening as the bullets.

  He grinned as if this was the most fun he had in years.

  Anna’s gaze darted back and forth from him to forward. Bad timing and a lucky column foiled his next attempt to shoot her. Trying to fire through the archways was like trying to put an arrow through the spokes of a wheel without hitting one. The end of the platform came on fast, and his side was farther away from the tracks.

  Gordon sighted over the weapon again, lifting both eyebrows when she hit the brakes without warning and swerved away. Anna’s bike sailed off the edge, falling hard on the track surface with an impact that numbed her tailbone. Behind her, the noise of Gordon’s pursuit came to a sudden halt with squealing tires and the crunch of wooden crates. Her landing did not go quite as well as she hoped, and she wound up airborne over the handlebars before she knew she was in trouble.

  Fortunately, she had slowed down enough to where she stopped skidding with mild bruises and a scuffed hand. Added to the pain of her last crash, she came close to giving up and lying there waiting for death. She did not want to think about how many injections it would take to get rid of all the diseases she had probably picked up skinning her hand open here. Hot tears streaked out of the corners of her eyes as she thought of Faye still missing. Growling through clenched teeth, she forced herself up and limped through the column of dusty light from her bike’s headlamp. Gordon’s irritated snarl echoed in the Tube, followed by the clatter of a pile of debris shifting.

  He wasn’t dead.

  As she threw a leg over the bike, his headlights jumped from the platform to the tracks. Anna got moving again before he recovered enough from his landing to fire, and the next shot went high. Wide-eyed with terror, she risked accelerating to seventy and begged thin air to keep her path free of anything capable of causing a fatal crash.

  Grey tunnel streaked past. She dodged the occasional hanging cloth or pile of debris, this section far less fortified by the natives. Another platform passed on the right, but she made no move to go for it. A series of still-working lamps blew out in sequence as she drove by, drawing a frustrated howl from Gordon. She stared, teary-eyed, into the ghostly glow of her headlights while careening through a rightward curve that felt as though it grew deeper.

  Headlights behind her crept closer. Accelerating well past her comfort speed, she screamed and clung to the vibrating metal until every muscle ached. She wanted to close her eyes, but could not. The tunnel leveled off and she bounced over a light uphill grade as it curved a bit left. Two circles of wobbling light provided only about thirty yards of warning for death on the ground. Keeping up the focus necessary not to smash into anything had taxed her brain to the point it was about done.

  A shot blew off her remaining rear view mirror; a second holed the windscreen and left a burn mark on her right shoulder. Another hit the back end of her bike and sent a jolt through the frame she felt in her clamped thighs. Fear pushed her hand around the grip, tipping the speed up even more.

  Once the tunnel showed a hint of straightaway, she risked a peek to the rear. Headlights in the darkness bounced about like a will-o-wisp. Dingy walls covered in grime flashed blue with another blue muzzle flash.

  I’m done with this. This is some kind of sick game to him. He’s not even seriously trying to hit me.

  She pried her trembling right hand off the grip and held it toward him, opening her mind to her bike’s power core.

  The tunnel crackled with the brilliance of day for a split second as a great arc leapt from her hand into Gordon’s bike, sending grasping fingers of blue lightning bursting from several points. Her bike faltered and died, conti
nuing to coast.

  In the aftermath of the discharge, absolute darkness enveloped the tunnel. Scraping metal and sparks preceded a wail of surprise, as Gordon’s vehicle became inert. That scream drowned amid the great screeching crash of his motorbike going down and skidding across the dirt. The sound of an armored body tumbling over the old tracks echoed until silence came in the wake of a loud crash.

  A few seconds later, her ride came back online.

  Unable to see what happened, and unwilling to turn the bike to check, she slowed enough to release her white-knuckle grip and kept going until she found another station platform. She followed a maintenance ramp and emerged amid a small tent city, startling several dozen people who had made a village out of the place. Women snatched children off their feet, stuffing the filthy urchins into tents and reaching for swords and pistols.

  Anna waved at them. “Hi. Don’t mind me. I’m just lost; I don’t want trouble.”

  She maneuvered through the settlement away from a group of men who closed around with knives and pipes. They might have been simply curious, but she did not want to run the risk of getting jumped down here in the dark. Her tires squealed around the hallway at the far end of the station, leaving the boarding platform behind as she rode through an approach mall. More tents lined the passageway, but she didn’t stop to talk or look at anything.

  Anna skidded to a halt at the bottom of a massive non-working escalator to the street. She tried not to think about how much more pain she would be in if she dumped the bike trying to drive up metal stairs. Her legs ached, her thigh and back burned from where bullets grazed, and her hand was on fire from where she had wiped out. Metal piping clattered along the ground behind her, the locals approaching.

  After walking the bike back a few paces for a moving start, she eased on the throttle. The motorbike took the stairs with less trouble than she expected, though she still shrieked the entire way. At the top, she accelerated through a small area with a long abandoned ticket counter and a row of vending machines. Rubber squeaked over dusty red tiles; she aimed for another long, shallow stairway for the street, and gunned it. The bike smashed through the wooden barricade, sending pedestrians diving for cover from the cloud of flying debris.