Shatter City

by Scott Westerfeld

  But at last they nod.

  “Rafia is your responsibility, then. We hope you know her as well as you think you do.”

  It’s another three days before they sneak me out of Paz.

  The delay is feel-spinning. Now that they’re finally letting me out, every minute seems endless.

  Once I’m safely in Diego, they’ve promised to make me a legal person. Someone who can use the city network under my own name. I can call Col and tell him I’m okay, and I can talk to him anytime. I can ping Srin, or Teo, or anyone else in the free world. Like a normal person.

  I pace my cell, wondering where they are now. Is Col still in the Amazon, or did he come to Paz to look for me? Is X still hiding in that cavern? Has he found my sister yet?

  I’ll find out everything soon enough, I suppose. My Hope feels real now when I use it, not context-missing and hollow.

  But it makes me reach for Melancholy too, leaving this city behind. Sometimes when I close my eyes, the floating towers are still falling. I feel like a betrayer for wanting to leave so badly.

  The hour finally comes.

  Security is tight, like a military operation. A convoy of three hovercars assembles in the headquarters’ loading bay, two dozen soldiers altogether. They’re in heavy battle armor, like faceless metal giants.

  They lend me some light armor of my own, no weapons. The guards have fingerprint locks on their rifles, so I can’t grab one.

  Our new alliance only goes so far.

  As the lifting fans are warming up, the city’s avatar steps into my car. The guards don’t seem surprised. They just ease aside to let us sit together.

  “You’re coming?” I ask. “Aren’t you already in Diego?”

  “We are Diego,” they say. “But this avatar is being transported home. It was brought to Paz for the sole purpose of meeting you.”

  “You’re a city,” I say. “Why even bother with a meat sack?”

  “To make a connection, Frey. To build trust. Humans are hardwired to bond with pretty faces.”

  “Pretty? I thought you were going for bland.”

  “We have many forms,” they say. “In Diego, we get to know our littlies as toys. A stuffed dog or a floppy-armed doll.”

  “A city AI in a doll?” I turn away to stare out the window. “Thanks for the nightmares.”

  “Frey, it’s all been nightmares till now. But in Diego you’ll be safe at last. That’s something you’ve really never felt before. It changes everything.”

  I don’t answer that, except with the briefest touch of Focus.

  The AI is wrong. Yes, I trained my whole life to be shot at, and then my own father betrayed me. But living in a new place doesn’t change my situation.

  His agents will be in Diego too.

  But I do know what safety feels like—with Col, out in the wild, or with X and his crew. Under the sky, away from machines that listen and watch.

  With my friends.

  The roof spirals open over our heads. The hovercar lifts itself up and through.

  Our two escorts fall into a shifting formation, all three cars identical so they won’t know which to shoot down first. A dozen recon drones zoom off into the distance, searching the route ahead.

  The sunlight hits us, and for a moment, it almost feels like freedom.

  Then the windows darken against the glare.

  “You kept me locked in a room for a month,” I say. “Was that supposed make me feel safe?”

  “We had a twelve-city alliance to put together—diplomacy is a slow business. More important, we had to make certain of what you were.” The city’s voice goes soft, so I can barely hear it above the roar of lifting fans. “You’re his daughter, after all.”

  Two hours into the journey, a dark smudge appears on the horizon.

  The city avatar sees me watching it.

  “Just a forest fire,” they say. “We’re halfway home.”

  “The farthest spot from any backup,” I murmur.

  I feel exposed, here in the sky. My sister and I grew up in fancy cars like this, but it turns out alleyways and ruins suit me better. I wonder if being a rebel has given Rafi the same realization.

  The car shifts beneath me, banking left—away from the forest fire.

  “A precaution,” the city says. “The fire created some blind spots for our recon drones. We’re steering clear.”

  My right hand reaches for my feels. If something happens, I don’t want to be Calm, so I go for Vigilance.

  The formation completes its unhurried turn, angling closer to the ocean. There’s only a narrow margin of coast to our west now, but we can always flee out onto the Pacific.

  My fingers are itchy for a knife.

  The Vigilance takes hold, and every detail crackles around me—the antiseptic smell of the hovercar, the pulse of the engines, the whine of weapons charging up. I look for clues in everything, like a rabbit in the wild.

  It’s almost a relief when they hit us—a shudder passing through the car.

  My stomach lurches as we fall. Then the lifting fans roar, taking us up again.

  “Tell me what’s happening!” I shout.

  “Electromagnetic pulse. Three drones are down.” The avatar of Diego pauses, then adds calmly, “This is an attack.”

  “No kidding.” I press hard on Steadfast. My Vigilance rounds out, twitchy edges smoothed away by the battle fever roaring in my blood.

  I scan the horizon—nothing yet.

  “Does he know it’s me in here? Or does he think I’m Rafi?”

  “Unclear,” the city says. “No humans knew our route, only a few other AIs.”

  I sigh. “We’ll find out soon enough. If he knows it’s me, he’ll destroy us all from orbit.”

  “He’d have to use tactical nukes. Your father’s trying to rehabilitate himself.”

  “Killing me is more important.”

  The avatar looks at me. “Why exactly did he turn on you, Frey?”

  Because I dared to live my own life, to fall in love with the enemy. But in the sharpness of battle, I realize that his hatred is partly a riddle.

  For the first time, I wonder if I’m only a symbol to my father. Something bigger than myself.

  “Because I wore a red jacket,” I say.

  The avatar looks confused. “You wore a—”

  A wild clattering fills the cabin.

  I turn to the window again. A cloud of tiny glitter drones rises up around us, beating against our hull like hail.

  The car ahead of us shrieks—its lifting fans battered out of shape by the shimmering swarm—then drops from sight.

  A moment later, we’re in the thick of the cloud. Our pilot kills the engines, saving the blades from tearing themselves to pieces.

  We’re falling.

  I look around for a bungee jacket, a way out.

  “Smart-matter crashbags,” the city of Diego tells me. “You’re safe.”

  I’m not.

  Courage. More Steadfast.

  The soldiers around us are already braced for impact. But before I can ready myself, the car rebounds beneath us. Like we’re all inside a giant bungee jacket.

  The lifting fans are dead silent …

  Something’s grabbed us. Like the magnetic dish the rebels used to bring me and Col safely down onto the Cobra train.

  A trickle of panic cuts through my feels.

  “He thinks I’m Rafi. He wants me alive.”

  “He knows the political costs of a slaughter. Don’t worry, Frey. We have twenty-four Specials, and three other cities are responding.”

  “They won’t make it in time!” My hand closes around an imaginary weapon. “He knew which way we were coming. He’ll know exactly how many soldiers you have! Give me a knife!”

  The city avatar straps on body armor. “Calm yourself, Frey.”

  I don’t.

  The car bumps to a halt—we’re on the ground now. Trapped. My battle frenzy is boiling in me, spinning, with nowhere to go.

/>   “Let me fight him. Please!”

  The city of Diego stares at me a moment, with the same expression they wore during our conversations about my upbringing, about ethics and philosophy.

  Finally they nod and draw a pulse knife from their armor.

  It’s the one Boss X gave me. Fully charged.

  “You kept it,” I say.

  “This is what being trusted feels like.” The city hands me the knife. “Try not to get killed.”

  “Two teams, going left and right,” the commander says. “Doors opening in ten, nine …”

  We’re about to burst out, to escape this car before the enemy can surround our landing zone.

  I feel conspicuous in my light armor, no helmet. The Diego Specials are all in powered exoskeletons, two and a half meters tall. The city’s avatar and I stick out like a pair of—

  Its face has changed. Still that smooth complexion, almost too perfect to be lifelike … but now it looks like me.

  “A little diversion,” they say. “In case they are trying to kill you.”

  My skins crawls. “Thanks?”

  The jump doors fly open, and we storm out into the sunlight.

  My fireteam of six breaks left across the rugged ground, toward a copse of trees. I can barely keep up with the Specials, carried in huge leaps by the servomotors in their armored legs. The other team takes cover behind the car, ready to fire on anyone who shoots at us.

  The city avatar stays close to me. Sniper bait.

  Running hard across broken terrain, my body sings. Too long in that cell, too many days without a stand-up fight. Some logic-missing piece of me believes that with a pulse knife in my hand, there’s no way my father can win.

  I let that part swell to fill the rest of me.

  My own courage mixes with my feels.

  We hit the cover of the trees without taking any fire. The brush is dense and full of thorns, scraping at my body armor like fingernails.

  We hunker here, watching the other fireteams move into position. They scatter across the landscape, half a dozen of four Specials each. The city AI must be in command—the fire zones interlock perfectly.

  I can hear the distant surf from the coast, a few klicks away.

  Still no shooting.

  “Doesn’t look like your father wants a bloodbath,” the city says. “Perhaps diplomacy has its uses.”

  “For him it does. It makes people drop their guard.”

  We wait. Still nothing—they’re watching us. Or watching me, trying to figure out which twin I am. Of course, with the Diego avatar wearing my face, they might think both of us are here.

  That takes an orbital nuke off the table, at least.

  A sudden whistling fills the air, like screamer fireworks. Then I see them—a swarm of projectiles streaking at us. Hand-size drones, weaving in random patterns, leaving tiny trails of light blue smoke behind them.

  “Prep for gas,” the city avatar says. The Specials reach up to seal their helmets.

  I pull the rebreather hood out of my armor, covering my head. Then, in case it’s blister gas, I pull my gloves on.

  The city doesn’t bother. Apparently, they don’t breathe.

  The Specials open fire. The darting little drones fall in droves—only one makes it into our little copse of trees.

  I throw my knife, turning it into metal fragments.

  But more are coming. Swarms are lifting up from the grass, spread across the field of battle like land mines. Our attackers have prepared this spot carefully.

  The Specials open fire again—this time fully automatic. A head-splitting roar, like the air ripping open around us.

  Every one of the drones falls to the ground.

  There’s a pause, my ears ringing in the silence. The birds have fled, and the surf sounds a thousand klicks away.

  “Is that all?” the city of Diego says. “Your father seems to have underestimated us.”

  “I doubt it,” I say through the mask, shaking my head. None of it feels right, this careful attack. No soldiers shooting at us, just remotes.

  More drones come.

  The Specials’ rifles roar back to life, cutting them down. Bullet casings rain to on the forest floor, a glittering carpet of metal. I can smell the gunfire through my mask.

  Then I see it—

  “They’re making you use up all your ammo! Stop shooting! It’s just gas!”

  The city avatar glances at me, then nods. All at once, the firing stops.

  The drones keep coming.

  “We hope you’re right, Frey,” the city says. “If these drones can do anything else …”

  The first wave reaches us. They swarm the camp, whirl around us, filling the trees with light blue smoke. The Specials stand impervious in their armor.

  But the drones don’t explode, or stab us with needles. They fly until their smoke runs out, then crash to the ground, expended.

  “Interesting,” the city says. “Your father has learned discretion.”

  I shake my head. “He’ll hit us hard soon enough.”

  One of the Specials points at the ground—a bright red spot drifts across the litter of bullet casings. Then two more.

  Laser sights.

  Snipers.

  The city avatar and I jump behind cover. Our four Specials don’t bother—their armor’s tougher than the thickest tree. They scan for the source of the lasers, then open fire again, spraying at the high ground above us.

  No return fire comes.

  “This is still about ammo!” I yell through my mask. “They want us defenseless!”

  The Diego avatar shrugs. “Shreve isn’t the only city with orbital forces. The rest of us have been preparing. Backup will be here soon.”

  The rest of us? It’s still head-spinning that a dozen city AIs think it’s a good idea to put me in charge of Shreve.

  The red spots on the ground flicker off one by one—the Specials are hitting their targets. And no one’s firing at us.

  What if there are no snipers, just cheap drones with lasers on them?

  We haven’t seen a single enemy soldier.

  “Incoming,” the fireteam commander yells, pointing to the sky.

  “Hold fire,” the city avatar says. “They’re friendly.”

  Streaks of light crisscross the clouds, then the long shapes of drogue chutes flutter open. The payloads look big—heavy orbital drones.

  Now we’re going to see some shooting.

  The drones crack out of their reentry shields, bristling with weapons. I can count the combat livery of four different cities.

  For once, my father’s been met with more brute force than he can handle.

  A spindly white strand reaches up from the hills above us, wrapping itself around one of the drones. It drops, intact but powerless.

  Then I see something odd—a squirrel, frightened by all the gunfire, scampering past on a branch, somehow immune to the knockout gas.

  I pull off my hood and take a shallow breath. Then a deeper one.

  Nothing. The smoke was only for show. No one’s shooting at us. Even the orbital drones are only being disabled, not destroyed.

  And those white strands, just like rebel antiaircraft …

  A thousand emotions roil in me, the feels I plumbed in captivity echoing all at once. Anger at being left alone in that cell, Languish for the time lost—but none of it as real as the Joy that someone’s come for me at last.

  “Call off the orbitals!” I squeeze my knife to full pulse. “It’s not my father!”

  The city looks at me. “What?”

  “My friends are rescuing me. My real friends!”

  And I see it in perfect Focus—the avatar of Diego has all the resources of a city, wardens, an army behind it. A mind incomprehensibly vaster than mine, and a continent-spanning alliance against my father.

  Compared to that, my friends are a ragtag collection, almost powerless.

  But they’re here for me.

  “Don’t take this the w
rong way, but I have to go!”

  When I start to move, the city avatar reaches out to grab me.

  I swing my pulse knife hard and high, cutting the duplicate of myself in half, top to bottom.

  The artificial body explodes—smart plastics and muscles, skin and tissues turned into a billowing cloud of mist.

  All of us are blinded, but I already know which way to go.

  I start running, my blood thrilling in my veins.

  I head uphill as fast as I can.

  The Specials are after me, thunderingly fast in their powered exoskeletons. But heavy armor is massive, clumsy. Like giants trying to catch a butterfly.

  Or course, these giants have guns. Maybe they’ll decide shooting me is warranted. I just hope the city itself understands.

  Steadfast, a long touch of it.

  I aim for the high ground, where the trees have been cut to pieces by the Specials’ fire. My rescuers must be somewhere up there.

  Unless this is all a trick—my father’s way of getting me to hand myself over. But a burning certainty runs through me …

  He’s incapable of pretending to be someone else. He lacks the empathy to know what my friends would do.

  A shadow looms—an armored pursuer leaping high across the sun. I swerve hard as the Special crashes to the ground, the suit’s servomotors whining. A hand swats out, barely missing me.

  No shooting yet. That’s good …

  Another armor suit hurtles past me, smashing a tree to splinters as it lands.

  There’s one on either side now, two more coming up from behind. They’re herding me toward a barrier of fallen trees, trying to trap me there.

  I head straight toward it, cycling my pulse knife. At the last second, I jump as high as a can—the knife’s magnetics carry me up and over.

  One of the Specials tries to leap the obstacle and trips, rolling after me like a metal boulder. As the armored form rolls past, my knife lashes out, buzzing through the leg-servos. The exoskeleton wobbles to its feet, stumbling at it lunges at me, its metal hamstrings cut.

  I let the knife carry me away again. But its charge won’t last long.

  My goal is just ahead—the hill where the lasers came from. Nothing’s left but a clearing of splintered trees.

  I don’t have a plan, except getting there in one piece.