These innovations and additions to civilization have made Lady Vangelina wealthier yet. She is now, by leaps and bounds, the richest of the Oligarchs. She could probably be even richer; except she has strict rules on what her androids can be used for. Try as they might, her counterparts in the OUSP have not been able to contract her for military models.
Maybe Vangelina does have some secret plan to eliminate the synths and destroy whatever competition her androids have, but that doesn't make any sense to me. She’s resisted the push to weaponize her droids thus far, so why would she start now?
“I doubt it's her,” I tell Ana. “But it could be one of the others. We can't put all our eggs in one basket. Hell, it could even be someone in the party. Could be a classic frame-job, trying to fake a reason to go to war with the Oligarchy. Wouldn’t surprise me if the OUSP was interested in getting their mitts on Vangelina's tech.”
“Do you really think it could be an inside job?” Ana asks.
“To me that makes more sense. The Oligarchs pride themselves on their brilliance. And as powerful as they are, we all know they wouldn’t stand a chance against the OUSP’s military. It would be stupid to provoke them like this.”
The Oligarchy does have a military, but it's mostly a formality. A pretty minimal fighting force, mostly made up of contractors. A far cry from the OUSP's vast security forces.
Ana's hologram nods at me. “As far as we know, it could really be anyone. I think you’re right. We need to approach this from all angles.”
“Any ideas on the first step?” I ask.
“We need information... I think we should get back to the mainland as soon as possible, see what Abdo can tell us, and then cross reference that with the data the Commander provided.”
“Good idea,” I say.
My brain is hurting. I don't know how much more critical thinking I can do tonight. So, I dim the lights and sit back with my fingers laced behind my head. Using my foot, I slide my omni a bit closer along the couch so that Ana can sit with me. She leans in, and the light matrix of her holographic body deforms against my chest. If only she was real, if only I could feel the soft press of her flesh...
“My birthday's soon, you know,” I say.
She nods. “Of course, I know. And I know what you did for me. I heard all of it.”
“One more case,” I tell her. “Then you can come back to me for real.”
She stares at me, sad but stubborn in that unique Ana way. “I'm not changing my mind, Rome. About my memory. I don't want to be a reflection. A shadow. I want to be a new woman, like I said. I want to be Ana all over again, not Ana back from the dead.”
“I want whatever you want,” I tell her. “Whatever's best for you.”
“Why the long face then, Rome? You’re still afraid that your game isn't up to snuff, aren’t you? You don't think you can woo me all over again?” she asks with a grin.
“Well, it has been a while,” I reply while fighting back a grin of my own.
Ana pokes out a finger as though to bop me on the end of the nose. Just as her holographic finger phases through the tip of my nose, a quick noise rings out from just outside.
I jump in surprise, turning to the window. Honestly, I kind of expect to see one of the Commander's men poking his head through. Maybe they forgot to tell me something and came back. But I don't see anything.
“What was that?” Ana whispers.
I glance at her. “You heard it too?”
She nods.
“I'll check it out,” I say, standing up and moving to the window.
But all I see through the glass is darkness. The island is seemingly empty apart from us. I can make out the paler shadow of land extending outward, and the darker shadow of the ocean that surrounds us on all sides, stretching for hundreds of miles.
I start to turn away, reaching up to pull the window shut, but some instinct makes me wait just a bit longer.
And then, out of the shadows to my left, a shape flashes past. Someone moving at a dead run. Just a streak of an arm and a leg is all I see.
Quickly, I assess the situation. I don't have my weapon. It's lying behind me, on the other side of the room. If I take the time to go and grab it, that'll be another ten seconds or so that the runner will have to aid their escape. If I want to catch them, I have to be quicker than that.
So, I vault through the window, shoving off the sill with my hands, digging into the heat-polished gravel with the toes of both feet. I take off at a sprint. A twinge of pain in my right quadriceps is there to remind me that I'm getting older, that such abrupt changes in speed without proper stretching are no longer advised. But I ignore it and keep going. It's a small island, and a bit of pain isn’t enough to stop me.
The shape I saw had gone off running to my right, toward the western edge of the island. So that's the direction I go. It's too dark to see much at all. I can't even tell the sky apart from the ocean, or the edge of the sea cliffs apart from the sky. But still, I occasionally glance to my left and right, as well as behind, on the chance that the person I'm chasing has changed directions. I see nothing.
Moving at this pace, it isn't long before I reach the edge of the cliffs. In the dark, I damn near go sailing off the edge. The feel of ocean spray is the only thing that makes me stop. That, and a spooky moment of premonition in which I see myself lying in the surf with a broken neck.
I put one foot on the very edge of the cliff and lean forward to peer straight down. The gravel and sand down there is bone-white. It catches the faint moon and starlight and almost seems to phosphoresce. If someone's down there, it should be very easy to pick out their silhouette.
I see no one.
Then I have another spooky feeling, that the person is behind me. They're sneaking up right now, reaching out to give me a push that'll send me into an uncontrollable fall.
With a grunt, I lunge backward and to the side. My heel catches something and I slam down on my shoulder blades. Heaving my weight backward, I manage a clumsy roll back onto my knees and from there I grunt my way to my feet, looking around. Again, I see no one.
Well, where could the son of a bitch have gone?
I run back to the cabana, go in long enough to grab my omni and my pistol and check every corner in case the stranger decided to hide inside, then go back out. With Ana's help, I scour the island. I walk it front to back, side to side, and even make my way along the circumference, scanning the water. It takes several hours, and by the time we're done I'm dying of thirst and just about falling asleep standing up.
“Whoever it was, they're gone,” Ana says.
“We'll look again once the sun comes up,” I reply.
After that I retreat back to the cabana to try and get some sleep. I'm able to shut my eyes for a minute or so at a time, but every tiny noise caused by the wind makes me jump up, expecting to be attacked.
We search the island again in the heat of the dawn and find no one.
There's work to do, and it's about time to leave. I go back to the cabana, drag Abdo’s gyrocopter out of the little locker in back, and wedge myself into the pilot's seat. It's a good thing Ana is stuck inside an omni, otherwise we might not both fit.
I switch the rotors on and take us up. Abdo's island shrinks away below us, and every square inch is revealed. Among the thin, scattered grass, there are no hiding places that I can't see straight down into. And as far as I know, there aren't even any caves along the sea cliffs.
Whoever that guy was we saw last night, he's somehow managed to pull a vanishing act for the ages. With one last look at the island, I take us away and begin the long journey east.
CHAPTER 3
◆◆◆
The gyrocopter I use is top of the line. It was manufactured by the Horizon Group a mere three months before the Big Wipe. It has state of the art dampeners and the chassis and windows are made of a sophisticated ballistic material that could probably stand up to a direct hit from a missile. The copter's rotors automatically shut o
ff once a speed of two hundred miles an hour is reached. They fold up and tuck themselves away, and the jet boosters kick on. The gyrocopter then pretty much becomes a giant football shooting through the air, which sounds a lot scarier than it is. The thing can hit a top speed of around six hundred miles an hour.
So, the journey back home is manageable. But it's just long enough where I like to keep an empty bottle up front with me. Otherwise, I'd either have to piss my pants or else find some area of slightly less toxic wilderness to set down in. Neither of those solutions sound very attractive to me.
The copter flies by itself and I have Ana acting as DJ on my omni, playing various songs and ambient sound recordings. I fall asleep in record time, tired out from searching the island, and wake up somewhere over the coast of what’s left of California with drool running out of the corner of my mouth. I snort and sit up, wiping my face and spouting off some nonsensical fragment of a sentence, some leftover words from the dream I just left. Ana must be used to it, because she says nothing.
“Look at it,” I mumble, leaning over to look down on the land we're crossing over.
It’s thousands of miles of wilderness where there once was civilization. Here and there, the scars of the war still stand out in ashen craters, spots where the earth has been corrupted and where nothing grows. I don't see much in the way of animal life, but maybe that's just because we're too high up or the sound of our gyrocopter has driven all those untamed beasts into hiding. Beasts who are no longer used to the unnatural sounds of engines and the invasive presence of humans.
Or maybe there are no animals. Maybe they're all dead or mutated to the point where they can barely walk. There are some optimists out there who like to say nature is recovering. And it looks like it sort of is. The plants, anyway. In a million years or so who knows… maybe Earth will have plants with brains, plants that can rip themselves up out of the ground and move to a new spot if they take a notion. The plants will inherit the Earth, as far as I can tell. I think eventually mother nature will realize its mistake with animals like us and instead uplift another form of life to rule this world. Give somebody else a chance. Someone who deserves it.
CHAPTER 4
◆◆◆
I stare at the square-jawed guy in front of me and he stares back. He reads my file on his omni, scans Abdo’s copter with a handheld doohickey that emits an annoying electronic shriek, and then he begrudgingly nods his blocky head and hits a button. The shield wall retracts and the big conveyor belt pulls me through. The shield wall falls back into place behind me, cutting me off from the unmanned world. But I don't care. I'm home.
The nation of the Oligarchs spreads before me. Mostly its one big city, appropriated and reborn from the ruins of an old pre-war metropolis. Here and there across this vast city, walls and towers rise in terraced layers, man-made mountains that stretch toward the gray sky. There are five such mountains, one for each main Oligarch. Their own private domains where they get to enjoy their wealth in a lawless, unregulated fashion.
I look over the city and realize that it's only desperation that holds it together, really. If not for the fear of being turned back to the OUSP, or worse yet the natural world, a lot of these people would tear each other apart. There's greed here, lots of it. And it shows its ugly head in the murders and other crimes that I investigate. Maybe in fifty years, the place will sort of organize itself, like America during the wild west days, and it will become a place of peaceful, law-abiding citizens. But it's in the early days yet, and that sort of peace is just a pipe dream.
Anyway, it's good for business at least.
I punch in a garage code and hop out of the gyrocopter and onto a narrow walkway. I watch the copter unfold its rotors and lift off the belt, headed to Abdo’s personal garage.
Then I set off on foot, with Ana tucked safely in my coat pocket.
Abdo's a smart guy. He keeps his office right near the main gates to the Oligarchy, right near all the major transportation hubs. That way, he gets all the business he can handle and then some. These days, he sometimes has to turn cases away because there are just so many. He could just as easily take them all, but that would mean adding to his carefully curated group of trusted private eyes, which includes me. And such artificial inflation would reduce the effectiveness of his team and thus negatively impact his reputation.
Besides, Abdo isn't so ambitious these days. He's happy just fielding cases and taking his commission after the grunt stuff is finished by someone else. He’s been looking to retire for god knows how long and the way things are going he might just get his wish soon.
He has an office on the fourth floor of a building not a stone's throw from where I left the copter. I'm there in a jiffy, climbing the steps two at a time, tracking my dirty feet over their fancy stair runners.
Abdo's door is unmarked and unremarkable. You could easily assume it leads to a broom closet or something. That's the way he likes it. He doesn't want any old person to be able to walk into his office. He likes to be contacted first, and then he'll let you know exactly where to find him. And then when you get there, the first thing he makes you do is sign an agreement that you will not disclose his location to anyone.
I look both ways, see empty chairs in the hall to either side. Then I put my ear to the door and listen for a bit. Don't want to interrupt if Abdo is in the middle of meeting a client. But I don't hear anything, so I barge right in.
Abdo lifts his head off his desk, staring with dazed eyes. It amazes me that he still manages to look like a disheveled wizard even though he’s basically working a desk job nowadays. He quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands up to greet me.
“Haven't you heard of knocking?” he grumbles.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I reply, grinning as I study his weary face. “And what about you? Haven't you heard of caffeine? It's half past three and you're already snoozing on your desk.”
“I didn't sleep well last night,” he admits.
“Funny. Neither did I,” I say. “Mind if I sit?”
He shakes his head. “Of course not.”
While I take a seat on one side of his desk, Abdo wanders into a tiny side room and starts a batch of coffee. I can see his scrawny back from here, his shoulder blades moving as he dumps grounds into a filter and pulls water from a tap, cold and freshly synthesized at one of the Oligarchy's huge water plants.
Abdo's office is tiny. Just three rooms. The one I'm sitting in now is about six feet across. It consists of his desk, two chairs, and a small filing cabinet that's full of spare omnis which he backs up all his case files onto. The cabinet is also used to collect old coffee cups, at least that's what it looks like. One of them has a plant growing out of it, an anemic yellow thing that's looked half-dead ever since it sprouted. I'm still not sure if Abdo planted it on purpose or if the cup has just been there for that long.
The man himself comes walking stiffly back in as the coffee pot burbles. He stretches, yawns, scratches his armpits, and finally sits back down.
“I would have thought you'd still be on the island,” he says, gathering up a few papers and tapping them into a neat stack.
“That was the plan… but apparently the plan has changed,” I say, kicking off my left shoe and scratching the arch of my foot.
“You make it sound like you didn’t have a choice,” Abdo says curiously. “You want to fill me in?”
“Some funny business popped up while I was on the island. Just wanted to pick your brain on a few things. See if you had any information that could help out.”
“Is this for a case?” Abdo asks.
“Something like that.”
“What do you need.”
“Just need intel. I’m looking for info on a possible terrorist cell, led by some character who goes by the alias Cronus...”
By a change in Abdo's expression, I can tell he knows something. So, I stop talking and wait.
“That’s one hell of a tree you’re barking up, Rom
an. I can tell you that much,” Abdo cautions.
“So, you’ve heard of them?’
“Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy, and that guy might have heard a few whispers. Cronus isn’t a terrorist from what I’ve heard. To be honest I’m not even sure if Cronus is one person. All I know is that they run a high dollar hit squad. Uber professional. Clean work. Flawless track record. They don't get caught, and they never fail to hit a mark.”
“How long have they been operating?” I ask.
Abdo shrugs. “Since before the Big Wipe, at least.”
I rub my chin now, hearing the rasp of stubble. “How is it I've never heard of them, then?”
Abdo smiles apologetically. “No offense, Roman, but I obviously have access to wider circles of intel than you do, and even I have barely heard of these people. And that's sort of the point, right? If everyone knew about them, what good would they be? They're extremely secretive and they are probably also extremely choosy with the work they take. The last I heard of them was, I don't know, two… maybe three years ago. Are you saying they’re active again?”
I'm about to answer, but then I flash back to a time when I was stuck in a tiny, sound-proofed room, wracked by nightmares that I would get my good friend killed. So, I just put out my hand and make a ‘maybe, maybe not’ kind of gesture.
“You know what I always say, Abdo,” I tell him, “knowledge can be dangerous. Maybe I'll keep this one to myself.”
“Understood.”
“I do have one other question though,” I add.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Do you know of a way to contact them? Cronus and their… cronies I guess…”
Abdo holds up a hand, then gets up and goes into the tiny side room again. He comes back with two cups of very strong, almost sludgy coffee. I take a deep breath of steam, and even that is powerful enough to knock the weariness of travel out of me. It's not natural coffee. Been a while since I’ve tasted the real deal. But even this synthetic crap isn’t too bad on a day like this.
Darkside Dreams - The Complete First Series Page 51