by Jake Elwood
She returned to the staircase, keeping to the middle of the wide stairway, leery of the gulf on either side. There would be enclosing walls and railings when the building was done, but for now, an incautious step would send her plunging to the next floor down.
The third floor was a copy of the second, a broad polymer plain with naked girders rising at regular intervals and open air where the floor ended. She took out her scope and zoomed in on the patio at Angelo's. She was above the glass railing now, but the diners were at a fairly sharp angle. She could see O'Malley, lounging back in a chair with a drink in his hand. He was obscured by a potted plant.
One more floor, she decided. A higher angle would let her shoot over the plant. She returned to the stairs.
The staircase ended at the fourth floor. This floor was jumbled with construction material, stacks of girders and tanks of bonding liquid, coils of cable and cases of tools. There was an untidy heap of wall panels near the east edge of the floor, the side nearest Angelo's. It would make excellent cover to shoot from.
Someone had swept up some of the loose grit on the floor. She could see broom marks all around a little pile of polymer fragments near the stairs. She scooped up a double handful and scattered it across the steps, then sprinkled more on the floor between the stairs and the stack of wall panel. There would be no way to approach her without making noise.
Satisfied, she moved to the stack of panels, climbed on top, and lay down on her stomach, peering down at the patio half a kilometer away. A mild vertigo mingled with the thrill of anticipation, making her stomach flutter as she drew out the components of her rifle. The entire weapon took up no more space than a sandwich when it was disassembled. It was a framework of carbon tubes, nearly weightless, that snapped together to form the outline of a gun with a stock, breech, and long barrel. The functional part of the weapon was a laser generator half the size of her palm with a trigger mounted on the underside.
Kira finished assembling the weapon, then paused for a last look around. She would shoot, slide down to the floor behind the stack of panels, then take a moment to break the gun down and return it to the pouch on her belt. Then, a quick jog down the stairs and out through the door in the fence. She wouldn't waste any time, but she'd be sure to reach the street not quite out of breath. She would be composed, not hurried, as she mixed with pedestrian traffic and strolled away to lose herself in the downtown crowds.
When every step was clear in her mind she returned her attention to the patio. She clicked the scope onto the top of the gun and snugged the stock up against her shoulder, rested her cheek against the cool grid of carbon tubes, and peered into the scope.
She swept the gun left and right, found the tower behind Angelo's, followed it down, and found the patio. She spotted the plant first, then looked just past it for O'Malley's table. She spotted him and touched the scope, zooming in.
He was staring back at her through a little hand scope, and he lifted two fingers in a rude gesture. Then he rose, took three quick steps, and vanished through a doorway.
Kira wasted two long seconds staring after him, her body rigid with shock. Then she sat up, squirming backward, a thousand scenarios flitting through her head. There had to be a shooter somewhere taking aim at her, but they'd made a mistake. Gotten cocky. She only needed a moment to get behind the panels and they would never be able to—
There was a woman standing in the middle of the floor behind Kira with a pistol in her hand. Kira had an instant to gape at her before the gun went off and she felt the cold rush of a stun shot as it dissipated over the fabric of her vest.
How did she – I didn't hear – she must have been behind those girders the whole – she made a mistake! She's got a stunner, and I'll kill her before she –
As Kira brought the laser rifle around, the woman calmly touched a dial on the side of her pistol, took aim, and shot her again.
Agony exploded through Kira's body. At first it was all she knew, just an ocean of burning pain without form or detail. Slowly she worked out the details. The fire was centered in her hip. It's a rail gun round. Okay, Kira. Time to pull yourself together.
She blinked tears away and forced her eyes open. She had fallen from the stack of panels and lay now on the roof, curled into a ball with blood staining the front of her slacks. A woman stood over her, a cold-eyed young woman with black hair streaked with vivid red. She looked about thirty, compact and athletic in a silvery jumpsuit. The pistol in her hand didn't waver.
Kira managed to say, "Who—"
The woman fired, and Kira felt every muscle in her body spasm. That had to be quite a versatile pistol, she thought as she struggled to open her eyes again. Stun shot, rail round, and now a zap charge. "All right," she managed to gasp. "You win."
"Tell me who you work for."
Kira chuckled. "Go suck vacuum."
A boot against her shoulder forced her over onto her back, and Kira screamed as her legs straightened. She glared up at the woman, clutching her wounded hip with one hand while she edged the other hand toward the pocket that held her laser pistol.
"This only gets worse. The sooner you talk to me, the sooner you get to a hospital."
Yeah, right. Kira's fingers brushed her pocket. The pistol was gone, and her heart sank. A twitch of her chin activated her com implant, and static filled her right ear. Damn. Fried by the zap shot.
A strong hand closed on the fabric of her jacket, taking a fistful of cloth just over her right shoulder. The woman's other hand held the pistol, the barrel unwavering and just out of reach. With a low grunt of effort the woman dragged Kira around the stack of panels and toward the edge of the building.
She's going to kill me. She'll torture me, she'll kill me, and there's not a thing I can do about it. Kira shrugged inwardly. It wasn't what she wanted, but she'd long since accepted that her luck couldn't hold forever. She would die today. So be it. Everyone died. She would die without disgracing herself, without betraying her comrades or her cause.
She would die silently.
The woman heaved Kira over onto her stomach, then grabbed the back of her waistband and dragged Kira forward. Kira tried to fight it, pushing against the floor, then reaching back with one arm to snag the woman's ankle. The hand let go of her waistband for an instant, and then something slammed into the middle of Kira's back, driving the air from her lungs. By the time she managed to draw another breath her head and shoulders were past the edge of the floor and she was staring down at the weed-choked yard far, far below.
"You're not going to enjoy the drop. Why don't you just tell me what I want to know?"
Lies were the first, best response to torture and coercion. They were better than silence because they sowed confusion. What did this woman know? What did O'Malley know? What could Kira get away with?
There was only one way to find out.
"We were planning a gem heist. There's a gem show scheduled next month, across the street from the opera house. But that cop showed up, the big yellow-haired one. We think he might have seen our faces, so I decided to—"
Another low-powered zap shot laced into her, and she screamed, feeling herself slide several centimeters forward. A moment later she heard a woman's voice, made tinny by the speakers on a PAD.
"The Nightingale. She had a shot at him once before. She's been pestering me for a second chance."
The recording stopped. "No more lies," the woman said. A foot landed in the middle of Kira's back. "You have my word that I'll call emergency services as soon as you give me what I want. You haven't even killed anyone. Not today, at least. The cops won't have much on you. You could be back on the street in a couple of years."
Kira didn't have the energy for a contemptuous snort. The cops knew her all too well. She was never going to know freedom again. It would take luck to avoid execution for treason. Not that this woman was going to leave her alive.
"I know plenty already, so don’t bother lying. Just tell me what I need to know." And the pressure
of the boot on her back increased, pressing the air out of her lungs, driving her body forward another couple of centimeters. Now her head was hanging down, her torso starting to curve, blood filling her face.
Motion caught her eye, and she shook her head, trying to get her hanging hair out of the way. A man stood beneath her, one floor down, gazing up at her with a cheery smirk on his face. Jerry O'Malley. He knelt, picked up several small chunks of polymer, and said, "Why don't you just tell the nice lady who you work for?" He threw a chunk of polymer, and it hit her in the face. She flinched. The little chunk of plastic didn't actually hurt, but it was certainly annoying. "Why are you trying to kill me?" Another chunk of polymer hit her. "Come on, come clean. You'll feel better for it." Another piece hit her just below her eye, and her whole body twitched. That cost her another centimeter, and she scrabbled uselessly with her toes on the smooth floor behind her.
"Last chance," the woman said. "Will you talk?"
Kira took a deep breath. It wasn't easy with the edge of the floor pressing against her diaphragm. "Go jump in a supernova."
The pressure disappeared from her back. O'Malley shook his head and turned away, and Kira braced herself, waiting for the blow that had to come. Would they kill her outright, or would torture come first?
Seconds trickled past as she waited. It was distinctly uncomfortable lying there with her ribs pressed against the edge of the floor, so at last she squirmed around and looked past her shoulder at the floor behind her.
There was no sign of the red-haired woman.
Puzzled, Kira wormed her way backward. Every movement brought her body closer to the drop, but she persisted, twisting herself around until she had a shoulder on the floor. When she finally got her hands under herself she felt much better. She pushed herself up onto hands and knees, wincing as her injured hip flexed, and looked around.
Her tormenter was gone.
Utterly baffled, Kira spent a long moment resting, her head hanging. But blood still oozed from her hip, making her weaker with every drop. If she was going to make the most of this strange opportunity she had to act now.
The laser rifle still lay where she had dropped it, and she dragged it closer, collapsed the carbon tubes, and stuffed it in her belt pouch. She had to use the stack of wall panels to work her way to her feet. Straightening her legs was agony, and she leaned against the stack of panels as she waited for the pain to subside.
It had to be a sick psychological trick, she decided. O'Malley and the woman would let her run for a bit. When she thought she was safe they would pounce again and the torture would begin. The woman was either on the far side of the panels or behind a girder.
Well, there was nothing to be gained by waiting where she was. Though it galled her to play their little game, there was nothing else to do but head for the stairs and see how far they let her go. Kira took a deep breath and held it, then set out in a jerky, stumbling shuffle for the stairs.
Every step down the staircase hurt, and she grinned to herself as she saw their plan. She'd torture herself! Then, a floor or two lower down, they'd take hold of her, drag her back up the stairs, and start questioning her in earnest. Well, it wouldn't work. She was a warrior for her people, and she would die without betraying them.
At least she got to die like the freedom fighter she was, she reflected. Not dragged away in cuffs by the police like a common criminal. The cops, who should have been her natural allies in the war against the oppressors, would treat her like some kind of thug, like a mugger with a fanatical streak instead of a revolutionary. O'Malley and the woman, however sadistic they might be, were at least treating her like a soldier.
By the time she reached the third floor the world had mostly vanished into a white haze of pain. She paused, waiting for them to grab her, then shrugged and fumbled her way to the next set of stairs. She couldn't see properly anyway, so she gave in to the pain and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no railing to guide her so she sat down and slid from step to step. It was much easier than walking.
Down and down, around and around she went, until her questing feet couldn’t find the next descending step. Reluctantly she opened her eyes. She was on the ground floor. Blood made a dark streak across the floor behind her. She could see a round red circle on each step of the staircase behind her where her buttock had rested, and a smaller red circle beside it where the blood had spread to her other buttock.
There was still no sign of O'Malley and the woman.
Getting back to her feet wasn't easy, but she managed it. Her head swam, and she leaned against a girder, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It didn’t pass, so she looked around until she saw the steps that led down to the yard, then set off at a lurching stumble.
She fell down the steps, landing with her face pressed to the Devil's Weed in the yard, then worked her way up to hands and knees. She would need her strength when she reached the street. She'd have to stay upright long enough to summon a cab. The automated vehicle wouldn't care that she was covered in blood. She just had to get into the car, give it an address, and stay conscious until she arrived at … where?
Kira was running through a list of contacts, trying to decide who might help her, when the top of her head bumped the door to the street. She used the wall for support as she hauled herself to her feet. Then she grabbed the edge of the door.
The door swung open before she could pull on it, nearly making her topple. She saw a quick blur of black uniforms, and strong hands pushed her up against the wall. A man said, "She's here, all right."
A young woman in a cop's helmet patted Kira down, then took the collapsed laser rifle. "I found a gun."
"No," said Kira. "No, this isn't—"
Cuffs clicked shut around her wrists, then constricted until they held her snugly. The world spun around her as cops guided her outside, then laid her down on the sidewalk. A hand cupped the back of her head protectively, then slid away as she settled onto the hard pavement. "Lie still," a man said. "Med services are on their way."
Cops stood all around her, making a forest of black legs, and she heard them murmuring into coms. "Subject with a gun," she heard someone say. "Suspect apprehended. One felon in custody."
No, you don't understand. I'm not some criminal. I'm a soldier. You can't treat me like this. She opened her mouth to explain, but tears filled her eyes and all she managed to say was, "Aw, crap."
Chapter 13
Cassie lay stretched full length on the grass in a small city park on a hilltop, a scope pressed to her eye. She was watching the front doors of the Museum of Man and Space more than four blocks away. The distance forced her to zoom in so tightly that the image jumped and wobbled in the eyepiece despite the compensation of the built-in processor. A cramp was forming in her neck by the time the front doors of the museum swung open and a familiar stocky woman came marching out.
"I can see Grimsby," Cassie murmured. "Lots of kids …." At last she saw a familiar little dark-haired figure, deep in conversation with a blonde girl as they trouped after the teacher. Cassie watched for a moment longer to be sure, then sighed and lowered the scope. "Thank God," she murmured. "She's fine. For now, at least."
"What's next?" Jerry said. "Do we ease off, and hope they leave us alone? Or crank up the pressure?"
Cassie sat up and gave him a grin. "Do you even need to ask?"
He grinned back and reached for her hand, hauling her to her feet. "So. What's our next target?"
That, Cassie reflected, was the billion-cred question. They knew maddeningly little about their opponents. It was time to get some answers, but how? She mulled it over and realized they had only one lead. "Elysian Acres," she said. "For a landscaping company their staff is awfully well-armed. Let's go ask them why."
Elysian Acres, she learned, had offices in every city on Zemoth (all five of them), but maintained its headquarters in Kingstown. Cassie and Jerry parked a block down from Elysian's offices and sat looking at the building, a shiny two-story structure with a lot
of glass and white paint, surrounded by small exotic trees.
"It doesn't look like the secret headquarters of a terrorist cell," Jerry commented. Everything about the building and grounds was tidy, conservative, and green.
"No, it doesn't." Cassie stared down at the PAD in her hands. "They've got their own hub. No big surprise there." They wouldn't be repeating her trick with the hub near the King's Head. Of course, if they could break in, they might be able to put a splicer on the hub hardware inside. That might teach them something useful.
A competent AI would spot a splicer in a few seconds, though. Cassie folded her arms, frustrated. "This is stupid. Sitting here is pointless. We need to go in there, find the person in charge, stick a gun barrel up his nose, and ask some pointed questions." She remembered the phone conversation she'd overheard with Smiling Charlie. There had been a woman on the other end. "Or her nose, as the case may be."
"Sure," Jerry said. "We'll have a good minute, maybe a minute and a half before the police storm the place and haul us off in cuffs. We can sit in our separate cells and think about what we learned."
Cassie gave him a dirty look. The problem was, he was right.
"Surveillance and discreet digging will tell us what we need to know," he said. "It won't be as fun as kicking doors open and waving guns around, but the other side won't know what we know."
Stop being right. It's annoying. "Fine. We'll do it your way. For now. How long are we going to sit here, anyway?"
"I don't know." Jerry looked completely unfazed by her surliness.
"Well, what are we looking for?"
"I don't know that either," he said smoothly. "We'll most likely know when we see it."
A few more peevish replies occurred to her, but she was already getting tired of her childish attitude. She uncrossed her arms, took a deep breath, and settled deeper in her seat. "I'd still rather storm in there with guns," she muttered.
"I know you would," he said. "And I think it's totally hot."