Wilberforce waited for him with both elevators commandeered using the fire service keys. Jason used the security access key to activate the button for the surface level and send Wilberforce up, then took the other elevator himself.
The doors began rolling closed, and when they reached the halfway point, a thunderous boom erupted through the pump room door, accompanied by flashes of electric blue. The lights flickered briefly but remained on. The doors continued rolling shut.
The power cut left the barest trickle of electrons within the CMC core and deadened all its tendrils—cameras, microphones, other sensors, and network access. But soon the best of the best would descend on the facility to repair it.
As the elevators headed to the surface they would trigger a rush of goons into the stairwell and up. Most that he’d seen in the bunker were soft compared to the field agents. Lowgrave treated them like invisible servants. Hopefully he didn’t force them to keep as fit as his field agents were. Their fifty-story climb should give Jason time to carry out his plan.
If Lowgrave recovered soon from the blow to his jaw he might beat the other goons to the top.
The doors opened to reveal the familiar surface entrance corridor. Wilberforce had opened the stairwell door beside the elevator and was listening.
“They’re coming,” Wilberforce said. “But far away.”
“Keep an ear on them while I’m gone.” Jason ran the length of the corridor, unlocked the massive steel main door with a few spins of the wheel, and operated the electric crank as he’d seen the late jailer do many times. When it opened enough he slipped through the gap, and then instead of heading left to the desert exit, he turned right, toward the parking lot.
He mashed the button on the car key until one of the dozen cars unlocked. Sitting in it with his feet still on the ground, he programmed the computer for a long journey. After he got out and slammed the door, the car backed away and set off down the long access road.
Inside he ran back to the stairwell. Quietly he stood beside Wilberforce and listened.
Distant heavy panting echoed up from below.
Jason and Wilberforce sneaked through the doorway and began their descent. Their sneakers made far less noise than the booted men who were ascending.
Suddenly Jason skidded to a halt as Lowgrave’s voice boomed out from below. “I’ll grab the last one to the top and throw him fifty floors down the elevator shaft! Don’t think I’m kidding.”
Jason and Wilberforce continued down three floors and exited on the train level. As Jason gently closed the door behind him, it cut off the sound of a man vomiting.
The dutiful Zarather robots had nearly completed the unloading of the cargo. They had already loaded a trash container into an empty train car. The whole automated system operated independently of the CMC.
The escapees hopped on beside the trash and the robots ignored them.
Minutes later the robots shut all of the doors, and a second after the last clanged against its stop, the whole train began to accelerate. When sunlight gleamed through the door crack, Jason slid it open a little and peeked out.
On the road several cars sped away into the distance in pursuit of their suspect.
No way would Lowgrave wait to see which goon was last. He’d be in the lead car. Jason laughed at the thought of Lowgrave deciding between two goons who each insisted that the other had come last.
He’d probably throw both down the elevator shaft.
Thirty-Eight
IN A TRANCE, Jason watched the desert roll past through the door crack. Too soon Lowgrave or a police patrol would catch the errant car and find it empty. Then their attention would shift to the train.
Deceleration tilted his body and the whine of the electric motors slowed. He gripped the door handle with one hand and grabbed the pistol with the other. His limited view outside showed only empty desert.
He decided not to be taken alive. Shoot the first goon through the door and maybe the second with luck, then come out and finish the ammo on the rest of them or die trying. The end result would be the same but quicker than being dragged back to Lowgrave’s house of horrors in the beast’s own bowels, except that fewer goons would live to oppose the Black Doves.
When the deceleration ended, the train still moved at maybe thirty miles per hour. It rolled on at a steady pace until some houses became visible through the door gap.
Of course. The town by the tracks nearest the CMC. The town Jason had saved.
The CMC had been prepared to nuke the place for its interpretation of the long-term greater good, but agreeably it had programmed the train to slow as it passed a hundred yards from the town because that would improve the residents’ mood and raise its performance metrics.
When the far side of the settlement drifted past, Jason said, “It’s now or never. Let’s go.” He slid open the door, jumped out and tucked. His body rolled on the sandy ground, then he stood up and threw off a cloud of dust and sand while he tidied himself up.
Wilberforce followed soon after. He managed to hold on outside while he shut the door again but didn’t land the jump so well. He ended up rolling with legs and arms flailing. When he stood he yelled, “Ouch,” tested his weight a little on his right leg, and managed to limp over to Jason.
“You find a spot where you can stay as invisible as possible while I see what I can dig up,” Jason said.
“That’s a good idea.”
The morning was still early and quiet. Slow and relaxed, as if he belonged there, he walked down a street between two rows of small, neat houses. The residents preferred gravel and hardy desert plants to lawn. The Black Dove rumor mill had worked overtime spreading the story of how their train attack had spared the town from the nuke. With luck, the residents would be disposed to take his side rather than any goon’s.
On the corner he spotted a man walking some breed of large brown hound along a cross street. Jason went in his direction.
“Good morning,” Jason said.
“Morning. Not so good for you, huh?”
The question confused Jason for a second before he remembered his clothes. “Oh, yeah. Had a fall. Got stupid feet again. Pretty sure it’s not contagious.”
The man laughed. “Ain’t seen you here before. New in town?”
“Yeah, visiting my uncle Roger. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s a conspiracy expert who likes reading those stories about that train nuke and how it was meant for here.”
“Oh, those. What d’ya think of that stuff?”
Jason frowned. “You wouldn’t go telling the system what people think, would ya?”
“Hell no, and I resent the accusation.”
The man seemed to speak the truth. Jason smiled. “No offense intended. You can’t be too careful. Truth is I know there’s a lot going on and most of the stories are true. Including the train.”
“Really? How d’ya know?”
Jason didn’t answer right away.
“Oh,” the man said, “you won’t tell a stranger. I don’t know your uncle; pretty sure he doesn’t know me. I’m Dick, by the way.”
Jason introduced himself and shook hands. “How I know is . . .”
He paused and studied Dick’s face. Jason and Wilberforce needed to get moving, and finding better help might never happen.
“Look, I’m sorry to get you involved and understand if you want to go and forget all about it. My clothes are like this because I jumped off the train, which I boarded right inside that damned facility out there.”
Dick’s eyes grew wider with every passing word.
“They’ve got interrogation cells and even torture chambers beneath the cooling system for Half-Bit. We don’t have much time before shit gets a lot worse,” Jason said. “The truth is . . .”
Jason looked right into his eyes.
“They took me there because I planted the bombs under the rails.”
Dick stared back at him.
“Do you remember Roger Wilberforce?” Jason asked.<
br />
The man spent a moment in stunned silence before opening his mouth. “Sure. In hindsight, he told the truth.”
“He’s here with me. You’ll recognize him. Please, help us. My people have work to do and if they fail, we’re all fucked.”
The dog emitted one short, booming woof, pressed its nose into Dick’s thigh, then looked up at him. Dick looked down at it, then back to Jason.
“Come with us. Let’s get you out of here. Where’s Wilberforce?”
“Hiding near the tracks. We need to pick him up soon. He’s not really my uncle, by the way. I’ve lied often lately.”
“That’s the way it is.”
At his house, Dick gave Jason a glass of water and a handful of cookies. “Truth is,” Dick said, “I access those steg messages too. Thought you might be one o’ them secret assholes trying to bust me, but who the hell am I to get special attention? So I’m treatin’ ya as genuine.”
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver, probably literally. You’re taking a risk, by the way. But we have places to hide people until this has all blown over, if you want. Or turn me in.”
“The hell I will. Stick it to ’em. That’ll repay me.”
Jason grinned. “Truth is Half-Bit is as dead as ballast until they repair its power supply and cooling system.” He began laughing. “I made spaghetti out of all of it.” His laughter became hysterical and between gasps of air he managed to say, “It was glorious!”
“You’re kidding!” Dick said. “That means . . .”
He jumped onto his laptop, opened Twitter, and typed, “This ain’t no darned kindergarten and I don’t need no stinking computer to decide what’s right to say!”
Next he started counting down from ten while opening his email. He readied his finger on the button to check for messages.
“Three . . . two . . . one . . .”
He clicked it and nothing appeared.
“Ha! A penalty notice would’ve showed up already.” He checked the tweet and it remained up. “You did it! This is amazing!”
“Temporary, unfortunately. But we’ll make it permanent one of these days.”
Dick grabbed his laptop. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. You hide in the back of the car. Let’s go get Wilberforce.”
They picked him up near the tracks and left to put some distance between them and the inevitable search party. On the road, Jason managed to remember the steganographic key and used Dick’s setup to arrange a Black Dove safe house.
Thirty-Nine
LAMENESS AND IDIOCY spread like a disease.
Lowgrave pounded his fist on his desk. “Get me an independent security system for this place that works without the CMC or its power supply. If you come to me with a quote from Zarather Systems I’ll have you shot!”
“Yes, sir,” Daniels said. “I would never—”
“We’d better get rid of the unloading robots too.”
“I’ll arrange it, sir.”
“They’re planning something. It’s big. They have massive resources. Forget Crimson Unity for now. Shoot any you happen to catch but apply all available resources to finding these Black Dove cells.”
“We will, sir.”
“Expect an attack on this facility. Order a study of the possibilities. The CMC will analyze it too, but I want a creative approach.”
“Yes—”
“Wiseman!” The scientist had appeared behind Daniels. “Off you go, Daniels.”
The supervisor shuffled around Wiseman and the scientist entered and closed the door. Lowgrave enjoyed the fact that his IQ was likely similar to Wiseman’s, but Lowgrave’s education had taken place during the Strife. His house and neighborhood had been his university, his rifle had penned essays, and the body count and volume of spilled blood were his exam grades.
“Did they say anything that might be useful?” Lowgrave asked. “Or did you get any impression?”
“Well, they never said anything revealing. Jason seemed genuinely interested—”
“To the point, man!”
“I . . . was thinking that maybe it’s no coincidence these Black Dove people had an AI bigwig with them. I mean, they could have built a parallel system. A policy predictor or something like that.”
Lowgrave froze and contemplated that for some moments. He said in a solemn tone, “Then they could know everything.”
“It should be possible to track down the core now that we suspect it exists.”
Lowgrave waved that off. “Too late. They have all they need, or they wouldn’t be so active. Dismissed.”
Wiseman left in silence and shut the door.
On top of everything, two of Lowgrave’s men had taken a woman under duress from a bar while they were off duty, and used their training to do it unnoticed. She wasn’t on the arrest list, and she never returned home. The men’s actions proved them to be mere boys in Lowgrave’s view. When he wanted a woman, he went out and found one who would submit to him.
He opened a video link to his agent who was the most skilled at dealing with normal law enforcement agencies. He had a face like a weasel and eyes that could have sold you a vomit-stained roll of used carpet.
“You received the report about the missing woman?” Lowgrave said.
“Yes, sir.”
“See that the local police find nothing and give up, and send our two idiots back to training for a week. Explain to the instructor what kind of ‘training’ they need.”
“Right, sir.”
That would teach them not to use their status for pleasure. At least not in a way that needed covering up.
“And before you go, arrange the removal of the two at the bottom of the elevator shaft.”
Forty
AS MUCH AS Jason hated the CMC’s oppressive meddling, it did play right into the hands of the Black Doves. Many people offered safe refuge in their homes after being recruited by trusted friends who were more involved in the movement.
He waited with Wilberforce in a basement until the homeowner knocked on the door and announced that a visitor had arrived to speak with them.
When the door opened, Bob descended the stairs. Jason stood up and greeted him.
“I wondered if you were okay when I found your place abandoned.”
“The bastards broke up our community. I rented a room somewhere.” His face fell. “But there’s nothing much to do anymore.”
“We’re gonna fix that.”
Wilberforce came over and Bob gazed at him for a few seconds even though Jason had mentioned him in his message. Bob came to his senses and extended his hand. “I heard you were here but it’s still amazing! Pleased to meet you.”
Wilberforce shook his hand. “Pleasure is all mine, meeting people who help the Black Doves. Jason told me about your community. It’s evil, what’s going on. That’s an old word but a good one.”
“It’s apt. Now, I take it you saw the Zarather video at some point? It’s been all over the news.”
“Fake,” Jason said. He explained about the opalized wood bowl.
Bob said, “Our people concluded that someone carefully applied makeup and hair dye to Kerr to make him look younger, as if it was from ’32, but we couldn’t prove it. Your evidence clinches it.”
“Am I under suspicion?” Jason asked Bob. “I should be. The chief goon, Lowgrave—he can turn people.”
“Susan believes you would never turn. She’s a great judge of character and our leaders trust her. And Crimson Unity are having a field day now that they realize the CMC’s down. I can’t believe this Lowgrave character would allow that just to insert a mole with us.”
“I did turn, for a short time. I feel like I let you guys down.”
Bob clamped a hand on his upper arm. “You chose the truth in the end. It’s done.”
Jason and Wilberforce took showers and their hosts provided a late breakfast while they waited for members of Susan’s Black Dove cell to arrive. Soon after they had washed up from the meal, a small white delivery van ar
rived. Bob said farewell and left while two men from the van came inside. The group assembled in the basement so their hosts would remain unburdened with knowledge of the organization’s plans.
A tough but relaxed man in his forties introduced himself as Gordon and declared that he led the cell. Jason recognized the deep, well-defined tones of his voice immediately. They’d spoken on the phone at Susan’s. He reminded Jason vaguely of Zarather, and Jason recalled seeing Gordon’s likeness in a report of wanted fugitives earlier that year.
The other man, named Ben, was only about twenty and seemed inexperienced.
“Ben just joined us from another cell. With the loss of Michael and Susan’s husband we were short.” Gordon smiled at him. “He’s still wet behind the ears but he catches on quick.”
Ben chuckled. “And I run faster than you.”
“Yeah, it makes you a good errand boy.”
“Sure, but I use your creaking joints as a morning wake-up alarm.”
The four men laughed while Gordon thumped Ben lightly on the upper arm. “That’s in your future, kid.”
Gordon said to everyone, “We’re moving to a new location to lay low until we’re needed for something I’ll explain later. Strictly no communication of any kind. No phones. No browsing the web on the homeowner’s computer. Half-Bit—when they get its bowels repaired”—he slapped Jason’s back—“can identify the presence of people who are new to a location by their browsing behavior. From now until I say otherwise, we don’t exist.”
They piled into the back of the van and set off to their next safe house, hidden from the world and Half-Bit’s facial recognition cameras.
“What’s your story?” Jason asked Ben as they huddled in the dim compartment. “As much as you want to say.”
“I worked in the media,” Ben replied. “Soon got sick of helping liars spout CMC bullshit for a living. Got into some secret online discussions and ended up meeting a guy who knew a guy, if you know what I mean. Less exciting than your entry.”
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