Metal Fatigue

by Sean Williams

  Or was Mayor Packard suggesting that the Mole was an agent for another body altogether? It could have been nothing more than a slip of the tongue, but it was worth pursuing. The only external body that Roads knew of was the RUSA itself.

  He cast his mind back six weeks, to the beginning of the Mole's campaign. Kennedy Polis had been in turmoil after the arrival of the RUSAMC envoy at the city walls. There had been an air of uncertainty in the Council, with the very real possibility that the envoy was going to be sent away, by force if necessary, and the offer of Reassimilation rejected. It had taken three weeks of solid debate to arrive at the decision to open negotiations with the RUSA, and the final vote had been close. Without Senior Councillor Norris' final summation, the Reassimilation Bill might have been repealed at the last moment. Roads could understand the RUSAMC sending a covert agent into the city back then, to ascertain the exact nature of the threat Kennedy represented. And yet...

  Why had the Mole not been recalled? If the Reassimilation went ahead, the Reunited States would have unlimited access to Kennedy's datapool within a few days. Did they believe that the exchange would be incomplete — or that the Council, daunted by the assassin, would change its mind at the last minute?

  And was that, then, why they had sent O'Dell to aid investigations — not to help catch the Mole, but to neutralise the killer?

  Roads went back to the desk and checked the information he had been studying the previous night. The Kennedy mortuary records had been stolen two weeks prior to Blindeye. Either O'Dell had brought them up in conversation to deceive Roads, or the captain was unaware of his own government's covert activities. Or had the remark simply been a means of putting Roads off-guard, as he had first thought?

  No matter which way he looked at it, it wouldn't fall into place.

  He sighed. He was getting as paranoid as DeKurzak, substituting RUSAMC secret agents for a hypothetical Old Guard in a situation where there couldn't possibly be either. The Mole had to be biomodified. The Reunited States, therefore, would hardly tolerate his existence, let alone employ him to further their ends.

  He went back to the chair and put his feet up on the desk. The screens were mesmerising. After a while, he stopped counting the numbers of times they changed every minute and resigned himself to wait the whole night if he had to.

  The Mole would appear when he was ready. There was nothing Roads could do to make him come sooner than that.

  * * *

  A voice jolted him to full alertness shortly after midnight. His left leg was stiff from maintaining one posture for so long, and he rubbed it absently while listening to the information Barney relayed.

  "Boss? We've just had word from DP. There's been some sort of interference down at Emergency Services."

  "The Mole?"

  "An unauthorised request for data came through ten minutes ago. As no-one else is supposed to be using the system tonight, we feel safe assuming it to be our man."

  "Fair enough," Roads said. "Although it's pretty stupid of him to let us know he tried like that."

  "Unless he did it deliberately. It wouldn't be the first time."

  Roads nodded, calculating times in his head. "Ten minutes. That gives him just enough time to get out of the building and across town. He could be here any moment."

  "You got it." Her voice was breathless. "The show's about to begin."

  "About fucking time." He stood, checked the microphone taped to his throat and his earplug, and stretched his legs. "Excuse me for a second while I take a piss."

  "I promise not to listen."

  When he returned, the silence of the library had thickened; he was more conscious of the lack of sound than he had been before. He found himself straining to listen for footsteps which didn't exist. If there was anyone in the building, the surveillance systems would have been triggered already.

  Again, an image of the Mole flashed into his mind's eye. It was a sequence from the footage Morrow had given him: of the Mole walking through the laser beams undetected, of the Mole appearing to be invisible to infra-red cameras. He studied the endlessly changing screens, half expecting to see his dark half already inside the building.

  "We've got something," said Goss.

  The voice made Roads jump. "Where?"

  "Outside, but ... Hang on a second. It might be a false alarm."

  One of the screens flickered and changed to an external view of the grounds. The image was predominantly grey and blue as a result of a light-intensification program. Something ran through a copse of trees — a shadow keeping low to the ground. The camera tracked it, zoomed in close.

  It was the timber wolf.

  "One of the lookouts spotted it," Goss said. "Sorry to give you all a start."

  "How'd it get in?" Barney asked.

  "Over the fence?" Roads suggested.

  "Unlikely," said Goss. "The fence is two metres high."

  "Not impossible," put in O'Dell, his drawl as lazily confident as ever. "Timber wolves have been known to jump higher. I've seen one leap over a man myself."

  "Really? Where was that?"

  "Back home. They bred like crazy after the War. You don't have them here?"

  "Only one that I know of," said Goss. "And you're looking at it."

  The wolf slid across the open expanse of a lawn like a streak of smoke-blackened silver. Their perspective shifted to that of another camera, allowing them to watch it in profile. Its muscles rippled beneath an evanescent coat; its eyes glinted emotionlessly in the pale moonlight.

  "David, I thought you'd booby-trapped the fences?"

  "We have, Phil. Maybe it dug a tunnel."

  Roads shook his head, taking the suggestion seriously. The wolf's coat was clean and unmarked by dirt. "However it got in, it must've really wanted to."

  "And it's headed right for us." He could hear the anticipation in Barney's voice.

  "Forget it. It's a diversion." Roads glanced at the other screens. "David, tell your people to keep an eye out."

  "Will do."

  "A diversion?" asked Barney.

  "To keep us distracted while he sneaks in somewhere else."

  "So the Mole has a pet wolf?" asked DeKurzak.

  "They can be trained," said O'Dell. "But you have to hand-rear them from birth."

  "Really?" Roads found that interesting. It suggested that the Mole came from the northern regions of the continent — perhaps near Philadelphia, the RUSA capital.

  "Here it comes." Goss tracked the wolf as it crossed the last open space before reaching the library. The animal circled the building once, then vanished into a clump of trees nearby. It did not reappear from the other side. "And there it goes. We've either lost it, or it's gone to ground. Sorry folks, but show-time's over."

  The screen changed, became a map of the university grounds. Green dots marked untripped alarms surrounding the library. Roads studied it intently, waiting for a sign that the Mole had made his move. A minute dragged by, painfully slow; his heartbeat seemed loud enough to echo in the confines of the toilets.

  "David? You got anything in the building?"

  "No, just a couple of small movements."

  "Where?"

  "Basement and ground floor. Not worth worrying about. You know what these old buildings are like, settling after sunset."

  "Are you sure?" The timing bothered him. "It could be — "

  "Wait," breathed Barney. "I think we might have something."

  Roads could hear Goss talking on another line in the background, but couldn't make out the words. The screens changed, and Goss came back.

  "We've lost contact with two of the lookouts on the roof of the admin building. No alarms have been triggered on the library, though."

  "That doesn't mean anything, judging from past experience."

  "True. But let's hang on a moment longer. Don't want to jump the gun."

  Roads fidgeted nervously as the screens surveyed the roof of the building. The view contained plenty of detail — ventilation out
lets, antennae, even an old satellite dish — but was shrouded with shadow. Light-intensification could only improve the picture a little; without an infrared scanner, there was no way to be certain exactly what he was seeing.

  "Come on, you son of a bitch."

  "What was that, Phil?"

  "Nothing. Just talking to — "

  On one of the screens, a shadow moved.

  "Camera twenty-three, David — that's him!"

  "Where, Phil? I can't see — "

  "Zoom in on that duct, or whatever it is, by the grill — he's behind it. Watch carefully."

  The picture slid in close, showing nothing for a second but moonlit metal. Then an arm appeared, little more than a blur with a suggestion of muscle. An instant later, it moved back out of view.

  "Shit." Goss wound back the zoom, swung the camera to follow the motion. The shadow danced in and out of sight, leaping from darkness to darkness, visible only in a series of strobe-like glimpses. Its gait was awkward — sometimes crab-like, sometimes leaping, as though clearing invisible obstacles in its path.

  Roads mentally pictured the security plan of the roof. "Jesus — he's stepping over the trip-wires!"

  "How? They're invisible."

  "I don't know, unless ..." His stomach lurched. "Oh my God. He followed me here, watched you show me where they were. He's been here all the time!"

  "But..." Goss' voice was incredulous. "What about the I-R sensors? Why isn't he setting them off?"

  "Check them, David. I'll bet they're picking up heat outside the target bandwidth. If he's severely biomodified, his body temperature could be — "

  "Fuck. We should've thought of that." There was a rattle of keys as Goss fiddled with the security master-terminal, then a satisfied grunt.

  "You've got him?"

  "Yes."

  "Where's he headed?"

  "For the skylight, more or less."

  "Right." Roads stood and unholstered his pistol. "I'm going in."

  "Be careful, Phil." Barney's voice was sharp.

  "Always. And you be ready if I need you."

  "We will."

  He carefully swung the door of the toilets inward, thankful that someone had thought to oil the hinges. Holding his breath tight in his chest, he craned his head around the jamb and peered along the hallway.

  No-one. The corridor was pitch-black. Without switching on the torch, he padded slowly to the T-junction at the end of the corridor and stopped with his back up against the wall and the gun raised across his chest.

  "Barney? You tracking me?"

  "Sure am, boss."

  "I want you to scan the way ahead. Make sure there's nothing waiting around the corner."

  "Will do." There was a pause, then: "All clear."

  He took the corner in a crouch all the same, ready for anything. Although he felt safe to assume that the Mole was on the roof and not actually in the building, he wasn't prepared to discount any possibility — even that of the Mole being in two places at once.

  "The stairwell's clear too, Phil."

  He opened the door and closed it gently behind him, then forced himself to take the stairs one at a time. The last thing he needed at that moment was to fall in the gloom and break a leg.

  "Where is he now?"

  "Still on the roof. He's stopped moving."

  "Where?"

  "Next to the skylight. Looks like he's waiting for something."

  "The ground floor?"

  "Clear."

  The stairwell opened into a cul-de-sac stretching a short distance before ending in a T-junction. Roads tiptoed along it, gun in hand, and turned left. On his right, a row of locked doors marched into the distance; on his left, windows.

  "Any change?"

  "None."

  Another corridor gaped ahead of him. The entrance to the reading room was third on his left. The door was closed. He shouldered the gun when he reached it and paused to take a breath.

  "Reading room's clear," said Barney, and he stifled an exclamation of surprise.

  "Jesus — don't do that!"

  "Sorry. I just thought of something."

  "What?"

  "If the Mole was here all along, watching us and waiting, then who broke into Emergency Services?"

  He hadn't thought of that. "Fuck. That means — "

  His earplug rang with the sound of distant alarms, making him start violently. A computerised voice announced in the background:

  "Data-retrieval systems activated! Data-retrieval systems activated!"

  "Phil!" It was Goss, superimposed over a babble of voices.

  "I can hear it. Is it remote, or — ?"

  "No — it's local. Christ! He's in there — he's in there!"

  Roads took a position facing the doors. "Can you see him? Where is he in the room?"

  "We can't see him!" Goss' voice was shrill. "For God's sake, Phil, get in there before he gets away!"

  Roads raised one leg and kicked in the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Monday, 17 September, 12:55 a.m.

  Roads swept into the room and scanned the endless ranks of bookcases and cabinets. He took three steps to his left, holding the gun like a crucifix. He could see no-one. Taking care to keep an eye on the door, he slowly circled the tanks, checking every shadow for movement.

  When he reached the point at which he had started, he stopped.

  The room was empty.

  "Which terminal, David?" he subvocalised silently through the throat-mike. "I can't see anyone in here."

  "Number four. Third on your right."

  "It's still running?"

  "Shit, yes. The Mole has to be there somewhere, Phil."

  "Can you see him yet?"

  "We've got everything focused in there, but all the screens are empty, apart from you."

  "Great." He stepped forward, still alert. "I'm going to try and shut down the terminal. Keep an eye on my back."

  * * *

  In the command centre, Barney watched anxiously as Roads crossed the floor of the reading room. Goss, O'Dell, DeKurzak and three technicians did likewise. The sound of held breath filled the silence around her.

  "Come on, Phil," she muttered.

  On a screen to one side, relatively unnoticed, the shadow on the roof still crouched beside the skylight, unmoving. It was visible only in profile, and then not clearly.

  "Another decoy?" asked DeKurzak, indicating the image. His voice was loud in the hushed stillness.

  "Probably." Goss did not look up from the screen showing Roads. "I'd say he's broken into the system and frozen the picture somehow."

  "How?" asked Barney.

  "The same way he gained access to the data-retrieval routines, I'd guess."

  "Is it possible," put in O'Dell, "to do this from the outside?"

  "No," said DeKurzak. "The modem lines are down."

  "You sure?"

  DeKurzak looked up sharply. "Are you questioning my competence?"

  "Just asking." O'Dell shook his head and turned back to the screen.

  Roads had finally reached the terminal. Barney watched nervously as he searched every corner for a sign of the Mole.

  "Kill it, Phil," she whispered to herself. "Just kill it."

  "The screens are clear," said Goss into the microphone. "But the image on the roof looks like another decoy, so he has to be down there somewhere."

  "Any idea how he got in, David?" Roads' voice was faint.

  "Through the skylight, I guess."

  "Impossible. It's still closed."

  "It is? Shit."

  Barney watched as Roads took one last look around, then reached down with his free hand to grab the terminal's power cord. "Here goes nothing ..."

  * * *

  As his hand closed around the cable, Roads felt air brush his face. The movement was subtle, no more than an exhaled breath, but unexpected.

  "Lookout!"

  In the same instant that Barney shouted, he dropped and rolled, bringing the gun up o
n —

  — the Mole. His doppelganger stood not two metres away, staring expressionlessly at him from the middle of the room, with the nearest hiding place metres away.

  "Where the fuck did he come from?"

  The whispers in his ear were confused and sharp with panic. Strongest was that of Goss:

  "From nowhere, Phil — he just appeared out of thin air!"

  "He can't have."

  "He did — I saw it with my own eyes!"

  The Mole stepped forward, and Roads backed away, rising slowly from his crouch without moving the gun from its target.

  "Don't move," he said, feeling like an idiot. "Put your hands behind your head and turn around."

  The Mole kept coming until he was between Roads and the terminal. There was something about his face that kept Roads at bay — a terrible emptiness, a void of life that made him appear all the more dangerous. Like a reflection in a mirror about to shatter.

  Roads shifted the gun to aim at the drive's power cable. The shot deafened him after the long silence, but the Mole didn't even flinch. The whirr of the drive ceased.

  "I said, put your hands above your head and turn around."

  The Mole didn't look at him, but did as he was told. Roads walked up behind him and cautiously reached out to pat for weapons.

  "Be careful, Phil," said Goss. "He's smiling."

  "He is? Well — "

  He stopped in mid-sentence, puzzled, and stared at his hand. It lay on the Mole's side, apparently touching the fabric of a nylon coat. But it felt like cold stone.

  "What the — ?"

  At his side, the terminal's VDU exploded.

  Roads ducked down, a hand shielding his eyes as glass shards filled the air. The Mole pushed him off-balance and into the desk. He scrambled uselessly to regain his footing.

  Ignoring the shouting in his ear, he rolled onto his back. The Mole loomed over him, arms outstretched. He fired twice, once above the left eye, once into the heart.

  But the Mole kept coming, the bullets leaving no mark at all. Roads scrambled desperately away. The Mole pursued him, vicious canines sparkling moistly in the grey darkness, hands reaching out with fingers ending in inch-long claws.