Metal Fatigue

by Sean Williams

  It took them several minutes to reach the end of the freeway — time he was grateful for, to think. The area was sealed from the general public by Major Crime tape. A pair of RSD officers maintained a cursory watch from the shelter of an abandoned tollbooth. Seeing Roads and Barney, the pair waved them through. Slowly, cautious of the ribbon of pain down the muscles of his left thigh, Roads crossed the pot-holes and shattered tarmac of the freeway, and walked onto the bridge.

  He brought them to a halt a hundred metres from the shore and leaned against the western guard-rail to watch the water rolling below. He couldn't remember being dragged from it, although he vividly recalled nearly drowning. But for the timely intervention of a RUSAMC soldier — whose name he didn't even know — he might well have joined the rubbish on the river's bottom. A fish's meal snagged on a rusted car-wreck; just another piece of flotsam left over from the twentieth century.

  Barney stood next to him with her hands in the pockets of her new coat, not too close but not too far away either. He supposed that her old coat had been singed or torn, just as his had. The sun sank in front of them, dipping gradually through gaps in the clouds to kiss the distant horizon. To their left and above, clearly visible as a dark, twisted scar in the superstructure of the bridge, was the place where the Mole had detonated. Several of the thick suspension cables that had once terminated at the summit of the maintenance tower had been severed by the blast. Most had fallen away from the roadway and into the river, where their truncated ends dragged into the river; two cables, however, had fallen into the infrastructure, causing considerable damage.

  "You almost died this time, you know," Barney said, braving the wind with an echo of his own thoughts. "First Blindeye, then Danny Chong, then — "

  "I know," he said. "But that's not the reason I brought you here."

  "Why then?"

  "They'll demolish the bridge for sure, now," he said. "This could be my last chance to see it relatively whole."

  "I guess that's understandable." Barney glanced at him curiously, clearly uncertain where his mood was taking her. "It's always been fairly unsafe."

  His eyes traced the path of the dangling cables. "Even if they do decide to rebuild, only the pylons will be salvageable. Construction from scratch is often more difficult than reconstruction — or reassimilation, if you prefer. And reassimilation is more difficult — "

  "Than dissolution?" Barney interrupted, picking up the metaphor instantly.

  "Always." Roads nodded. "I remember when I first arrived here. Kennedy seemed like heaven compared to the rest of the country. With Keith's help, I managed to forge an ID card and found a job in security. That earned me a regular food supply for the first time in over ten years, but it also gave me something to do. I had a life, Barney ..." He turned to meet her gaze. "I don't know if I can make you understand how important that was to me. Everything I'd ever loved was gone. My home was ten thousand kilometres away, on the other side of an ocean that had once seemed insignificant. My implants were dead, and their very existence threatened to destroy me. I needed something temporary to fill the gap, and Kennedy was it. To watch it dissolve over the years ..." He stopped to find the right words, and failed. "It's hard for me to talk about these things."

  "I can imagine," Barney said. "The important thing is that you're trying."

  He wanted to touch her, but didn't allow himself to. "Everything has its breaking point if you push it far enough," he said instead. "Patriot Bridge, Kennedy Polis, the Mole, Cati — and me. That's one reason I disappeared. I've lived the last thirty years alone and anonymous, and part of me prefers it that way."

  The surprise in her eyes was obvious, but it didn't show in her voice. "Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? You're saying you don't want me around any more?"

  "No. I'm saying that, after everything that's happened in the last month, I need a change of scenery."

  Barney's face tightened further. "And you came to say goodbye?"

  "No. Not necessarily."

  "Then what, Phil?"

  Roads squinted at the sun, trying to burn out the confusion in his mind. The western sky deepened slowly to red. In another time, the rumble of aeroplanes and orbital shuttles would have marred the stillness of the scene. Roads hadn't heard the sound of jet engines or even seen Kennedy's terminal for decades. The RUSA appeared to have concentrated its strength in land-based transportation, maybe from a shortage of aviation fuel. He wondered how long it would be before any nation recovered enough to even contemplate international flights; years, possibly decades, would pass.

  Sydney seemed as far away as ever.

  "Did you ever find Katiya?" he asked, changing the subject deliberately.

  She followed his gaze, then shook her head. "We dredged the river yesterday morning. Her body, and Cati's, must have drifted downstream. They'll turn up in one of the locks soon enough."

  Roads nodded. "And the Reassimilation? Is that going ahead as planned?"

  "More or less. Stedman has made a few speeches promising all sorts of things, but the changes will be slow coming. He's leaving a full squadron here to oversee the amalgamation with the MSA. RSD will continue as normal, as a local department of the States' police force. If all goes well, the Gate will be open permanently in a month or two."

  "Slower than I thought," Roads mused.

  "But still too fast for some."

  "More demonstrations?"

  "Not many. Just people talking. It still doesn't feel real — and probably won't for some time. That's the general impression I get."

  "They'll catch up," Roads said. "They have to."

  "Don't get me wrong, though," she added. "There are a lot of people — like me, I guess — who are curious. Stedman's had a lot to say about life in the Reunited States. It doesn't sound so bad." She forced a smile with some conviction. "I can see why Morrow was so happy to turn himself in. The States are clearly a more attractive option for someone like him."

  "Infinitely," Roads said. "He really could live for centuries, so a stint in jail isn't going to bother him. He'll be right where he wants to be at the end of it: in the heart of Philadelphia, ready to reconnect with the datapool around him. And once he does that, his potential for expansion is limited only by the size of the Reunited States itself. As they expand and spread, so will he."

  "Unless they kill him, of course," Barney added.

  Roads studied her for a moment. No, she hadn't guessed. That didn't surprise him: she still hadn't fully accepted what Morrow was — and part of him wanted to keep it that way. But he had no choice. It was crucial that she know the truth about him before he could expect her to make a decision.

  Taking a deep breath, he said: "You don't really believe that's Keith in the crate, do you?"

  At first she didn't think he was serious. He could see that in her face.

  "Are you telling me it isn't?" she asked. "Because if you are, Martin's not going to be amused when he finds out."

  "No, no. Keith Morrow is in the crate, in a sense. But it's not him." In response to a sceptical look, he explained further: "Look at it this way: Keith is a computer program. A very sophisticated one, of course, that has far outgrown its original specialised hardware. And a program can be copied ..."

  Barney opened her mouth to say something, then shut it.

  "It's a copy in the box, edited to fit his original processor," Roads elaborated. "His current form is in a quite different facility on the other side of town."

  Eventually she found the words she was looking for: "And you let him do this?"

  "Worse than that," Roads said, before he could have second thoughts. "I helped him pull it off. That's the main reason I disappeared so suddenly, and couldn't tell you where I'd gone. I couldn't say no to Keith, and you wouldn't have approved."

  "You're right about that," she said, scowling.

  "What else could I do?" he protested. "I owe him at least as much as I owe you. Without each other, neither of us would have made it to
Kennedy Polis intact. He would have been salvaged for spare parts, and I would have fallen to pieces."

  "But you said you had nothing to do with him any more — " she began.

  "I know," he broke in. "We drifted apart over the years, but we still kept in touch. There was always an agreement between us that whenever one needed help the other would respond. Hence all that business after PolNet collapsed — and earlier, when we went to him looking for information about the Mole."

  "But what about after the Mole blew up?" Barney protested. "We almost lost you when Morrow's version of PolNet crashed. You couldn't call for help; it was purely by chance that someone found you drifting in the river and pulled you out before you drowned. What made him change his mind about helping you then?"

  "He didn't have a choice, actually," Roads said. "When the Mole self-destructed, its central processing core went with it. The explosion destroyed a fair amount of Keith's auxiliary equipment in the bar, thus rendering him incapable of supporting the PolNet program any longer."

  Barney's eyes, wide before, narrowed. The ramifications of this statement didn't elude her. "You mean he had it all the time?"

  "Without knowing what it was, of course. It was just a puzzling piece of tech someone found in his territory weeks ago. He planned to examine it more closely when he had the time, but the Mole's own activities kept him preoccupied."

  "And it almost blew him up as a result." Barney's lips whitened. "Perhaps there is a god, after all."

  "Why?" Roads asked. "He wasn't really hurting anyone, not directly. If he'd had truly sinister motives, he would have taken over Kennedy long ago."

  She turned on him. "That damned thing almost killed you — " she began, but cut herself off.

  Roads waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he continued his confession.

  "Anyway, that's why Raoul called me. Keith needed someone he could rely on to repair the damage after the Mole's artificial intelligence blew up. His back-up had to be assembled, tested, prepared for him to inhabit. The explosion ruined his chance of making a quick getaway. I was the only person he could trust to do the grunt work."

  He tried to catch her eye, but she looked away.

  "I was hoping you would understand, at least," he said, "and maybe even forgive me, eventually, if you could." He leaned closer. "What do you think, Barney? Can you?"

  "That depends," she said, her voice soft but intense.

  "On what?"

  "On what you plan to do next." Barney turned to face him. "If you leave me here without telling me where you're going again, then I'll be justifiably pissed off."

  "I understand that," he said, measuring every word with care. "But my options are limited. The city's in the hands of a puppet government with no real power, and a Mayor who's even more pissed off with me than you are."

  "But what about Margaret?" Barney pressed. "She came out of this fairly well. She'll do everything she can to protect you."

  "But she can't fight the law she's supposed to uphold. Remember: Packard's motion to the Council only clears me of murder and conspiracy; it says nothing about Humanity crimes, so they can still haul me in on that if they want.

  "Besides, this business has just brought to a head what was building anyway; I couldn't go on pretending to be a well-preserved sixty-year-old forever. Even if I can clear my name completely, somehow, the rumours will persist in the upper ranks. I never wanted to be a hero or a villain, and here in the city I'll always be regarded as both."

  "But if you leave," Barney said, "where will you go?"

  "I don't know for sure. The original Keith is planning to move soon, to escape Outside via the old maglev tunnels we came in through. I could join him for a while. Or I could wander aimlessly like I did before I came here, until I find somewhere else safe to live. Or — "

  "Or?" she prompted.

  "Or I could take up Martin's offer, if it's still open, and travel with him to Philadelphia when he goes back."

  Barney thought about it for a long moment. "That's not a bad idea, you know," she eventually said, stating what he had only half-admitted to himself.

  "No?"

  "Think about it, Phil. You'd be close to Morrow's duplicate, and away from all the scandal. I'm sure Martin could arrange for your implants to be kept a secret. He could probably even give you work to do, if you wanted it. You know how military service operates, having held a rank in the old days." Her eyes lit up as another possibility occurred to her. "No, wait. I've got an even better idea: if you don't want to work for the Reunited States, then the Mayor might be convinced to give you temporary status as a trade envoy."

  "Just to get rid of me?"

  "Yes, partly." Barney almost smiled in the deepening sunset. "But he'd still need someone to keep an eye on you, of course."

  Roads felt a knot inside him slip loose. "And I'll always need an assistant."

  "Partner," she shot back. "Keeping you organised and out of trouble deserves at least that much, don't you think?"

  "Definitely." Roads reached out and placed his good hand on Barney's shoulder. She accepted the gesture with equanimity, neither moving closer nor pulling away. He opened his mouth to speak, but she preempted him again:

  "Is that what you've been working yourself up to say? That you'd like me to come with you?"

  "Yes." He couldn't meet her gaze. He felt as vulnerable as a schoolboy on his first date — which was absurd for a man in his ninth decade. "If you want to, that is."

  She responded instantly: "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Well ..." He shrugged. "This is your home, for a start."

  "And yours, too."

  "Only for the last few decades."

  "Likewise."

  "But you were born here — "

  "All the more reason to leave, then. It'll broaden my horizons." Her gaze remained fixed on him, undeterred. "I'm not like DeKurzak. Kennedy isn't the only city in the world that matters."

  "But you've never been outside — "

  "Exactly," she said, "and it scares the shit out of me, to be honest. But I can rise above that. I don't intend to pick a fight with anything like Cati without making certain I'm armed to the teeth first. I don't go for stupid machismo stunts like some people I could mention." She prodded him in the ribs, making him wince. "As for my reasons for going ... they're a little more complex. I'm not a love-struck teenager infatuated with an older man. I think our relationship can be more than that, given a chance. If I do decide to go, it'll be for that reason. Because I want to explore that possibility. I don't have to justify my decision any more than that, so don't expect me to, okay?"

  "Wouldn't dream of it." Roads met her intensity with a smile, admiring her bravado and accepting her feelings on the matter without questioning them, even though he was certain they weren't quite so clear-cut. His own weren't, especially about pressing the Mayor for favours.

  "Besides," she added, "I haven't said I'm going to, yet."

  "At least you're interested," he said, with genuine feeling.

  "Just don't wait too long. Martin leaves in five days."

  "So soon?" Roads raised an eyebrow. "I thought he'd stick around to make sure the Reassimilation goes smoothly."

  "Why? It's not his problem. He came here to deal with the Head, and that's all. The paperwork can be left to the politicians."

  "True," said Roads. Although he felt slightly guilty about abandoning the city in such a mess, it wasn't his job, either, to midwife Kennedy through its difficult rebirth. It had to do it itself, or fail trying.

  He had only himself to worry about. His indenture to the city was over.

  "Martin's missing his son, I think," Barney said. She stepped away from the rail and looked pointedly back to the shore. The wind had stiffened as evening fell around them. "And he's probably wondering where his jeep has got to."

  Roads nodded, taking the hint. It was time to head back. There remained, however, one final issue to deal with before he could cut free of the previous week's
events.

  "You go on ahead," he said, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'll catch you up in a minute."

  "You're sure? I don't mind waiting."

  "No. I just need some time alone."

  She hesitated, then nodded once. "I'll meet you at the jeep, then," she said. "Don't be long."

  "I won't." He watched as she turned and walked unhurriedly along the pitted road. The wind tugged at the hem of her new coat, making it flap with every step. The material was much lighter than he was used to seeing in Kennedy, but clearly no less wind-resistant. The exchange between the RUSA and Kennedy Polis had already begun, it seemed.

  When she had passed beyond the range of unamplified eyesight, he turned back to the rail and reached into his pocket.

  Leaning forward with his good hand clenched into a fist on the rail, he peered down at the surface of the river. The grey water churned sluggishly, becoming darker by the second as night fell. What secrets it kept in its unfathomable depths would remain hidden forever. And perhaps, Roads wondered, that was a good thing, ultimately.

  The doctors in the RSD medical unit had said that he had been pulled unconscious from the river and revived ashore. If he had been out cold at the time, he should have felt nothing. But he remembered a hand on his shoulder pulling him up through the water, the hand letting go, and a sinking sensation as though he had begun to descend again. And then he had blacked out. As far as he could tell, he must have been rescued sometime after that point — although on the surface of it that made little sense.

  The only person who could shed some light on the situation was Katiya. If she had been rescued as well.

  Wherever she was now, she was out of his reach forever.

  He opened his fist where it rested on the rail and stared at its contents. Some questions required no answers, or were better left unasked. He was still alive, and that was what counted.

  With a grunt of effort, he raised his good arm behind his head and aimed for the stars. A glint of reddish sunset reflected off silver as the object in his hand flew free — upward, far above him, turning as it rose — then fell down over the guard-rail and toward the water.