by Ron Bender
“Why the hell are you fighting, Lee?” Vic says, “Your kid could be living the good life. We could all be working together again. Have a purpose laid out, nice and clear.”
I back peddle out onto the gantry with my scanners identifying a specific short-link frequency .
“You’re not going to answer me?” he warily advances matching me step-for-step, just out of easy striking range. “I know why you’re still fighting. The government hid programming inside us, Lee. They built us so we couldn’t help but do it their way. You don’t have a choice. You can’t not fight. Bransen and his boss can clean all that shit out of your head. Think about it, Lee. You aren’t your own man right now. You haven’t been your own man in years. None of us have been.”
As he talks, I keep backing up until I know he can’t get off the gantry in a single jump.
“You know what Vic?” I say. “I’m not fighting because of some secret program in my head. I’m here because your new boss kidnapped my daughter, and killed her mother.”
He hesitates a second. I end up risking that whoever messed his head up during their hack, had left enough of the old Vic intact.
I feint a leg sweep.
True to form, Vic goes airborne to avoid the blow. My shoulder-first surge is half tackle, half push. He hammers into the gantry rail and spins over the top, taking a long stretch of it with him.
I trigger the maintenance codes. The huge trams below us switch on with a roar.
They surge to forward just as he lands on his feet among them. As they accelerate, he scrambles between them.
The mini rockets in his shoulder pods need range before they arm and go live. Instead they pop-off and spin away as duds.
He’s tight in the jumble of moving heavy steel. His final yell is lost in the echo of rumbling wheels, crumpling metal and massive churning motors.
There’s no time to survey the damage. I recover the heavy machinegun and sprint to the chain. Triggering the hoist to rise, I sling the weapon and climb hand-over-hand. On the way up I pressurize my air tanks again.
The machinegun wouldn’t let me link to it and I have no idea how many rounds are left in it but it’s what I’ve got.
Rising up over the lip of the chamber opening I have a fraction of a second to evaluate the area; no railing, one rifleman, one technician, closed door, restraint table, brain hacking unit. No Maggie. No Bransen.
The rifleman is ducking to hide behind the medical tube. My gyro kicks in. I’m a stable firing platform. A quick burst hits him in the head as he starts to duck. The technician is partway to the door. I tear off another short burst as I swing and leap over into the carved-out chamber.
His momentum carries him forward. Dead before his next step lands, his body sprawls against the door and bounces away.
Bransen will be here any second. Keeping the machinegun on the door I make my way first to the rifleman take his weapon, check it, and put one round into the middle of the brain hack unit.
The door cycles open as I approach. Any surprise I might have gained is wasted as the sounds of the trams running behind me echoes into the passageway. When I check the passage, I spot merc, a dozen yards down. He sees me, pulls up his rifle, and snaps a short burst at me. Chips of stone and of dust blow out of dimples in the wall where my head had been. If Bransen wants me alive it’s a memo that the rest of his men haven’t gotten. My software recognizes him as one of guys from the breakers yard.
“I know you were in Texas.” I yell. “I survived that. I’m here for my daughter and to kill Bransen. My fight’s not with you. If you leave right now and I won’t hunt you down and kill you.”
A second burst rips along the door frame. That’s his answer.
I swing my arm out and tear off two short lines. I wait, listening, letting my hearing filter out the sound of the trams. I hear what could be the sounds of someone slumping. I check. He slides down the wall, trailing a line of blood. I conserve my ammo and step out.
Maggie and Bransen have to be close. He’d said he was bringing her to this room in a medical transfer tube. I can hear the cable lift start up to my right, just out of view.
I nudge the body to make sure he’s dead and strip off two full clips and a morphing karambit from his belt. Blades like this aren’t normally my thing. I flip it through its action. The knife handle is a little small for me. It’ll do.
The only other thing I do is take his short-link radio. After accessing the radio system to start the trams I know that Bransen can track where specific radios broadcast from. He followed me using my headset signal. I toss my radio back into the room. Let him think I’m in there.
I slip the new radio on and make my way to the cable lift area. The sounds of my footfalls on the raised walkway are muted compared to the spooling rush of the lift ahead of me.
“I’m in the lift.” Bransen comes on the radio. “Vic, is he secured yet?”
There isn’t a lot of time to form a reply. I strip four words out of my event recording. I play Vic’s voice back. “Yeah. All chained up.”
There’s a second where Bransen doesn’t reply.
Maybe the chunky audio cut and paste wasn’t good enough.
“Good job.” He finally says. “Get him hooked up. We’ll be there in two minutes.”
I look up the cable lift shaft. The cage is still descending. I open the door, step in, and pull it closed behind me. Grabbing the far cable run I let it lift me up one more cut. I squeeze through the door and watch as the cage drops past me.
I catch a glimpse of Maggie, asleep in the transfer tube. Bransen and one guard accompany her.
The top of the cage is made of expanded steel, it may even be bulletproof. There’s a safety hatch and by law it has no lock….
I sling back onto the downward scrolling cable and ride about twenty feet above the cage. It slows and stops. “Let’s hope he breaks quick,” the Texan says. “The shit show unfolding in the city isn’t gonna get better soon, and I’d rather have Lee moving with us under his own damned power than fighting us the whole damned way.”
“And the girl?” the guard nods at Maggie.
“That depends on him.” Bransen says, “Lee breaks all the way we end up in a position to decide; do we keep her as leverage, or do we get rid of her and pull those memories outta of his head.”
“We can do that?” the guy sounds spooked.
“Son,” Bransen snorts. “I don’t think there’s much that Townsend can’t or won’t do to win.”
The guard pulls the cage doors open and tugs the end of the medical tube out. It’s a matter of seconds before they realize that the guard in passageway is dead.
How fast Bransen walks determines my time line.
He unslings his EMP spike weapon and hand loads it. He doesn’t have many lefts in his pocket and the gun holds one shot at a time….
He pushes the medical tube from the rear. As the tube rattles over the lip onto the raised catwalk I move.
As I drop onto the roof of the cage, I power up my jammer. He hears me and spins.
His com signal is snuffed by my gear but he’s still fast on his feet.
The guard starts to haul his rifle to fire. I ignore him.
Bransen is who I’m after.
The big Texan yells and fires.
Targeting software calculates his aim and jerks me violently aside as the round is fired. Without a correctional guidance system in spike it flies by my chest. I come close to tumbling off the cage and plummeting to the bottom of the mine. I crank my gyro back on, snapping upright, one hand solidly locked onto a metal cross brace.
My movement bought him time to retreat to the other end of Maggie’s tube. Bullets from the guard’s rifle scatter across my chest. I lift my arm to cover my face as I leap off the cage to the ground.
From under the tube’s gurney style legs and wheels I drill a burst into Bransen’s legs.
His pants flay to threads and he howls from the impact but he doesn’t drop. I put a burst into th
e guard’s legs, and then finish him as he drops and writhes around. Maggie, in her medical tube is the only cover I have. The longer I’m not on him, I’m blind to what he’s doing. He has more spike rounds and it doesn’t take that long to chamber single shots.
We both stand up fully at the same instant.
I take the only action he won’t expect.
As I duck to one side, both legs rams hammer open.
The end of the medical tube hits him full force knocking him back.
The heels of his gator skin boots catch on the steel mesh. I put everything I have left into a standing long jump.
He rolls to get his weapon on me. I vent my tanks and I fire full auto at his weapon.
He twists away to my left an instant before I land. The weight of my impact dents the mesh under me. He throws his ruined weapon at me. I block it with my forearm. I can feel the material of my arm pop concave midway to my wrist.
Like me, he now understands there’s no choice. It’s him or me.
My weapon clacks onto an empty clip.
He scrambles away on all fours, trying to stand. I overhand the rifle onto his head and shoulders. Once and then a second time.
He flattens with both blows. On my upswing the stock breaks off and slide detaches to clatter off the rounded ceiling overhead.
I fling myself onto him, free hand yanking the karambit out and flipping its action open.
He rolls and throws a handful of mine dust and debris into my eyes.
My optics lock solid.
He grabs my arm with both hands as we struggle for control of the blade. He’s strong, physically, and his augmented arms are new. I widen my legs and keep him pinned under my weight. I can’t see anything clearly at all. I can only intuit his movements
He surges, almost breaking free of my hold. I head butt him until blood spatters from both our faces. I end up having to let go with one hand just to keep him under me.
If I have to, I’ll crush the life out of him. My hand comes down on a tapered cylinder.
Voices rise and fall from either end of the passage we fight in. Gunfire erupts around us.
He grins through clenched teeth as the blade twists in my hand. “You die now, you fucking relic.”
I ram the EMP spike into his chest and lean on it burying it into his flesh and blood heart. He bucks once. As his arms suddenly tense, I lose my one-handed grip on him. The karambit slams into my exposed throat.
Withering fire still echoes around me.
The cut is deep. Too deep for my medical systems to cope with. An automatic system switches me to internal air. I can breathe until I bleed out ….
My head sags against Bransen. Both our radios cut in.
“Bransen. Phillip here. I’ve cancelled our contract. It’s over. I’ve got no regrets in hiring you. You kept the heat off of me for a time and I’m grateful. But, since I got what I was after, and since I can’t afford for you to become a free agent again, I sent some men into the mine to kill you. Nothing personal. You’ve been a terrific pawn. Good to have known you. Goodbye.”
Bransen rattles out a final breath, “Pawns.”
Maggie.
I get partway to my knees with a surge of pure adrenaline.
Troops in unmarked US military gear swarm by me. A young soldier shoves a rifle with a cam mounted on its front rail up to my face. “Sir. It’s a match. This is him.”
“Let’s get him out of here.” An older man yells, “Get those specialized corpsmen over here right now. All troops prepare to withdraw.”
I point frantically at the tube while trying to slow the flow of blood from my wound. I slump against the wall. I manage to gurgle her name, “Maggie.”
“Secondary objective located.” The officer barks, “Fallback for exfil. The drone explosives are already on their way in here.”
Epilogue
“Do you know where you are, Maggie?” I ask.
The little girl in front of me has what used to be her father’s eyes. She shakes her head.
“I’m a friend of your father.” I watch for cracks in her. She’s as stoic and hard faced as Baylen was the few times we locked horns. I remind myself she’s not even six. “I’ve known your daddy since he was a young man.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Would you sit with me and have some dinner?” I move to the table.
She bites her lower lip and glares at me.
“Well I have a plate right here. Just hop up and dig in when you’re ready.” I sit at the dinner table and start eating very slowly. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. “This sure is tasty.” I hear her belly gurgle.
I nudge her chair out a little way with my foot. She stands on tiptoes and looks at what’s for dinner. Reluctantly she climbs up. Her manners are good. Napkins and everything.
“Do you know what I love for dessert?” I ask. I’ve read everything I can from filed reports.
She keeps chewing and looking around my apartment. She shakes her head.
“I love fresh picked wild berries.” I grin down at her. “Did you know we have those berries growing right here in our space station?”
She thinks about it and shakes her head again.
“How about it if after dessert we both go to see the garden?” I watch her. Her eyes have found all the pictures of Baylen that could find that I hung on the walls.
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is small.
I smile. “Good I’d like that.” I make sure I don’t talk with my mouth full. It would be a shame to have all of Baylen’s hard work undone. “Maybe you and I could go pick some tomorrow? Would that be okay with you?” My man had taken her off the IO shuttle and brought here still inside a medical tube. She looks tired.
“I dropped my bucket.” Her lip trembles. “When my daddy ran from the big noise, before the bad men came, I dropped my bucket.” Tears start to flow.
I push my chair back. “It’ll be okay, Maggie.” I’ve dealt with pain and disappointment aplenty over my time but I find out that nothing bites through my hide faster than her tears. I bundle her up onto my lap. At first she stiffens against me. “It’ll be okay,” I say it again.
“Where is my daddy?” She cries against my shirt. “Where’s my Mommy?”
“Whoa now little filly. One thing at a time.” I smile at her as I reach for my napkin to use on her nose. “You have to tell me about your bucket so we can get you a new one just like it.”
“I want my old bucket.” There’s a pause as she takes a big shuttering breath. “I want my daddy.”
My internal com-link chimes. “Mr. President, sir?”
“Go ahead,” I sub.
“Baylen Lee has been moved out of surgery. He’ll be available for debrief in an hour or so.”
“Good.” His debriefing could wait. Family, it turns out was always more important. “When he wakes up let him know Maggie and I are coming to visit.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ease the crying little girl away from me. “Listen to me Maggie. Your daddy is here in our hospital. He’s ok. He’s ok.”
She fusses and looks at me. “Can we go see him now?”
I grin, “I want to be able to tell him you were well behaved and ate up like you were supposed to.”
She fidgets, slides from my lap and climbs back onto her chair.
“If you’re quick about it,” I say, “you’ll have time to draw him a card or something. I think he’d like that. Tomorrow we’ll go get you a new bucket and bring him some berries. It’ll be a surprise for him.”
She sniffs and stares into my eyes. If I didn’t know better I would swear she’s looking to see if I’m lying. I know that’s not what’s happening … but I watch her watching me that way.
“Okay.” She wipes her eyes. “I’ll get a new bucket. A blue one with a white handle.”
“Done,” I say. “Now let’s eat before the food gets too cold.”
* * * * * * *
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In Book Four:
Running, gunning, getting by.
A bounty hunter who keeps a promise to her dead lover. An AI confronted by her own mortality who makes a choice. A demon in the dark on a hunt across the dust bowl. And all roads lead to New White Sands City.
For more information about the New White Sands City Cyberpunk series, visit the official website.
The FERAL LANDS
New White Sands City Cyberpunk Book 4
The Road Past Old Denver
“I’m hit. Oh god, I’m hit,” Mercredi gasps from above me. Whatever else she said is torn away by the wind roaring around the armored open copula that doubles as Carlos’s sunroof. The old ring-mount machinegun falls silent. The staccato vibration that’s a common undercurrent to the engine’s deep thundering rumble has stopped.
I risk a glance away from the ragged pavement flying under our wheels. Mercredi is slumped over the firing toggles with only the copula’s fighting harness holding her up. Too much blood is making its way down her left side; enough that it runs out from under her buff coat and seeps from her denims into her boot.
I can’t stop now. The Nulls who’ve been griefing us for the last twelve-mile are thinned but they’re still back there.
I regretted last night’s tequila all this morning. But it isn’t until now that I regret all of the nasty dancing with Mercredi that came with the drinks. Word got around quick inside radio range of the Truck Stop town.
Every male with functioning dangly bits and a vehicle was onto us thinking to have a goodtime. The male-female ratio in outside this Corporate Control Zone is near twenty to one.
The bastards couldn’t let two girls alone, let us just be.
I backhand her thigh and yell up at her, “Mercredi. Mercredi, get inside. Get inside now.”