“So did I,” said Gantz. “Now stop looking at me like that.”
The aggregator stare—Gantz had first experienced it with Cam at Chez Cosimo and later with Cyn in the warehouse. Their cold eyes latched onto something just beneath the surface and the questions didn’t stop until a story—any story—finally came out. When those questions were directed at Chuck Huber or Sava Kessler, Gantz couldn’t have cared less. But now they were both looking at him, trying to pick him apart.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
It was backwards, all of it. Neither of them knew what Gil meant to Gantz, nor did they know the depths of Gantz’ desire to protect Joe Perion from all enemies, human and synthetic.
“Well, he did stop big Perion from killing little Perion, so obviously he’s not meant to terminate the prince,” said Cam. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
“That could have been misdirection staged for our benefit,” said Cyn. “He did shoot James Perion in the head, but evidently, that was just a synthetic. We don’t know for sure if the real James Perion is dead or not.”
“I told you he was,” said Gantz.
Cam nodded, narrowed his eyes. “Of course you say that, but you also abandoned me and Cyn at the warehouse. Then you left Gil in the hands of the enemy. It seems you’re only willing to stick your neck out when it’s convenient for you.”
“Or safe,” said Cyn.
Gantz shook his head. How could they compare the lives of three gutter-dredging aggregators to that of one Joseph Perion?
“I give a shit what you people think,” he said, standing up. He made a show of pulling his 9mm and checking the mag and chamber. “My job is to defend the Perions, not the Grays, and not the Mesquinas. I don’t really need either of you as burdens or council. You want to come along? Fine. I’ll get you out of the city, but you’ll do it on my terms, and preferably with your mouths shut.”
A crash sounded from the hallway, followed by a pained grunt.
Joe.
Gantz pushed his way through the chairs and rushed into the hallway. After turning two corners, he came face to face with one of the dock workers he had seen in the street.
It considered the chief of police with wide eyes. Behind him, the other synthetic had Joe in an arm lock.
“Let him go,” said Gantz, raising the 9mm.
The laser sight bobbed in small arcs on the synthetic’s forehead. Gantz pulled it left, made it flash in the eyes of the other synny holding Joe.
“I’m not going to say it again,” he warned.
The synthetic rushed forward. Gantz barely had time to put a bullet through the synny holding Joe before powerful hands gripped his arms and pulled the weapon down. He got a round off in the synny’s abdomen and then they were on the floor wrestling for the gun.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gantz saw the other synthetic falling backwards, hands grabbing at the empty space in its head. Black sludge glinted under the fluorescent lights as it poured out of the hole and through its fingers.
So strong, thought Gantz, as the synthetic wrapped its arms around him. Human muscles were no match for the pulleys and levers inside the dock worker. Visions of high school physics classes flashed in Gantz’ head and he almost laughed. The truth was he had no idea what was inside the average synny chassis. For all he knew, they all had hamsters running themselves to death on a wheel inside their chests. The only thing he was sure of was that they had the capacity to kill.
As Chuck Huber had once told him, synthetics were compatible with the Three Laws, but they weren’t constrained by them.
Gantz groaned as his legs took on additional weight; Joe had jumped onto the back of the dock worker and had his arm around its neck.
Though the tactic had no hope of killing the synthetic through oxygen deprivation, it did serve as a distraction, giving Gantz enough time to jam the barrel of the 9mm into the mesh under the synny’s chin. He fired twice, sending a mushroom cloud of obsidian blood towards the ceiling. Some of it landed on Gantz’ lips, making him spit at the bitter taste.
Joe drew himself up to a seated position against the wall and panted.
“Fucking synnies are going to be the death of me,” said Gantz. He rolled onto his side and came up on one knee. He smiled when he heard Joe laughing. “Yeah, you keep it up, JP. But when this is all over, I’m getting a raise.”
Joe flashed a thumbs-up.
“Where the fuck was Cyn?” asked Gantz, nursing his arm. “We could have used her.”
The answer came in the form of a high-pitched scream from the break room. Gantz was up and running before the echo died out. The oil on the soles of his boots made traction difficult; he almost hit the floor coming around the corner. He stumbled into the break room and immediately raised his 9mm.
Chairs and tables had been tossed aside. In the cleared space, six synthetics struggled with the aggregators. Four of them had Cam pinned; they fought for leverage on his arms and legs. To the right, Cyn was doing her best to fend off two assembly techs. They attacked her in perfect unison, seemingly unaffected by her counters.
“I’ve got this,” yelled Cyn. “Help him!”
Gantz swung around to Cam, but it was too late. One of the synnies had moved from the aggregator’s leg to wrap a thin but powerful arm around his neck. Cam’s screaming cut out, but it was all there in his eyes. The synny twisted, producing a crunching sound that almost emptied Gantz’ stomach.
The head of Cameron Gray rolled across the break room floor.
Gantz opened fire, pushing the semi-automatic to its limits. The four synthetics released their grip on Cam’s body when the mechanical damage became too much. Making holes in their chests was not enough; Gantz needed headshots to drop the mindless bastards into four quivering piles of bolts.
He swung around to Cyn, who had put one of her synnies on the ground. Gantz dispatched a fair-haired woman with a single discharge. Cyn planted a foot into the neck of the downed synthetic and twisted.
Stepping forward, Gantz prepared to put another bullet into its skull if it so much as twitched. His foot hit something solid, causing him to look down.
Cam’s frozen eyes looked up at him from the floor.
Around the torn flesh of his neck, luminescent wires writhed in the black sludge.
46
The GT-R sped along the wide streets of The Fringe away from 8910 Park Avenue. The few synthetics they saw in the road were little match for the car’s bumper; they flew away like pinballs, the females giving shrill shrieks before rolling over the hood. In the back seat, Joe held his head, occasionally poking at the rivulet of blood oozing from his ear. Beside Gantz, Cyn sat upright in the passenger seat, shaking her head every few seconds as if arguing with herself.
Gantz’ foot tapped nervously next to the clutch.
It was no longer safe for anyone in the city, least of all outlander aggregators and fugitive scions. The exits were all blocked, and no matter where they hid, the synthetics were sure to follow. Gantz only knew one thing for sure: they had to get to the other side of the Point of No Return.
Perion City only had a few roads venturing that far.
“Not me,” said Cyn, her lips barely moving.
“What’s that?” asked Gantz.
“Not me,” she repeated. “No one is pulling my goddamn head off.”
“I won’t let that happen,” said Gantz, patting his jacket.
At least, so long as the bullets lasted.
“Why?” Cyn turned in her seat to look at Joe. “Why would your father do this?”
Gantz answered for him. “It wasn’t James Perion. I mean, it was, but not the James Perion the world knows and loves. That man really did pass away last week.”
“I don’t want to be a synthetic,” she replied. “I want to be a better human.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not a synthetic.”
“How do you know?” she asked. “Everything feels wrong.”
Sh
e quieted then, and Gantz passed the next half hour watching for stray synthetics on the side of the road. Their numbers dwindled the further out he drove, until finally the GT-R turned onto Loop Six, a road separating Perion City from the expansive desolation of the Californian desert. This close to the PNR, the synthetics weren’t taking any chances.
Gantz let out a slow breath. The synnies may have seen the car heading out in this direction, but they wouldn’t be able to follow. If Kessler wanted Gantz dead, she’d have to come herself.
“I bet there wasn’t any time,” said Joe, his voice hoarse but improving.
“No time for what?” asked Gantz.
“To build a synthetic for Cyn. You can turn out chassis by the hundreds on a production run, but for one-offs like Cam? It would take weeks. It took them a month to get Synth J to exact specifications.”
“Yeah, but that was their first time building a Virgo, right?” asked Gantz.
“Roberta before him. So my dad was the second. By the time it was Cam’s turn, maybe they had the process down a little faster, but Cyn didn’t show up until when, last Thursday?”
Cyn confirmed with a nod of her head.
“Not enough time. And that’s why they had to give Gil a generic chassis. They weren’t planning on him either.”
Loop Six shrank to two lanes as it turned more northerly. Gantz pulled down the visor and shifted it to the window.
“Okay,” said Cyn, “but that means the synthetic Cam was already built when they took us at the warehouse.”
“But Gil was killed the next day, so…” Gantz trailed off as he took an exit and turned left under the highway. He could barely make out the speck that was Pure under the glare of the sun.
“So they knew about it ahead of time,” continued Cyn. “They were planning to swap in a synthetic Cam even before I showed up.” She narrowed her eyes at Joe. “You’re monsters, all of you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Joe. “Look, I didn’t know anything about this.”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Gantz. “We’ve been trying to figure out what Synth J was up to ever since we heard about an aggregator coming into the city. We didn’t have anything to do with swapping out Cam for a synthetic.”
“Like I’m going to trust either of you.” Cyn crossed her arms and looked out the window.
“You could try your luck with them,” said Gantz.
On the road ahead were roughly a dozen synthetics milling around in front of the yellow warning signs announcing the PNR. Gantz glanced at the rearview mirror.
“What do you think, boss?”
Joe rubbed his ear. “Burn it.”
Gantz shifted into fifth gear and pegged the accelerator. The car gained another twenty miles per hour before it slammed into the first synthetic. Thumps and scrapes surrounded the cabin; after the fourth crunch, the windshield turned opaque as it shattered in place.
“Don’t stop,” said Joe.
Frantic fingers sought out the window controls on the door. When the glass had lowered enough, Gantz stuck his head out to make sure they were still on the road. A red flash flew by.
“What was that?” asked Cyn.
“A warning sign,” said Gantz, whipping the car back and forth.
“A warning sign for what?”
“The PNR.”
“No!” screamed Cyn, grabbing for the steering wheel.
Gantz had to use all of his strength to keep the GT-R on the road.
Above the roar of air rushing past the open window and the screams of synthetics on the hood of the car, Gantz heard the first of the tiny explosions. The black shadows on the windshield turned a sickly green. The smell of acid grew and stung at his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, Gantz saw the edge of the road fall away; the car was passing into the parking lot at Pure.
Wrenching the steering wheel as hard as he could, Gantz sent the GT-R into a tailspin. The rear bumper slammed into two support beams and took out the awning in front of the bar. It came crashing down on the trunk, shattering the back window and blowing dust into the cabin.
Gantz closed his eyes against the debris, but Cyn seemed unfazed. A whirlwind of sharp claws and gnashed teeth came out of the dust cloud, all intent on ripping Gantz apart. With one final push, he was able to get his arms around Cyn.
“We’re okay!”
It took a few more repetitions before the words made it through.
Cyn ceased her attack and looked around. Gantz loosened his grip slightly.
“You asshole!” She struck him in the face with an open palm and then kicked her way out of the car.
Gantz didn’t wait for her to come around. He was out of the GT-R and straining to breathe the kicked-up dust before she got to him.
“You could have killed me!” Her shoulders dropped into a fighting stance, but froze when Gantz reached into his jacket.
He held his hand there until she backed away.
“Christ, Gantz. You had no right. If I’m a synthetic, then that’s my burden to bear. I’ll die on my terms, not yours.”
It was worth the risk, thought Gantz. To protect Joe, he had to know who and what Cynthia Mesquina really was. Whether an augmented aggregator from Umbra or a synthetic copy just waiting to turn on its fellow fugitives, Gantz had to be sure.
He fingered the gun in its holster. Five bullets left in that magazine. Two magazines left on his belt.
“It’s done,” he said, slamming the door shut. “If you don’t like it, take it up with my boss.”
Cyn kicked at the dirt and walked a few feet away. With her back turned to Gantz, she let out a string of curses.
Gantz noticed Joe standing on the other side of the car, nose crinkled at the fumes from the dissolving synthetics still on the hood. He raised an eyebrow at Gantz.
“What? Too harsh?”
Joe shrugged. “Not what I would have done, but I wasn’t driving.” His eyes drifted to the large neon sign on the roof. Silver script spelled out the word Pure. “The whole city has gone crazy and this is where you think to take us?”
“No shirt, no soul, no service,” said Gantz, pointing to the placard beside the door. It was barely visible behind the fallen awning.
“Too bad no synthetic can get close enough to be offended by it,” said Joe. He walked around the car and stood next to Gantz. Together, they looked at the city on the horizon.
The Spire blazed in the afternoon light. At a distance, it looked serene and quiet.
“It wasn’t just a test for her, you know.” Gantz had been trying to ignore the question of Joe’s humanity—not to mention his own.
Joe joined the train of thought. “I know. I wondered the same thing when you called me on it last week. There was a moment when I thought I really could be a synthetic. I mean, how would I know? Synth J would have done anything to persevere. I see that now.”
“Your old man certainly took a turn for the crazy.” Gantz waved his hand at the Spire. “I should have known it would end up like this. Synny zombies walking the streets—it’s a goddamn horror show.”
“They’re just doing what they’re told,” said Joe. “You can’t fault them for their programming.”
“They should know better,” said Gantz, adjusting his trench. “You should have known better. You gave the synnies three suggestions instead of three laws.”
He took a deep breath; it was forced out by a rock hitting him in the stomach. A second later, another hit him in the shin.
Cyn laughed as Gantz looked around. “Fuck the police,” she yelled.
Gantz raised a warning finger. “You stop that shit right now.”
She threw another rock, but there was no power behind it. The pebble glanced off of his jacket and into the dirt.
Joe shielded his face with his arms and stepped away.
“Citizen, drop your weapon!” Gantz’ voice boomed.
“You can have my weapon when you pry it from my gin-soaked hands,” said a voice from behind.
Gantz
spun around to find Holmes standing just outside the door to the bar, a double-barrel shotgun in his hands.
“Which one of you boys owes me a new awning?” he asked.
Gantz spread his hands as another rock pinged him in the shoulder. “You mind if we come in for a drink?”
Holmes considered the question. “Yeah, I guess you should. Probably better to be drunk when the bombs start falling anyway.”
Gantz lowered his hands. “What are you talking about?”
“The war, Bob,” said Holmes, popping the release on the side of his shotgun. The barrel split and fell open. “You haven’t been following along, have you?” He turned and headed into the bar, mumbling to himself. “Goddamn synthetic revolution starts and all you yahoos want is to get smashed.”
Cyn appeared at Gantz’ left, a pile of rocks in her hand. “What’s happening?”
“Sounds like we’ve been missing a war,” said Joe. He maneuvered around the awning and went inside.
Gantz gestured to the rocks. “You get it all out?”
Cyn dropped them to the ground. “No, but you can buy me a beer. Maybe if I get a nice buzz going, I won’t have to kick your ass.”
“That’d be very humane of you,” said Gantz, extending his arm towards the door. “After you, Cynny.”
47
Lauren Simmons silently reported the news on the vidscreen over the bar.
Timestamps and location codes along the bottom told Gantz it was a raw feed, a lone broadcast saturating the city but unable to get past the media blackout Kessler had laid down. Evidently, the memo to stay off the airwaves hadn’t reached Lauren or the team back at the studio. The feed stayed glued to her uncertain smile even after she mouthed the words back to you.
Over the course of an hour, she reported on thirty-eight deaths and countless more injuries in the PC. Abbreviated interviews with panicked residents told the story of a city suddenly thrown into chaos as a third of its population simply dropped what they were doing and walked into the streets. Gantz read their accounts from the closed captioning as it scrolled off the screen.
Fire trucks and emergency response vehicles were left unmanned and idle in their garages. Patients were left suffering in their beds. A young intern at Perion General compared the scene to watching a toaster jump down from the counter and leave the house. The synthetics, as he put it, simply forgot their purpose.
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