Shadow Life

by Jason Mather

  After twenty minutes that roads started to even out a bit, and there were signs of vegetation being cut to the side. Besides the interstates and tube lines the cities and federal government had stopped bothering with the outlying roads, but there were still many people who lived on the borders of the cities, and they kept up with what they could. Hans started to see some houses that actually looked lived in, with small electric runabouts parked in the street. They gradually increased in frequency up to the point where the vehicle he was in topped a rise and revealed the city skyline.

  Hans would admit it was impressive from the ground, giant crystalline towers forming a wall in front of him, some reaching nearly a mile into the sky. He was annoyed to be back here. He didn’t want any more of this spotless, self-cleaning world. Everything sanitized, homogenized, fluoridated for his protection. There was nothing here to challenge its citizens. Everything provided and in its place. He allowed that the capacity to provide food and shelter to every one of its citizens was a great improvement over the mess of the past, but he would never agree with the loss of personal freedoms that were required. Constant tracking, the government able to know where each citizen was at all times. Even in a city-state like Denver, where this capacity was strictly limited and prevented from abuse, it was a constant niggling presence. He just he counted himself lucky he had not been born in one of the cities that had become religious communes, like Salt Lake City or Omaha, where citizens were monitored much more closely. The feds did their best to stop some of the abuses that occurred in those places, but their power was nearly gone.

  They pulled up to the border of Denver proper, marked only by a small welcome sign and a mass transit terminal. Denver did not have closed borders, but if they drove the internal combustion vehicle past the sign the police would show up shortly and turn them around.

  “Thank you,” Hans said to the driver. “You may have just saved my life.”

  “Yeah.” It was barely a word.

  Pleasantries over, Hans opened the door and climbed down. He gave the driver a wave as he made his way to the transit station.

  “You be careful now, Hans,” the driver said from his open window, then backed his car around and trundled off down the street they had come in on.

  Hans couldn’t remember if he had ever given the man his name.

  — «» —

  Grit sat alone in the boardroom where they had questioned Hans. A small piece of one of the sandwiches she had brought sat across from her, gradually going stale.

  Hans had disappeared off the face of the earth. One weak, possibly injured, man, eluding half a billion dollars worth of military equipment. Where the fuck had he gone?

  There was a sharp click followed by two beeps in her comm, then a voice she didn’t recognize called her by her name.

  “Greta Ricker?” It was a strangely androgynous voice, betraying no accent or identifying characteristics.

  “Who is this? Hacking an encrypted military comm is a federal offense.” It was also, as far as she knew, impossible.

  “My apologies, Greta. May I call you Greta?”

  “Bit late for that question, isn’t it?”

  “It is never too late for courtesy, Greta.”

  Had she just been scolded? “Greta is fine, what do you want?”

  “I am contacting you concerning you brother.”

  “You have him? Is he hurt?” She swallowed the threats. They’d do her no good.

  “Your brother is fine, and will continue to be so.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I regret that I cannot reveal my identity at the moment, but rest assured Hans is under my protection.”

  Realization rose in Greta’s exhausted mind. “Are you the one that sent the creature last night?”

  “I did not ‘send’ it. It was stationed outside Hans’ room for his protection. I activated it when he seemed to be in danger.”

  “What, exactly, did you activate?”

  “It was merely a helper. I truly regret that such extreme actions were necessary, but two people had already died and the risk to Hans was great.”

  “Did you kill all those men out there today?”

  “Those men were there to entrap and ambush you. If I had done nothing you and all your men would be dead.”

  “Thank you for your consideration.”

  “You are welcome.”

  “Does that mean you are protecting me too?”

  “You are dear to Hans.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “Do not doubt, Greta, that Hans loves you greatly.”

  “Are you offering me family advice now?”

  “I am sorry, Greta. I was merely trying to explain…”

  “Forget it. Look, this is too weird for me at the moment. You say my brother’s safe?”

  “As safe as I can make him, yes.”

  “How safe is that?”

  “Very.”

  “Can you tell me where he is?”

  “Yes, but I will not.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You have a dangerous job, Greta, one that has endangered Hans twice. It might be best for you to let him be until you solve your current conflicts.”

  “Look, shithead…”

  “I hardly think that name…”

  “I hardly think that some weirdo should be telling me how to keep my brother safe. I have been doing it for thirty-four years.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Fuck you and your apology. How did you get this number? How did you crack the encryption? Who the hell are you?”

  “I regret that I cannot answer your questions at this time. Doing so would endanger both myself and many others.”

  “OK then, maybe you can at least tell me why?”

  “Why am I protecting your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I made a grave error, and, as a result, he has been endangered, nearly killed. I will correct this error.”

  “That’s very honorable of you.”

  “Your sarcasm is unjustified. “

  “Says you.”

  “I know that I cannot convince you. I will try to prove it through my actions. I must go now, Greta. I have enjoyed our conversation, and hope that we may continue at a future time. For now, I wish merely to let you know that your brother is safe.”

  “You can’t stop me from looking for him.”

  “I would not presume to try.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The building was ten stories of featureless black obsidian, its four facets tapering toward the top. No obvious doors, no network antennae, no windows. It rose above the surrounding squalor in a shocking display of hubris.

  Not subtle at all.

  Onyx, despite her air of secrecy, was not interested in keeping her location a secret, if it were even possible to hide a building like this. A few inquiries of his bunkmates last night at the shelter and a short trip on public transit had brought him within just a few blocks, her base easy to spot from there.

  Besides no obvious doors or windows, there were no guards, no people milling about. The whole block was currently empty, not surprising in such a run-down part of town. He doubted very strongly that he was unmonitored.

  Nearing, he saw a ring of water encircling the building. Jesus, the place has a fucking moat. He reached the edge of the water, hands in pockets, trying to decide what to do next. No way in. What now?

  He circled the building, looking for any change in scenery. Nothing. Tried yelling at it. Nada.

  He’d been prepared for a lot of things. Anger, violence, death. But not indifference. Someone knew he was out here. He hated being ignored. Backing away across the still-empty street, Hans found some chunks of old concrete and rocks lying in the gutter. He picked up a piece with satisfying heft and did a running throw toward the building. The rubble arced through the air and hit the side of the building. It had the impact of a gnat on a car window. There was no crunch, no crackle, not even a satisfying thud, just
an imperceptible clink and a splash as it fell into the water. He picked up another and threw it. Almost the same place, exactly the same result.

  He’d thrown a dozen missiles before finally getting a reaction, a thrumming off to his right. He located it coming from under the sidewalk. A slab of concrete abruptly dropped a few inches and slid into a recess, revealing a short flight of stairs. No one came out. He waited. The stairs didn’t go away. He gave it another minute. Nothing. Just him and the stairs.

  Take a few deep breaths, descend.

  The dozen or so stairs ended in a door as black as the building. No handle or bell. Hans raised his hand to knock, the door sliding aside before he could make contact. A small, well-lit black chamber was beyond. Hans stepped inside, doubting himself. The door slid shut behind him.

  “Please hold.” The voice issued from the ceiling, maybe real, probably synthesized. A long thirty seconds. “Thank you.” The door in front opened.

  A hallway beyond. No doors, no windows, black walls sloping slightly toward one another, mimicking the building around them. Lights set at even intervals. Barely wide enough for one person. A tomb. Claustrophobia rose in his throat. One foot, then another, repeat. He kept his eyes on the floor.

  Another door, another chamber identical to the last. Had he walked through the building? Were they screwing with him? Just let him walk through and out the other side? The doors shut, his stomach lurched. An elevator, then.

  The upper floor was a great relief after the hallway and cramped elevator. He stepped out into what must be the top floor, the entire ceiling showing the sky above. There was a standard reception room, if a bit hurting for color. Black walls, white chairs, white table, white desk, eerily pale receptionist, black sunglasses. She matched the room so well it could have been built around her. Clean lines, sharp corners, perfect balance between ivory structure and ebony decoration. Hans wasn’t sure which this described better, the woman or the room.

  “Your boss in?”

  She tapped a black fingernail against a blindingly white tooth and said nothing.

  “Speakee englais?”

  A small, cold smile. She reached into the desk in front of her and removed a small pistol. It stayed on him without wavering. Hans tried to appear calm as his spine dropped into his shoes.

  “Not sure red would help the décor in here.”

  Still no answer, and she pressed something under the desk. Ten seconds passed. Hans’ biting wit failed him.

  The door opened and a large man in a black suit came in. Had to be security. With that body and face there was nothing else that fit him. He did not speak either, merely gestured Hans through the door. The secretary returned the gun to its drawer.

  Hans followed the beefy man down another black hallway, this also topped by the seamless glass. How much does a piece of glass like that cost? They stopped halfway down the hall for no reason Hans could immediately discern. The wall slid away, Beefy directed him in. Another boardroom. Hans was growing tired of them.

  The door closed seamlessly to the wall and Hans was alone again. At least he could see the sky, which was doing wonders for his claustrophobia. He walked the circumference of the room, turned, walked in the other direction. No idea what to expect, his patience wearing thin. He took a chair, felt it shift beneath him. How could anyone get used to this? A chair should be a chair, a table a table; neither should be moving around.

  A door opened at the back, opposite from where he’d entered. A dead woman walked into the room.

  — «» —

  It was her, little doubt of that; her face was permanently etched into his memory. He probably shouldn’t be surprised. He’d come back from the dead, and she wasn’t even in the room when Grit had arrived.

  She strode in, poise easy and assured, the mistress of her domain. Features neither inherently Russian nor Chinese, instead something more than either. Tall, capable, lethal.

  If she noticed him staring, she ignored it.

  She took a seat across from him. No bodyguards, no assistants, not even a briefcase. She was outfitted like a biker chick headed to a business meeting: suit jacket, collared shirt, leather pants. Hair jet black, shoulder length, gleaming with prismatic echoes.

  She reminded him of Grit, not in her exotic looks, but in her air of lethal capability.

  “Tell, me, Mr. Ricker, why I shouldn’t throw you off my roof.” No introductions. She knew his name. He wasn’t surprised.

  “Maybe you should.”

  “It would certainly bring me pleasure, though I doubt it would solve our current problem.”

  “That being?”

  “Why a federal agent is standing outside my building throwing rocks at it?”

  Federal agent? He forced a laugh. “Lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Spare me your lies, Mr. Ricker.”

  “No lies. I don’t know where you got that information, but I have no affiliation with the feds beyond a couple misdemeanor charges for illegal contraband.”

  Onyx said nothing. She reached out in front of her and tapped the tabletop. It displayed a basic ID file. She flicked the surface with her finger, and the virtual file moved across the table toward him. His name, an old picture, flashing security message. Level seven.

  “And?” he asked.

  “I do not think you are an idiot, Mr. Ricker, though you seem determined to prove otherwise.” She leaned back in her chair and raised her hands behind her head. “Seventh tier security encryption is limited to federal secret ops and the currently seated federal government. But you already know this.”

  “No, Ms. Onyx, I don’t.” Fear faded behind annoyance. Hans’ understanding of security levels was almost nil. His file did have some security due to Grit. Did it warrant a seven? One more point of confusion.

  “The encryption on this file is supposedly unbreakable, though I assure you I have the capacity. Lying to me will only put off the truth so long.”

  Hans changed tactics. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Been dead recently?”

  She stared at him.

  “Fourteen months ago?”

  “Start making sense, Mr. Ricker.”

  “Can we cut out this Mr. Ricker crap? My name is Hans. I’ve seen your tits, so let’s at least get on a first name basis.”

  “OK, Hans, are you implying that you and I had some sort of relationship? What it is you expect to accomplish with this charade?”

  “Lady, the last time I saw you I was lying on the floor in two pieces and blood was running down your chest. You may not remember my face, but you obviously remember something or you wouldn’t still be trying to kill me.”

  “I am not trying to kill you. Or, at least, I wasn’t.”

  “Your assassin tried to kill me at the hospital two nights ago. Yesterday you sent a sniper after me.”

  “I did not.”

  “Now who’s lying?”

  “I’m still waiting for you to make sense, Mr. Ricker.”

  “You first, Ms. Li. Or do you prefer Petrovich?”

  She was across the table almost before he finished the line. One hand grabbing his hair, the other holding a small knife to his throat.

  “Where did you get that name?” she hissed at him.

  “What? Hans? My mother gave it to me.”

  The knife pressed in.

  “Who sent you? One more chance.”

  “Fuck you, lady. Cut if you have to. I was almost killed a year ago. I woke up two days ago and people have been trying to kill me ever since. Two people are dead because of me, and a very nice lady who just wanted to help people is on the edge. I came here to make amends for a mistake, to try to prevent anyone else from dying for my mistake. Cut me open if you want, but stop bullshitting me.”

  Seconds passed, then the knife retreated, disappearing to whatever hidden recess she’d drawn it from. He could still feel it, and wondered if his tough speech would be ruined if he thre
w up on her nice clean table.

  Onyx was seated again, with no sign of even having moved. Not even out of breath, though a few black hairs were now out of place. “You wish to make amends. What is it you have to make amends for?”

  “Fourteen months ago, a guy gave me five hundred to deliver a package. I was desperate, so I took it. The delivery was in an abandoned apartment building on the edge of the city. When I got there you and two thugs were waiting for me. About a minute later something blew into the room and took us all out. Do you remember any of this?”

  “You were the delivery boy?”

  “Yes. I can understand you not recognizing my face, but it had to be something pretty important for you to show up yourself. So, do we put the truth on the table now?”

  “I remember a delivery. I lost a package containing my property. I wasn’t there.” No sign that she was lying.

  “Fine. Fuck it. You weren’t there. I don’t give a shit anymore. Your package was lost, it’s partially my fault. You want to kill me? Do it quickly, but mine is the last. No one else dies for me.”

  She placed both her hands under her chin and considered him. “If you are being truthful, then I admire your integrity.”

  “Fear and guilt aren’t exactly integrity.”

  “Let’s say I believe your story. It can be checked. It still doesn’t explain how you know my name and have a seventh-tier security encryption on your ID file.”

  “The answer to both of those is the same. My sister is Greta Ricker. She’s the commander of the Denver security forces. I know your name because she gave me a file that told me. The security level is because I am related, though I don’t know why it’s so high.”

  “You are Grit’s brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hans and Greta?” She smiled a predatorily.

  “Yeah.” Hans let his breath out. The mood calmed a bit.

  “My respect for your sister runs very deep. I have never met a more capable woman, besides myself.”

  “You should meet our mother.”

  “I imagine she’s quite a woman.”