by Jason Mather
“Anything controlling that building would be unstoppable.”
— «» —
They moved quickly, sounds of movement at their backs, nothing in front. Greta couldn’t shake the feeling they were being herded. At least they were being directed where she already wanted to go.
“Fifty feet to the hanger, move, Grit,” Hans yelled in her ear.
They moved quicker, gaining the hanger. The jumpcraft’s engines were whining, air filled with fumes and ozone. Check the corners. Crouch. Move for the craft.
Something was scurrying from a hole in the floor. It was Greta’s first view of a pod, and she knew immediately that was what had killed the assassin in Hans’ hospital room. Here to help? Gino turned around to fire, the flash nearly blinding her infrared vision.
It leaped, landed on Gino. A sharp grunt. No time. Shoulder, aim, fire. The pod was thrown off into the corner, smoking. Gino was not moving.
The doors above began to open. Two more pods were coming through the floor.
— «» —
Hans saw Gino go down, tried to control the pod. No luck. Grit hit it with something that disabled it. He had to get them out of there. Be OK, Gino, for Grit’s sake.
He opened the hanger doors, started the elevator. The jumpcraft’s guns fired at the oncoming pods. Hundreds of pods were swarming up through the building, scurrying down halls, climbing the exterior. He could control some of them, shut them down, link them to form barriers, attack their comrades. Still too many. Grit was dragging Gino onto the jumpcraft. Hans activated the autopilot and accelerated, guns still firing. A small handful of pods were hanging on the exterior. Hans was still fighting for control. Success; one pod, taking two others with it as it jumped from the craft. There was only one left, and it was tearing a hole in the jumpcraft’s exterior, shredding electronics and control surfaces.
— «» —
Dragging Gino, no time to be angry. Something had activated her jumpcraft’s defenses; its main cannon obliterated the two oncoming pods. More coming. Don’t think. Get Gino on the craft. In through the side, pulling him after her, laying him down on the floor, turning to fire at the oncoming pods, door closing. The engines maxed, lifting the jumpcraft through still-opening doors. Door shut. Check Gino. A vicious stab wound in his abdomen, another through his chest. Sucking sounds. Collapsed lung. Still breathing. She went for the medical kit.
“Grit, there’s still one on the outside of the craft, can you hit it with that rifle?”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you”
Grit’s goggles lit up, something changing their viewing frequency, a bright blue glow appearing at chest-height nearly in front of her. She didn’t have time to question how. She fired a blast melting nearly through the wall, the second opening a hole, and the third frying the creature outside.
Hans came back. “That’s all of them. How’s Gino?”
“Hurt.”
“Get him handled. We’ll talk later.”
— «» —
How to combat the presence still fighting him in the building? It had the edge in sheer power. Distract it, continue to spread its attention. Hans activated machines in the building’s interior, tried to destroy servers, take down doors and elevators, and keep its attention away from Hans’ true purpose.
Hans gave the pods short directions to return to the center of the building, to return to their storage bays. Contain the explosion underground, direct it downward, keep collateral damage to a minimum. Check for people in the vicinity. No one alive in the building, surrounding area empty. Nearest people Grit and Gino, moving away fast.
“I’m going to detonate your building, any objections?” He wondered if Onyx would try to stop him.
“Do it.”
Power surged in him as he continued to gain control. He was winning, beating back the assailant, gaining more control of the building, allowing time for the pods to take their positions. I’m in control here.
The pods were now secured in the lower levels. Grit was at a safe distance. The enemy was still unaware.
Do it.
To Hans the explosion was not visceral, but merely a great wave of red lights, error signals, and systems offline. The shining building went black. He was surprised by the building’s strength, and its shape and solidity directed the explosion down, a shockwave tearing into the substructure, cutting utility lines, old plumbing, obsolete electrics, collapsing a sewage tunnel. The pressure continued down, down…
…to the high-speed line. The evening train from Cheyenne was running through a bypass tunnel via Denver on its way to Houston, still accelerating, nearing 1300 miles per hour. Forty-two passengers, names scrolling past Hans’ gaze. Dates of birth. Height, weight, age. The tunnel collapsing ahead of them.
Onyx was right. They didn’t even have time to scream.
— «» —
Hans was drunk. Massively, righteously shitfaced.
They’d found a bar, one of the many establishments that took advantage of the lack of legal supervision by founding an establishment outside any city jurisdiction. That put it under federal control, but the feds mostly left them alone. This one was done up all Retro Hick with barren wooden walls covered in dead animals and pin-ups. A sign advertised amateur strip nights every Saturday. Hans was glad it wasn’t Saturday.
Onyx sat across from him, completely out of place. She’d matched him drink for drink of the surprisingly high-quality gin they served here, but was still stone sober. He hated her.
They hadn’t spoken more than two words since the incident. She’d lost her home base; he’d lost a lot more. Hans wasn’t drinking to forget, he wanted to do himself genuine harm. He could now add forty-two more names to the previously small list of three. That made… fuck it, he couldn’t figure it out in this state.
“How much more are you planning on drinking, Hans?”
He didn’t answer.
“We need to be moving.”
He spat on the table in front of her.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?”
He downed the shot in front of him.
Onyx drew a knife. Hans flinched. She put it on the table in front of him.
“Here. This is quicker. Less painful, too.”
“You do it. You’re the killer here,” he snarled, baring his neck at her.
She picked up the knife and stabbed it through the table in front of him. It went down to the hilt, spearing through the thick wood, nearly cutting him.
“Fuck, lady, I said kill, not castrate.”
“Since you refuse to act like a man, maybe you don’t deserve the equipment.”
She left the knife in front of him. He reached out, fingered the hilt, grasped and yanked. The knife came out easily. Vicious blade. She’d said it could cut bone, it would be easy enough to go through the flesh of his neck. He couldn’t do it, coward that he was.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“How can you kill and be unaffected by it?”
“I’m a cold bitch, Mr. Ricker, the way my father made me.”
“And what about your mother, Ms. Petrovich? What did she teach you?”
“She taught me to dance.” Onyx rose and stormed off. Hans didn’t expect her back, but she returned with refills. They drank.
“My mother tried to teach me to hunt.” Hans tried to keep his words clear. “I couldn’t do it. I was useless. Couldn’t track, couldn’t fire a gun straight, couldn’t pull a trigger on an animal. She and Grit used to send me out to collect berries and mushrooms while they skinned whatever they’d found. I couldn’t stomach it.”
Onyx kept silent. Hans appreciated her for that.
“Thing was, I liked the collecting. Got to know all the plants. If you kept quiet you could see the wildlife. Once or twice I almost got a deer to eat from my hand. Never could figure out how someone could shoot something like that. My mom never gave me a hard time, neither did Grit. But some of my fri
ends did. That’s what living in a place in the outland is supposed to be about, I guess. Roughing it, living off the land, all that old cowboy bullshit. They act like it’s some kind of fort, like fuckin’ Indians are gonna attack or some shit. But it’s just a city. We got water, electricity, complete network connectivity, just like everyone else. We eat hydroponic vegetables and synthetic meat. And occasionally we go out and kill ourselves a live one, just so we can show nature what’s what. Big fuckin’ man on campus, humanity is. We don’t even need to and we’re still gonna kill you. What a bunch of assholes.”
He finished his drink. Onyx got him another. A small scuffle occurred by the bar, some roughneck trying to cop a feel; he ended up lying on the ground holding his broken hand.
Hans sipped his gin. He couldn’t taste it anymore. His tongue was numb, along with the rest of his face. Onyx still matched him, not even batting an eye.
“Six,” she said.
“Hmmm?”
“You asked how many people I’ve killed. Six, up close and personal.”
“You enjoy every one?”
“I still have nightmares about them all.” She downed her drink. Hans tried to match her, but spilled most of it on his shirt, cursing.
“Well, Illiyana, that makes me over seven times the villain. Your paltry six, my forty-two, unless you want to add in the three that were already dead because of me.”
“You didn’t kill those people, Hans.”
“Fuck you I didn’t. I set off the bombs, those fucking nightmares you created.”
“If you hadn’t and we lost control of that building, thousands would have died.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad to be a murderer then.”
There was nothing else to say.
The bartender came over, asked them to leave. Onyx glared at him until he wandered off.
“I killed my father when I was seventeen. Put a ceremonial dagger through his chin, into his brain. He’d killed my mother, kidnapped me, made me a killer and a whore. I killed four men for him, seduced them and murdered them in the afterglow. Stabbed one, strangled the others in their sleep. I have no idea what they’d done to gain his ire, what he wanted from them, I just wanted to please him so badly, even though I hated him and was terrified of him. After the fourth one he threw me to his men for the night as a reward. Job well done. The next evening, I killed him, ran away. Lev helped me get away, betraying my father. They chased us halfway across the world. I found a partner here, one who could protect me. We wanted to change the balance of power, change the world.”
“You and every other tyrant.”
“The sphere could…”
“Could what?!” Hans lifted his head, the room spinning. “Kill a trainload of people? Kill a city? Kill a country? Rule the world?”
“That was not the intention.”
“Neither was Brigham getting a hold of it, I imagine. How the hell did it get away from you?”
“We don’t know.”
“You don’t know? A game-changer with massive lethal capability, and you don’t know? I’m beginning to think you’re not as secure and with it as you pretend. This thing floating around among all the idiots in this world…”
Hans had her blood up now.
“So far, Hans, only one idiot has been able to use it.”
“And he only killed forty-two people, go get me another drink.”
She didn’t. “You can’t focus on that, Hans, you were doing everything you could to…”
“To save my sister, to save your damn organization. To keep your secrets. I’ve killed for you, Illiyana, my debt is paid. You want my help from here on in? You be straight with me. Things have happened, things you’re ignoring. Either that or you’ve legitimately forgotten them, which means I’m running across the country with a fucking nutter. No more secrets.”
Onyx had no response to that. Hans’ use of the sphere had equalized the power. She needed him. He wanted answers.
She rose, returned to the bar, had an argument with the bartender. Hans put his head down again, smelling plastic and gin. She put a glass in his hand, lukewarm and green. He knew what it was.
“Drink that,” she said.
“I’m not drinking this shit. I came in here to get drunk. I’m not finished yet.”
“You want your answers? Drink that. I’m not having this conversation with a pathetic drunk having a pity party.”
Hans stared at it with dread. A basic alcohol antitoxin, seek and destroy, break down the alcohol in his blood, guaranteed sober in ten minutes. Oh, and it purged everything in your stomach, violently. Quick acting, too, if memory served. He looked up at Onyx, standing over him, then back to the glass. Fuck it.
“Help me up.”
“You’re not leaving until you drink that.”
“Lady, about ten seconds after I drink that, most of my stomach contents are going to be on this table. Help me outside.”
She gave him a hand, helped him outside. She smelled nice. He drank and struggled to some nearby bushes. It was violent, nasty business, leaving him kneeling and drained. Sobriety should be on the way shortly.
He was pretty sure he was done heaving. Onyx still stood beside him. She helped him up. Was that jasmine? Definitely floral. They made their way back to the car.
The back door stood open.
— «» —
Lorilei was gone. Not in the backseat, not in the small parking lot. Nowhere he could see. Woken up and wandered off, probably confused, probably scared. Hans wasn’t even sure she’d ever actually been outside before. His head was still swimming, though clearing rapidly.
“Have to find her.”
Onyx agreed.
Hans didn’t know how long ago she’d left, didn’t know how long he’d been in the bar, couldn’t tell which direction she’d gone. The whole area was high grass and scrubland, the ground rough and rocky. Maybe Grit could’ve tracked her. He couldn’t.
“Use the sphere.”
Easy for her to say. It still held a hold on him. So powerful, so appealing. He didn’t want it, so he stood there sobering up and debating, realizing he’d do anything to find her. He took the sphere.
Up to a satellite, looking for one with high-resolution cameras. One nearby, not connected with the others. Fed use only. Back to the ground, searching for federal encryption. Easy to spot, easy to break. Military base server. Uplink. Now on board the spy satellite. Directing its cameras, zooming down. One quarter meter resolution. Good enough to spot a person if they were moving. Flipping through the wavelengths, settling on infrared. Scanning nearby. Warm spot, moving slowly, one kilometer southwest. How’d she get so far?
Hans started off after her, sober now. That shit might be awful, but it was effective. Onyx followed without a word.
It was hard climbing, the ground littered with rocks and hard–to-see gullies. Hans moved in a straight line, adapting the satellite feed, bringing her location up in front of him. Less disorienting. Amazing what this thing could do.
It took a good thirty minutes to catch her. Hans was huffing and puffing, Onyx not even winded. A dark silhouette up ahead.
“Lorilei!” The shape tried to move faster, “Lorilei, stop!”
Trying to run quickly she tripped over a rock, went down. Hans could hear her yell. He ran.
She was lying on the ground. Feet bloodied. Legs bloodied. Arms bloodied. Robe torn and dirty, hanging open, still trying to stand and crawl away from him. Hans put a hand on her shoulder. She screamed and swung backward.
“Lorilei! It’s Hans! Remember me?”
“He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me,” she repeated over and over.
“Brigham’s dead, he can’t hurt you.”
She didn’t comprehend. “Have to go home.”
“Lorilei,” he put both arms around her and she struggled. Hans was uncomfortable holding down a naked girl, but he had no choice. “Lorilei, it’s Hans, we watched a movie. I took you out of there. Brigham’s dead. His base was destroy
ed. There’s nothing to go back to.”
She calmed, stopped babbling. “Hans?”
“Yes, Hans. We watched that awful cartoon movie, remember? You fell asleep.”
“You… you let me sleep in the big bed.”
“Yeah, in the big bed.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“No, he won’t. He’s dead. His building’s gone. You’re with me.”
“Your property now?”
The question brought sudden tears of rage to his eyes.
“No, Lorilei. No one’s property. My friend, family, little sister if you want. I won’t let them take you back.”
Lorilei said nothing, confused. She relaxed. Hans stood, helped her up. She’d sprained an ankle in the fall, could barely walk. Hans picked her up and walked past a smirking Onyx.
“Sister?”
“Shut up.”
— «» —
She’d muscled the jumpcraft onto the ground level landing pad at Denver General, the vehicle’s own safety control systems the only thing keeping it from complete destruction. The security guard recognized her and Gino and stood back as Grit fireman-carried Gino into the elevator, calling ahead to an emergency crew, who met her in front of the ER. They wheeled Gino away, and a nurse tried to force Grit to sit and wait, have someone look at the wound bleeding down her chin. She wouldn’t have it, but stood in the corner of the OR, watching. If Gino died she was going to be there.
He didn’t.
A few hours later, Grit stood in one of the recovery rooms while Gino rested. His breath sounded strained but regular. Collapsed lung, damaged spinal cord. Routine repairs. He’d seen worse. All she could do was wait, not one of her stronger suits. A passing med tech had sat her down, cleaned and bandaged her face. A soft bandage this time; she was tired of not being able to communicate.
She had spent too much time spent in hospital rooms of late. Hans’ for the last year, her own, now Gino’s. Every move she made was two steps behind where she should be. Grit was not used to being on the back foot. Her rule had always been check ten times, shoot once. No moves without adequate preparation. But now, the more she prepared the more her enemies were ready for her. She needed a new plan. Something off the cuff, improvised. Hans was the one who excelled at that.