Up Against It

Home > Other > Up Against It > Page 19
Up Against It Page 19

by M. J. Locke


  The viewer in the other room was loud, so Geoff figured they did not have to worry too much about being heard, as long as they were careful. The cords bit into his wrists and his hands were numb. He squirmed, but the movement merely made his limbs hurt more. His nose had stopped bleeding, but his head hurt, and the crusted blood on his face itched.

  “What are we going to do?” Amaya whispered. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Ian huddled in the corner where he had been dumped, looking miserable. Geoff felt like snarling at him—“Is this what you had in mind, big shot?”—but he refrained.

  “Amaya, turn your back to me,” he said softly. “I’ll undo you first.”

  They both squirmed till they were back-to-back. Geoff got to work on her bindings, biting his lip hard against the pain that shot up his arms. It seemed to take forever; his fingers were little more than dead stumps, the pain in his wrists was piercing, and he couldn’t get a purchase on the knots. And the idea that the kidnappers could come back in at any moment made them all jump at every noise.

  But finally—finally!—the knots started to loosen, and he worked at them with increased ferocity until they came free. Amaya pulled her hands loose and rubbed them. Then she started on her feet.

  “No, no—do my hands first,” he whispered, and she obliged, swearing softly at the knots. After a few minutes, he felt the bonds loosen. Circulation—and more pain—flowed into his hands. He pulled free and flexed them, as Amaya had done. She started working at the knots at her own ankles, while Geoff rolled off the bed and scooted over to Ian.

  Ian did not say anything, which was for the best; Geoff might punch him or something, and now was not the time. Ian turned around as best he could and let Geoff untie him. Soon they were all free.

  Geoff had seen their kidnappers throw their waveware into the closet. He quietly opened it and found their equipment on the floor. He brought it out and sorted it on the bed. They all took a couple of seconds to don their ear- and eye- and handwork. Geoff tested his connection. Dead.

  Amaya was listening at the door. “They’re playing some shooter game, I think. Someone’s in the kitchen.”

  “There were five of them,” Geoff said.

  “Do you remember the layout?”

  “Everything was happening so fast when they brought us in,” he replied. “I don’t remember anything but the sofa and the view wall.”

  “I do.” It was the first thing Ian had said in hours. “They took me here before.”

  Geoff and Amaya glared. Ian had the decency to look embarrassed. But he went on. “There’s a kitchenette to the right and a bathroom next to this room. The front door is directly opposite this door.” He pointed at their only exit.

  “All right. Hang on.”

  Geoff tested the door. It was unlocked! He slid it open a crack, and looked into the other room.

  Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk were on the couch working invisible wavespace controls. Images jumped around on the wall. No one else was in the small room, but he caught a glimpse of movement in the kitchenette. A gun lay on the coffee table, along with a couple of big bulbs of dark liquid. The room smelled of alcohol and undercooked meat.

  A call came in on the view wall as he was closing the door. A big man in a suit appeared. His neck was thick, bull-like, and he had Popeye arms. He was very well groomed and smooth-looking, and he had a dead look in his eyes. Just looking at him made the hair on Geoff’s arms stand up.

  “Hey, Mr. Mills!” Blue Tattoo lifted a beer at the man’s image. “We have guests! Come on by and meet them.”

  Creepy Bull Neck—Mills—merely gave Blue Tattoo a cool stare and didn’t bother to reply. “You got the coordinates for their ice?” Geoff noticed he had a Martian accent.

  “What do you think I am,” Blue Tattoo asked, “an idiot? You get the coordinates when we get the money.”

  The man called Mills looked exasperated. “What? You think we’re going to stick the rock in our cargo hold and fly away? Mr. Glease works for the Ogilvies. He has his reputation to protect. You do what we want, we’ll play straight with you. But the kind of money we’re talking about, we’ve got to check it out. See how much ice there really is. You can send one of your own people with me.”

  Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk huddled, talking in low voices. Then Blue Tattoo said to Creepy Bull Neck, “All right. Here’s the deal. I’m sending two of my people. They’ll meet you up on the landing pad in an hour.”

  “Not tonight. I need more time to line someone up to do the survey.”

  “A surveyor? Shit, why don’t you just announce it to the world? Too many people know about this already.” He glanced back at the door, and Geoff shut it swiftly and quietly. He pressed his ear against its metal surface and heard the man they called Mills laugh mockingly.

  “… about your kiddies in there? Relax. They’re rocketbikers. Right? Biking accidents happen all the time. Get them to sign the papers over to you tonight; you can download a form from one of the banks’ wavesites. When we go out tomorrow morning, they can come, too. We’ll take care of them there.

  “As for the geologist, if the claim is like the rest of the piddly-ass sugar rocks we’ve been finding, well, you’ll have the papers, so it’s all legit and he won’t care. And if the find is big enough to make it worth the trouble, we’ll get rid of the geologist, too. Problem solved.”

  Geoff turned to the others. “We’ve got to get out of here now—they plan to kill us!”

  Ian looked sick. “What? That wasn’t the deal!”

  Amaya slugged Ian in the arm. “Shut up. Geoff, what’s the plan?”

  “We’re in luck. There are only three of them to deal with. Let’s look around. Quietly! What have we got? A phone or pager? Anything we can defend ourselves with?”

  All they found was shoes and clothing, assorted electronic kibble, and the cord that had been used to tie them. They each took a length of cord and wrapped the ends around their hands.

  “OK, look. Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk are in the front room and there is someone else in the kitchen. Ian, you take Blue Tattoo—you’re almost as big as he is. I’ll take White Mohawk. They’re both sitting on the couch. Amaya, there’s a gun on the coffee table. Go straight for it, and aim it at whoever seems to be the best one, depending on what’s happening. Got it?”

  They both nodded, faces ashen, eyes wide.

  “Let’s go.”

  Geoff peeked out again. Mills was no longer on the display. He gripped the handle and took several deep breaths. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Don’t think. Just do.

  He threw the door open and rushed into the room.

  The two men on the couch looked up, shocked. Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk were both drunk, and their coordination was bad. They tried to come to their feet. That was all Geoff saw—by then he had launched himself over the couch and rammed White Mohawk, knocking him against the coffee table. The gun went flying. He tried to get the cord over White Mohawk’s head, but Blue Tattoo lurched up and tripped over him and White Mohawk, and Geoff lost his grip on the cord.

  Amaya dodged past them, trying to get around the melee to get to the gun, as Geoff and White Mohawk grappled. A tattooed woman in the kitchen leaned against the counter, arms folded, just watching, looking disgusted.

  White Mohawk forced Geoff to the floor and pinned him. His fingers closed around Geoff’s throat. With a desperate lurch, Geoff threw White Mohawk off, and rising, clubbed him with both fists. White Mohawk stumbled back and hit the wall.

  A weapon’s report blasted their ears. Everyone flinched.

  “Freeze!” Amaya said. She sounded like she meant it. Everyone stopped fighting and looked at her. She had her back to the wall by the door, and was covering all of them with her gun. Blue Tattoo had Ian in a choke hold; Ian’s face was a dark shade of red.

  “Let him go,” Amaya ordered. Blue Tattoo released Ian and stepped back. White Mohawk stood up. Ian went to one knee, gasping for breath.


  “Why don’t you give me the weapon,” Blue Tattoo said. “Before somebody gets hurt.”

  Amaya bared her teeth in a smile and aimed the barrel at his testicles. “I’ll give you part of it.”

  The woman in the kitchenette looked annoyed. “Somebody better pay for that,” she said, pointing at the hole Amaya had made in the ceiling.

  “You don’t want holes in your ceiling, you shouldn’t kidnap people,” Geoff said.

  “Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied. Amaya keyed the front door open and Geoff helped Ian, who was a bit the worse for wear, out the door. Amaya backed out last. When the door slid closed, they ran.

  Within seconds, Geoff heard footsteps behind them. They dashed among the catwalks and cul-de-sacs. They ducked around a corner between two structures, to catch their breath.

  “Where are we?” Geoff asked.

  Amaya shrugged, but Ian looked around.

  “This way,” he rasped, and set out down a nearby spiral stair to the next level. Their kidnappers came around the corner, spotted them, and gave chase.

  The stair led to an alley off the Promenade. They rushed out onto the thoroughfare. There were enough people around that those chasing them couldn’t be too obvious—but as the three of them wove through the pedestrians and carts and tents, Ian looked behind. “They’re still back there! They’re gaining.”

  “Back to the spokeway,” Geoff said. “This way.”

  They ran till his lungs felt like they would burst, dodging through the crowd … and ran headlong into Kam and old Moriarty from the warehouses, who were just emerging from the Suzee Spokeway … just as Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk shoved their way through the crowd toward them.

  Kam said to Geoff, “What happened? You’re a mess!”

  “I’ll explain later.” He turned to Moriarty, but Moriarty was already stalking over toward the black marketers. He wasn’t quite as big as Blue Tattoo, but there was something about him that was much scarier. He pulled his gun, and Blue Tattoo and Mohawk’s eyes widened. They turned and ran.

  Moriarty disappeared after them.

  “He knows about the ice,” Kam told them, gesturing after the old man.

  “They kidnapped us!” Amaya said.

  Moriarty reappeared then. “I lost them in the crowd.” He reholstered his gun. It was then Geoff noticed he was wearing a badge. “Do you know where they held you?”

  Geoff shook his head and Amaya looked doubtful. “They blindfolded us on the way in, and on the way out we weren’t really paying attention to where we were.”

  “I know where,” Ian said. He turned to Moriarty. “Those creeps kidnapped us, but this never would have happened if it weren’t for me. I want to help put them away.”

  “All right. We need to move on those jokers now. Let me put in a call and see if we can get a nearby patrol to assist.”

  Moriarty made a call. Then they went to a nearby coffee shop, where a pair of cops were waiting. Geoff’s bloody appearance made everyone stare. He excused himself and went to clean up in the bathroom. His nose hurt like shit when he touched it. I’m going to have a Cyrano schnoz tomorrow, he thought.

  He tried his waveface and his icons bloomed all around. He sighed in relief. When he came out of the bathroom, Ian and the officers were gone. Geoff lifted his eyebrows, and Amaya said, “Ian is taking them to where the black marketers held us.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “They’ve called for backup,” Moriarty said. “And they’ll keep your friend out of harm’s way. Don’t worry.”

  Geoff ordered himself a sundae and brought it back to the table. But when he went to take a bite, to his embarrassment, his hand holding the spoon shook. He set the spoon down.

  Amaya and Geoff filled Moriarty in on what had happened. When they finished, Moriarty shook his head. “You four will have quite a story to tell your grandkids someday. Ten metric tons of ice, you say?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. We haven’t measured it.”

  “Well, ten tons buys Phocaea almost another full day. Nothing to sneeze at! We’ll need to get someone out there. We’ll send a team and shuttle out to test it,” Moriarty said. “We’ll deal with all that later.”

  A call came in while he was talking. He motioned for them to wait, and stepped away. Geoff turned to Amaya.

  “You OK?” he asked. She was sipping at a shake and being awfully quiet. She looked up at him, pushed her hair back from her forehead.

  “I thought they were going to kill us.”

  “Jeez, not with you on the team! You were amazing.”

  “What do you mean?” Kam asked.

  Geoff filled him in. “You should have seen her,” he finished. “This hundred-fifty-kilo guy is moving on her. ‘Give me the gun,’ he goes, and she points it right at his groin and goes, ‘I’ll give you part of it.’”

  They all laughed. Amaya laughed hardest.

  When Moriarty returned to the table, Geoff said, “Is Ian OK?”

  “He’s fine. They’ve got the kidnappers and are taking them to the station. A pair of beat cops are escorting Ian back—and here they are,” he said, as Ian entered with the two officers. Their friend looked a little shaken up, but happy.

  “They broke the door right down,” he reported. “These morons, they were all just sitting around, griping about not getting their money.”

  One of the officers said, “We need to get you four down to the precinct to take your statements.”

  “Can we finish our ice cream first?” Kam asked.

  15

  At eleven p.m., Marty showed up at Jane’s office door—tense, sweat beaded on his upper lip, breathing short. “Tania sent me to get you. We’re ready to extract the sapient.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Jane fired alerts off to her eyes-only list, as well as to Sean, Aaron, Xuan, Funaki, and the local resource allocation gurus. Then they headed down to the city computer center together.

  Gravity in Tania’s division was about a fourth of a gee: enough to ground you but leaving plenty of bounce for aerobatics. Jane sank down from the door to join Tania on the platform at the room’s center.

  At first Jane felt as if she had landed in the middle of a mime opera. All around her amid the webworks, a troupe of performers acted out some invisible choreography in the three-dimensional workspace. But Tania mailed her the address and when she called it up, Jane found herself standing in a field of dazzling, changing architecture—inundated with bursts of melodic coding—iconic imagery—snatches of speech. Marty handed her a bulb of coffee and threw a blanket over her shoulders. She gave him a grateful look.

  “And Ceci?”

  “She’s good. In a life-support station, safe and sound.” He got a remote look on his face. “One of Tania’s team needs me.”

  “Go.” She waved him off and leaned against the rail. The sculpture enveloping them all was an abstraction overlaid on the air: a panorama of numbers, images, and symbols. Jane’s eyes and ears tried to stabilize it, make it into a landscape, but it changed too rapidly, reshaping itself as teams of programmer-artists sent out or pulled in streams of liquid light. Occasionally the programmers and data wranglers shot packets to each other, and snagged them, incorporating them into their constructs. More rarely they extracted from their structures an array of numbers or equations to spray into the main construct rendered in the room’s center, which was slowly taking shape directly over Jane and Tania’s heads.

  The central, main construct stood for the sapient. It could be nothing else. Eleven of its twelve modules were laid out in a seven-pointed-star pattern (if you looked at the construct from the right angle; otherwise the star morphed into a more complicated shape), with three modules sharing the center, and one of the seven “points” a tightly woven binary system. The twelfth module was loosely tied to the center and to the binary-module “point.”

  In several ways the sapient was quite different in formation than the classic four-, five-, and six-pointer
s she had read about inwave today. But she saw the similarities as Tania pointed them out to her.

  “We’ve mostly figured out the identity functions of the modules,” Tania said. “We’re ninety percent sure we have all the critical modules mapped, and about sixty to seventy percent sure we have all the critical interior pathways mapped properly.”

  Jane eyed her. “Only sixty percent sure?”

  “Sixty to seventy.”

  “How important is that?”

  “To excise it? Not very. To capture it live? Critical.”

  “I find that rather alarming.”

  Tania gave her a surprised look.

  “I know,” Jane said, “I was talking about destroying it before, but it turns out we have a use for the thing. We need it functional.”

  “I want it alive, too. You know I do! But we’re running out of time. Its experiments at self-replication have been increasing rapidly over the past hour, and it’s discovered the link from our network up to the surface. We’ve lost the battle to keep its nucleus contained. It’s busy copying its full functionality to Upside-Down’s local systems.”

  Jane stared. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep.” She gestured and a flurry of activity near the core of the sapient appeared. “That’s the reason behind the activity you see going on here. It keeps remapping itself around our blocks. Upside-Down is reporting that they have some unexplained activity—and they have plenty of extra processing and storage capacity. The activity mimics that of certain modules over here. Which we believe means it’s got a child in construction over there. I sent a team over and we booby-trapped the trunk up to the surface, as a precaution.”

  Jane felt sick. “If it gets out of Phocaea on bandwidth as broad as Upside-Down’s, it’ll be all over the solar system in no time. Billions of computer systems could be damaged.”

 

‹ Prev