Necrotech

by K C Alexander

  Most of the exertion stuff he could have gotten from his damned readings at the Key. Dick. The whole thing. Every last one of them. A composite of dicks.

  The only thing that made it even remotely tolerable was Indigo. Which surprised me. He came in for his physical halfway through mine, which meant by the time I was done, I got the pleasure of watching his systems tech – a tall guy named Gunner Leto – put Digo through his paces.

  “Go away,” Indigo growled, sweat gleaming on his chest as he ran the stationary track I’d already completed. Like me, he’d been given a pair of shorts and a tanktop. Both white. The sensors hovering around him flickered green periodically, clocking his vitals.

  I grinned at him, leaning against a bank of monitors. “Can’t. I’ve got a bet with Orchard.”

  “I’m not interested in beating your time, Riko.” He spoke with effort, but he wasn’t panting. Not yet.

  “You’re not?” Damn. I wasn’t counting on that. I sighed, already calculating the cost of a good lunch. Orchard didn’t bet cheap.

  He glanced at me, blue eyes flashing in irritation. “You bet I would?”

  “Hell, yeah, I did.” I could hold my own in a fight like nobody’s business, but Digo was a natural runner. Pound for pound, meter for meter, he’d outstrip me in stamina and speed any day.

  “Hunh.” With that mystifying sound, he turned his attention back to his run and said nothing else.

  I watched him for a moment longer, not sure if I should say something else or leave him alone. This was weird. Normally, I’d stay and tease him. Now, I was pretty sure that any attempted flippancy would push him right back over into prickly anger.

  I’d never actually been at odds with him before. Short of punching him until he stopped being so angry, I didn’t know what to do.

  It didn’t seem the right time to give him the flowers. I mean, the detective.

  Right now, he seemed to be tolerating me okay, focusing on his numbers rather than on how much he hated me. As he ran, his swarthy skin rippled with lean muscle – a fact I had no trouble admiring from this distance.

  Rocky ground or not, I could appreciate a good physique. I still thought he’d lost too much weight, but the scrappy jackal frame was starting to grow on me. Ropey muscle flexed in his back as he rolled his shoulders. It wasn’t the same kind of attraction – I’d never considered throwing down with Indigo, not honestly – but I liked looking at him the same way I liked looking in general.

  The fact that nothing was the same between us really blew chunks. I missed our easy camaraderie. Now, I couldn’t look at him without being reminded of everything I’d lost.

  Ignoring the pang in my chest, I turned away. “I’ll leave you to it,” I said lightly.

  “Hey, Riko.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “What?”

  He didn’t look at me, brisk pace steady. “What was your time?”

  “Fourteen, twenty-seven, twelve.”

  I couldn’t see his expression from the back. His braid bounced against his shoulders as one hand lifted. “Noted.”

  He said nothing else.

  As the door closed behind me, I shook my head. Why he wanted to know, I had no idea. Except Indigo was a tricky bastard.

  A fact cemented by the personal note tucked into the file Hope delivered to my quarters the following hour. “Briefing on the helo,” she told me, “wheels up in ten. If you want first pick on reqs, you’ll be on time.” She left me to get ready. I sat on the surprisingly comfortable couch and scanned the tablet, checking my numbers for anomalies. Everything seemed more or less the usual. Orchard expressed some concern for my shoulder girdle’s structural longevity, but signed off on the exams.

  At the bottom, she left an additional note.

  00:14:28:07. You owe me lunch.

  One second? One chunking second. I slammed the tablet to the coffee table beside me. That son of a bitch. Compared to the fact I’d lose a bet with an outsider, his loss of face by losing to my time was nothing. That I’d have to shell out to pay it off was probably just frosting.

  Oh, yeah. He’d just flipped me an Indigo finger.

  I glowered at the tablet. Kicked it out of reach when it said nothing to soothe my rankled pride. It slid off the table edge and thudded twice.

  Reaching for my boots, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or kick him square in the ass I’d admired.

  It wasn’t a truce. Not even close. It was just another subtle bit of calculus in his version of war.

  And to think I’d even gotten him a blue bouquet.

  What a cunt.

  21

  Of all the things I’d done, dropping from a helo with five other heavily armed and outfitted people to a filthy rooftop ranked among the most fun. It wasn’t that difficult. The sleek black vehicle came in close enough that it was an easy step off, and one by one, we all landed on the rooftop in a cloud of whipped-up smoke and debris.

  The first two to hit the roof spread out, each covering opposite ends of the long but narrow expanse, clearing the territory. As the last one of us hit the gravel, the cargo bay closed. The vehicle rose up and away, firing an oppressive backdraft of heat and smoke over us. Fortunately, our helmets came equipped with filters.

  “Bye bye, sanity,” the woman beside me murmured, her voice crystal clear in my earpiece.

  Carter, she’d called herself. No first name given. Or maybe it was her first name. I didn’t pry. She was one of two other women on the team, short enough that the top of her head just reached my chin. She also happened to be our heavy weapon specialist, which I appreciated. I liked a woman who could carry more than her own weight in armaments.

  When Malik had mentioned funding, he hadn’t been dicking around. Reqs had gone like clockwork, and I was given a workup of the gear I could requisition from Indigo’s list. A few had been marked off with personal recommendations.

  Hope was a sweetheart. Statistically accurate and perceptive to a scary degree, but a sweetheart nonetheless.

  I chose something similar to the rest of the team, though I’d packed a little extra in ammo and guns. The body armor was lighter than I was used to, plated at the vitals but loose at the joints for mobility, and the skinsuit underneath actually my size. Comfortable and stylish. The helmet I’d chosen allowed for near-total visibility, with a heads-up display over the faceplate coming through as a blue overlay on the hardened plastic curve. Map, location, distance to the target my focus locked on, and a handful of vitals, including my own. It came equipped with thermal imaging, night vision, and its own air filters.

  The fact that all this sturdy gear bore a logo – a white letter M, the tines on each end slicing downward in stylistic aggression – pretty much put the bow on my shit-wrapped day.

  “I should have requisitioned a Valiant,” I said to no one in particular. My own voice sounded compact, fed through the communications system and piped through to each individual feed. The comms were earpieces, rather than helmeted. Smart move; helmets busted. I’d broken more than a handful of my share. “If I’d known Mantis Industries was funding this party, I would have totally asked for one.”

  “Good fucking luck,” Carter said beside me. “After TaberTek went balls-up a few years back, they’re rare as virgins.”

  Yeah. I liked her already.

  Mantis was known more for their armor lines and integrated tech defenses than they were for their weaponry, which made their crossplatform Valiant all the more coveted. I figured Malik as a corp exec, I just never figured it was Mantis he worked for. Some sort of department director, maybe? Corporations operated on so many levels, it was hard to tell middle management from a hole in the ground.

  “Riko, get your head on straight.” Indigo’s voice, already weary with me.

  “Downer,” I replied, unperturbed. “Don’t think I don’t know you cheated that run, you lazy bastard.”

  He snorted. Carter mirrored the sound.

  “Vid Team, listen up.” A woman’s voice pip
ed through the line, and all of us stopped. “You’re now two blocks west of the target. Something in there is on fire, which is providing the smoke currently obstructing the helo’s drop pattern. You’re going in on foot.”

  Hoofing it through a necro quarantine wasn’t the part I’d call fun.

  “You have three hours to complete your goal,” she continued, her voice as calm as if we weren’t currently standing in death central. “That’s three hours to get in, acquire your goal, and get out. There is zero leeway.”

  Indigo swore. “That’s cutting it close.”

  “No kidding,” I muttered, picking my way across the gravel-encrusted rooftop to look out over the nearest ledge. Smoke curled along the street, spreading searching fingers through every nook and cranny like it was looking for a place to hide from the setting sun. “And we’re losing light.”

  “Three hours is all Mr Reed could get from the burn team,” she replied. “It’s not a guaranteed lock, so make this happen faster.”

  “No problem,” I said, saccharine as poisoned candy as I eyed the abandoned street with serious skepticism. No part of this city should be abandoned, not like this. “What could go wrong?”

  “Is she serious?” asked the youngest on our team. He wasn’t asking me. Probably was talking to the broad-shouldered heavy beside him.

  “Shut up, Riko,” Indigo said, but without heat. “Control, is the smoke interfering with your visuals?”

  “Affirmative. We’ll provide what intel we can, but we’ll be relying on your video feeds.” She ignored my sarcasm entirely. Smart broad. “Remember your check-ins.”

  “You heard her,” Indigo said, his voice in my ear making it seem like he wasn’t on the other side of the roof. “Three hours on this crazy train. Check in every quarter, stay together, watch each other. This is not the place to go off your game.”

  “We know that.” The other female. What was her name? Angelica. Angelina. Angie? Crap. “We trained together. What about you?”

  “We’ve got your backs, too,” Indigo said, his voice mellow enough that I briefly resented the fact he didn’t waste that tone on me. “I know briefing was short and we didn’t get any real shot at a meet and greet, but I promise you that we’re all in this together.”

  I couldn’t see her face behind the helmet, but I had no trouble imagining the expression she made as she sneered out a sharp, “How sweet.”

  “Ange, come help me secure this pack,” the heavy cut in, his voice surprisingly light for such a big guy.

  Okay, I was close. “Ange” was sort of like the lazy version of all of them.

  I didn’t look back to watch them work their shit out, my gear already checked, stowed and prepped.

  They’d given me a Sauger 877 – no surprise there, it reigned supreme for a reason – but with one small modification. Nice as it was to drop a little under a thousand rounds in less time than it took to sneeze, it was hard on the barrel and shit for accuracy. If I was going to be shooting, I wanted something more reliable than spray and pray. The model I requested came with a small catch, reducing the rate of fire by nearly half but vastly improving accuracy.

  Carter approached the ledge beside me, her features hidden behind her helmet. Didn’t need to see her face to know she had a sharp mouth on her. From our initial meeting, I knew she wasn’t the kind of woman anyone picked up on a whim. Broad nose, wide jaw, a crown of tightly braided black hair, and enough muscle under her skinsuit to make even a heavy think twice.

  The munitions didn’t hurt, either. They backed up every word. Barring the right pay? Even I wouldn’t mess with her.

  “So,” she said, fingers flying over her own assault rifle with near-blinding speed. Checked and prepped. “What do you suppose are the chances we’ll run into anyone in here?”

  It gave me the creeps to look down at the ghost town beneath us. I’d never seen anything like it. Even the shittiest holes I’d been in still had life of some kind. Kids, bums, fuckheads with nothing better to do than prop up on a curb and assault the unwary for credsticks or kicks. The animals, rats and feral strays, would be starving to death or scrapping for food, but there would be something. “The reports said twelve necros,” I said slowly. But my gut said they’d dicked out too fast to get the full measure. City blocks didn’t go silent like this. Not unless something goes seriously tits-up. “Honestly?”

  “Prefer honest when I can get it.”

  My mouth twisted. “Slim to nothing.”

  “You think they all got out?” The young voice again. Hooker, I think. Calvin Hooker. Unfortunate surname, but I’d let it slide once already and it seemed too late to joke about it now.

  I rolled my shoulders, not quite a shrug. “I think the lucky ones did,” I said bluntly. “The rest will end up burned out of hiding.” The kid sucked in a breath. “And when they do, the necros will get them before everything goes up in smoke.”

  “So, we just leave them?”

  I nodded. “Hope they’re already dead. If not? Hope the fire gets them first.” Shitty reassurance, but it was the best I had.

  Carter turned away from the smoky street below us. “Hey, Koupra.”

  “What’s up?”

  “You know our orders if we find corrupt, right?”

  “Kill on sight.” He said it like it was no big deal, and really, it wasn’t. Sure, corruption could be tended, but not here, and not on this big a scale. We all carried handguns for the possibility.

  My handgun of choice barely qualified as small arms, earning an appreciative whistle from Carter when the Mantis crew delivered it. The M422A Tactical Revolver’s benefit was its massive .525 caliber, which is exactly what I wanted between me and any necro that might actually get past the initial storm of bullets we’d geared up for. It’d even punch a hole through dermaplating.

  The downside was the old-fashioned chamber, but I was carrying extra ammo for it in several pockets slung in my belt. Frankly, I’d be lucky to get off three out of the chambered six if a necro got that close.

  Street specs called it the Adjudicator. It was a gun I could only hold steady because of my synthetic arm; it’d blow a hole the size of my fist through practically anything.

  Overkill on fleshbags, but I doubted the odds of finding any. That was one thing all the stories had in common. Necros killed. Twelve necros sounded like a situation that made for a lot of bodies.

  “Two hours and fifty-five minutes,” Ange said. She waited by a rusted escape ladder, its twisted arms hooked over the roof’s ledge. “Shall we get this show on the road, ladies?”

  “Locked and loaded,” Carter confirmed.

  “Weapons ready,” Hooker said.

  The heavy rolled his wide shoulders, his armor much thicker and bulkier than mine. “Ready.”

  “Good,” Indigo said, and he half-turned towards me. “Riko? Set?”

  I had a few other weapons stowed in my harness. A Phelps & Somers CounterTech II for backup, though I wasn’t sure its 9mm rounds would do more than piss a necro off. I stored that ammo in the slot in my arm. I also carried an assortment of knives. Including one Hope had delivered personally to us all: a tethered switchblade packing an EMP charge on delivery. At worst, it’d slow a necro down long enough to get the hell away.

  At best, its head would explode.

  “I hope to see exploding heads,” I said by way of confirmation. “I really do.”

  “Girl, you are weird,” Carter told me.

  I grinned. “Says the woman packing a grenade launcher, three mines and a Bolshovekia.” My assault rifle would leave twitching necros in its wake. Hers looked like a custom job that wouldn’t leave much of anything at all. “Hey, can I fondle your gun later?”

  Carter’s snort cracked on a laugh. “Get us out alive, and you can fondle anything you want.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ange cut in. “Koupra, get a handle on her.”

  I expected him to say something about how he didn’t want to be here. That I wasn’t his to han
dle, much less that he didn’t answer to Ange.

  What I didn’t expect was a mildly amused, “Which one?”

  The heavy chortled.

  Ange’s shoulders tightened beneath her racked gear. “Your enforcer,” she clarified, like there was any doubt. “If all she’s going to do is fuck around–”

  “She’ll be ready when she’s needed,” he cut in. “I suggest you keep yourself focused.”

  Aww. That felt good. Even if I was pretty sure he was only saying it to settle Ange’s spiky attitude before it tried to make a play.

  Too late.

  “Bullshit.” Ange braced her shoulders, like she was squaring up for a fight. “Nobody even explained why the hell you’re supposedly in charge.”

  Busted.

  Indigo didn’t look at her. “How’s your processing speed?”

  Carter’s hand palmed her helmeted face, and I watched Hooker’s faceplate turn from Ange to Indigo in what was probably bewilderment.

  I grinned. “Pissing match out of the way first, then?”

  “Shut up,” Ange snapped, then added pointedly, “Faster than average.”

  I watched the heavy instead of Hooker, because I expected the kid to shift closer to Ange in some kind of solidarity move. Carter didn’t move, and I couldn’t tell if the heavy was even paying attention. His name was Falk, just Falk. I’d stake a bet on ex-military. He stood with his feet wide and his arms folded around the barrel of his Sauger. Just waiting.

  Indigo’s gloved hand adjusted his helmet, almost idly. “I can process at six times the speed of the fastest human recorded.”

  “So wh–”

  “Which means,” he said over her, his voice feed sliding though hers, “by the time you’ve realized there’s a new condition, I’ve already included it into the workup and halfway through calculating new orders.” Click. His clip slotted into place, and he slung the weapon to his harness. It seemed like an absent move.

  It wasn’t. Without fuss, he’d unarmed himself, forcing Ange into the position of aggressor if she jumped him.