Dead Man Dreaming

by Andrew Vaillencourt

  “I suppose you are right about that. But if I had not worked with the program...”

  “I’d be a vegetable, Roland would be dead, Big Woo would be in ruins, yadda yadda yadda.” She drank again from the whisky bottle. Donald’s glass was empty, so she refilled that, too. “You forget how many separate strings I can process at once, Dad. I can tell you exactly what happens in a world where you didn’t build Roland.” She leaned forward to transfix her father with an earnest frown. “There is no version of that thread where things aren’t worse than they are now.” She put the bottle down on a coffee table. “Shit. I forgot how hard it is to get drunk with these damn machines always scrubbing my blood.”

  “Totally intentional, I might add.” With the effects of decent scotch beginning to assert themselves, the old man could not resist a chuckle. “Every father dreams of a daughter who can’t get drunk or stoned.”

  She pulled at the whisky again, this time just for effect. “Joke’s on you. I still managed.” Lowering the bottle, she pressed on. “I don’t want to put you in a position where you have to make weapons again. I know you don’t want to get involved in fixer business, either. But this Garibaldi cyborg was something new. We need an expert, and you are still the best.” She topped off his glass one more time. “Besides, I know you’ve been training Manny, and that you helped Mindy with feedback from her neural implants. You miss it, Dad. We can all tell that you miss biotech. All we are asking is for you to consult on this one.”

  “You are right, of course.” He drank deeply, then looked from his half-empty glass to the now-empty whisky bottle with a fierce scowl. “About everything, really.”

  Lucia had to smile at his consternation. For all his cultured manners, when Donald Ribiero decided it was time to have a drink, there would be no half-measures. Each flagging glass was a problem, and every empty bottle a catastrophe.

  “Obviously I’ll help, Lucy.” The old man’s voice had taken on a bit of a slur. “It’s time for me to start paying off my own goddamn debts. I’m just a little prone to being grouchy and maudlin about that nonsense.” Lucia could perceive a touch of a sway in her father’s posture as he raised the glass to his lips a final time and shook out the remaining dregs. “Now tell me about this Garibaldi bastard. I’ll sort out whatever second-string dime-store biotech they’ve sewn him up with. Then you and the corporal here can go punch his ticket. The gangly fucker shot up my masterpiece, didn’t he?”

  “I thought I was your masterpiece.” Lucia feigned a girlish pout.

  “Truthfully? The credit for you should go to your mother. You look far more like her than you do me. She was the bossy one, too.”

  “I’m not bossy. I merely have a commanding presence.”

  “See if you can command another bottle of scotch, then. I’m in a mood to get drunk.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Roland woke up the next afternoon.

  Waking up after severe damage or even the occasional bout of unconsciousness was not an unfamiliar sensation and he knew better than to try moving right away. He was connected to several machines via hoses and wires as was typical for these situations. Flailing about when so constrained felt like a bad idea. Gingerly, he checked the monitor attached to one such device for a status report. He learned his chassis was nearly one hundred percent repaired, which heartened him. He was also acutely aware, thanks to the fierce burning pain in his chest, that the real danger had little to do with a few small holes in his armor.

  The display confirmed that his right lung was out of commission and would remain so for some time. The entrance and exit wounds had been closed and the bleeding stopped, but trauma to organic tissue was not something that could be repaired with spare parts and a wrench. He would have to heal the old-fashioned way, and that meant pain. Roland had a strange relationship with pain. Before being converted into a cyborg, he had lived a life of rigorous physical activity. First as a farmer’s son and then as a dedicated weightlifter and semi-professional fighter. Then followed his time with the United Earth Defense force and a stint in the Special Operations Group.

  Long before being converted to his current state, Roland had been a man who could handle pain in varieties and quantities that would sicken and break most people. However, he had to admit his current body’s ability to regulate pain was a welcome improvement, and it would be a lie to say Roland had not grown accustomed to it. The fresh, sharp, and hot agony of his punctured lung was an unwelcome throwback to the days when he had to muscle though his injuries without the help of a few billion credits’ worth of biotech. He did not miss those days.

  “Shit.” It was an expressive complaint, delivered under his breath and with a generous portion of irritation. The monitor agreed with this assessment. Namely that while he was more or less fighting fit, a wise man could not ask too much of his body if he expected to heal with any speed. The pain, it appeared, would be non-negotiable either way.

  “You ain't kidding, Ironsides.”

  Roland turned his head to the other side to see Mindy stretched out on a cot on the other side of his living room. She looked more pale than usual, and she seemed slow and reluctant to move much.

  “How bad you get it?”

  “Took some eight-mike to the ribs at point-blank. Suit held up, but the ribs didn’t. They’re mostly osteoplast so the doc put them back together this morning. Got pistol whipped in the head and kicked around a bit, too. I’m only breathing because he realized there was something else he wanted to do with my body before he put a round through it.”

  Roland remembered the bruised handprints on Mindy’s breasts and a hot rage suffused his guts with a deeply homicidal fury. He growled from a place low in his chest, unable to control himself. “What did he do to you?”

  The little blond closed her eyes and dismissed his anger with a callous wave of her hand. “Look at you coming over all chivalrous now. Don’t you worry about me, Ironsides.” She pointed to her chest, still proud and impressive under a thin blue tee shirt. “The girls did exactly the job I bought them to do, and I’ve taken worse hurts than this over less. He may have stolen second base but we threw him out at third, if you catch my meaning.” Her eyes went cold and hard. “Besides, I’m no delicate maiden. If I thought letting him go all the way home would give me a shot at killing him? Well, let’s just say there ain’t nothing a piece of shit like him can do to me that I can’t fix with a hot bath.”

  Roland nodded, and his reply conveyed nothing but the respect of a peer. “You’re one hard woman, Mindy.”

  “A girl can get that way after a while,” she agreed.

  “Roger that. The fucker had some speed on him when he came flying out of that alley, by the way. You’re pretty damn tough for a runt.”

  This earned him a smile. “Yeah, well, that was the last of what I had to give. I figured you could take it from there.”

  Roland gestured to the devices attached to him. “Not sure I did much better. Lucia dropped him in the end.”

  Mindy let the smile fade. “What the hell was he, Roland? He was way faster than me, strong as hell, and he popped you with a through-and-through. Now, being faster than me ain’t impossible. You are, the boss is, a couple of guys I know from Pike’s crew are spun-up all to hell, too. His limbs were all full-prosthetic, so being strong comes as no surprise either. But when was the last time you got drilled through the chest like that?”

  “I hear you. The pistols are new tech. I was following a lead on that when you called. But the speed surprised the hell out of me. I couldn’t keep up with him either. I didn’t get any video, but I think he is at least as fast as Lucia. Maybe faster.”

  “I’m always recording. The doc pulled the feed from my eyes and ears to look into it.”

  “Don’s helping out?” This drew a pause and a grunt from the big man. “We try to keep work away from him. I’m glad to have him on the case, either way.”

  “The boss convinced him. He is hilarious when he’s drunk.”
>
  “You should have seen him in his younger days. He once took a swing at a project manager who insisted that he leave the bar and come back to the lab after hours. Don doesn’t drink often, but when he is in the mood? Let’s just say that it’s best to just let whatever is going to happen, happen.”

  Mindy sighed. “Sounds like my kind of guy. I’ll have to start drinking with him. Now who the hell is this Chico guy to you, anyway?”

  “He is one half of the famous Garibaldi Brothers.”

  When Mindy did not immediately show signs of recognition, Roland explained. “They are twins. Well, they were twins. Triggermen, not registered with the Lodge. They worked the New Boston scene for a couple years and got a reputation for extreme prejudice and a damn-near-perfect success rate. They liked hopped-up SpyderCo rigs in five-millimeter. As much as I hated the jerks, I have to admit the bastards could shoot.”

  “Scabs,” Mindy said. “They’re always the worst. Most scabs don’t join up because even our minimal standards for behavior are too cumbersome for them.”

  “Yeah,” Roland agreed. “That sounds like the Garibaldis, all right. ‘Minimal’ standards were probably several levels above what their behavior was ever likely to get to. They really did not give a shit who the target was or how much collateral damage they caused. Rodney loved ‘em.”

  Mindy’s backwater accent ratcheted up several notches. “Well dip me in vinegar and call me a pickle! I am simply shocked at that revelation, Roland.”

  “I bet. Anyway, when Lucia and I went over to Hideaway that first night we ended up in a brawl with Rodney’s crew.”

  “Again, I am shocked.”

  “Lucia started it. The important part of the story is that I killed his twin brother in that fight. Technically, I guess Chico killed his own brother. I just arranged for Nico’s body to be between me and Chico when he shot at me. Whatever. I’m starting to think he took it personally.”

  “Imagine that.” Mindy sat up with only a tiny wince. “That explains why he is shooting people like Granovich, but it doesn’t explain how he is suddenly sporting a few million in hard body-mods, though.”

  “I have a theory on that. I’ll need to run it by Lucia’s brain to see what she thinks. She’s better at picking out patterns.”

  “What are you figuring?”

  “Think about the hits. First was The Madame. Madeleine ran the most successful guild in all of New Boston. She was bulletproof because she had so much dangerous information on all the players that no one dared touch her.”

  “But someone did,” Mindy added.

  “Someone she didn’t have dirt on.”

  Mindy nodded her comprehension. “So that rules out anyone from New Boston or even Earth.”

  “Right. Then there was The Widow.”

  “The last of the Combine Bosses,” Mindy said.

  “You got it. The last piece of the old syndicate, and someone who still had enough money, influence, and power to eventually retake control.”

  “So our enemy is foreign and doesn’t want the guilds or the crime bosses to run this town.”

  “Now we get to Chico.”

  “What about him?”

  “I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence when a guy who is faster than me shows up on my turf, shoots up my clients and friends, and just happens to have a unique weapon that can pierce my hide. There might be all of ten people in existence with reflexes better than mine, Mindy. Furthermore, there is no reason at all to spend money making a handgun that can take me out. It’s all just too goddamn impractical to not be deliberate.”

  “You suppose whoever this is has a real specific dislike for you on top of their other issues?” Her head shook. “That doesn’t really help, though. Lots of folks hate you.”

  “It’s a gift.” Roland ticked the points off on thick fingers. “We know our bad guy is obscenely rich, from off-world, wants to de-stabilize the New Boston rackets, and hates me.” He turned to wink at the assassin. “Do we know anyone like that?” It was a leading question, and Roland waited for Mindy to work it out.

  “The Brokerage!” she finally exclaimed. “You really think it’s them?”

  “It fits.” Roland wanted to shrug, but the pain in his chest kept him from doing so. “They have the money and the influence to swing whole corporations like blunt objects. And a dirtbag like Chico is the perfect operative for this. He already knows the players and the terrain. Plus, he has no scruples and an ax to grind. Bastard hates me as much as The Brokerage probably does, too. If you wanted to fuck up this town and had to deal with me in the process, a souped-up Chico would be just the guy to send.”

  “Load him up on crazy bionics, give him a gun that can shoot through anything, and set him loose?” Mindy raised her eyebrows. “It’s so damn crazy it just might work.”

  “It almost did.”

  Roland and Mindy looked to the entryway at the sound of Lucia’s voice. Blowing the magenta stripe of hair away from her face, she swept into the room with her arms full of food and supplies. “You guys feeling better?”

  Roland answered first. “I’m ready to get back to work, according to this thing.” He jerked a thumb at the monitor next to his chair. “Lung is still useless but I don’t really need it as long as the refractory is working.”

  “How is your pain?”

  “Worse than a hangnail, not as bad as a stubbed toe.”

  Lucia rolled her eyes. “Wow. You managed to be highly specific and completely unhelpful at the same time. Well done.”

  This time Roland did shrug, and a pain sharp but tolerable lanced through his chest. Lucia placed her bundles down on the coffee table in a loose pile. “Dad says if you start that lung bleeding again he will have to drill another hole in your chest to fix it. Go easy, please?”

  “Roger that, Boss.”

  “Mindy?” Lucia looked over to the blond. “How are you feeling?”

  The assassin grinned. “Better than a wet mop, worse than a warm blanket.”

  Lucia rewarded Mindy with a frown. “I think liked it better when you two didn’t get along. Since you are both recovered enough to have a sense of humor, I suppose we can get down to business, then.” She sifted through the pile of goods. “Mindy, you might like to know that Kitty is fine. She will be staying here as well until we sort out this Chico Garibaldi situation.”

  “Great. It’s going to get real cozy in here,” Roland griped.

  “I’m good with that,” Mindy replied with a leer.

  “This is not a sorority house slumber party. There is a good chance her ex-boyfriend is coming back, and we can’t afford to get caught with our pants down.” Her gaze bored into Mindy’s eyes and she added, “Literally or figuratively.”

  “Spoilsport,” the little blond whined.

  Roland began to disconnect the devices tying him to his chair. “Better get set up for a siege. I take it you don’t trust our good friend ‘Bob’ to keep his dog on a leash, then.”

  “Roland, I don’t think he even wants to.”

  “You wanna hear my theory?”

  “Does your theory include The Brokerage setting up Chico with a lot of biotech so he can destabilize the criminal power structure?”

  “Goddammit.”

  Mindy’s laughter was contagious. “He thought he was so freakin’ smart, too!”

  “Dad has been picking through Mindy’s video feed and examining Chico’s busted hand. It’s Corpus Mundi tech, and Manny has been running down all their holdings. When the networks bounced off conglomerates with charters in unregistered star systems or behind impenetrable trade agreements, we started to figure it out.”

  “Do we have a base of operations for them?” Roland found himself in the grips of a very urgent need to do extensive property damage.

  “No. Even Manny can’t get through the encryptions. But we have some leads.”

  “What about his bionics?” Mindy asked. “What the hell is he running?”

  “He was fast, Lucy,” Rola
nd cautioned. “Like, you fast. Faster than me, anyway. We need to know how to shut him down, and soon.”

  Lucia stopped rifling through the pile and looked up. “That is even more interesting,” she said. “The hand itself is latest generation military hardware. It’s exotic stuff but nothing revolutionary. Now get this: the controls architecture was some new kind of synthetic nerve fiber. Dad doesn’t think it’s reverse-engineered Golem tech, but it looks to him like someone has been trying to duplicate his work. We don’t know for sure, but it’s entirely possible they have overcome some of the speed restrictions of that technology.”

  A few semesters of engineering school and a lifetime as a cyborg had made Roland very conversant in the limitations of bionic limbs. He wondered aloud, “Can a military prosthetic even be calibrated to human nerve conduction at those speeds? Solenoids and actuators are faster than muscle contraction, obviously. It’s never the hardware that slows us down.” He tapped his forehead for Mindy’s edification. “It’s the wetware. The feedback loop to action potential in the brain can only go so fast. There is a mathematical limit to how quickly the reactions can occur. Boost it too hard, electrical potential backs up behind the choke point, and boom!” He pantomimed an explosion at his temple. “Now you’ve got brain damage and degraded performance. At about 500% speed, the electrochemical activity is occurring faster than the calcium ions in a neuron can be replaced. If you’ve avoided a psychotic episode up to this point, good for you. Now you get to enjoy a bunch of seizures.”

  Lucia picked up the lecture. “That’s why you never see anyone running much faster than three, sometimes four times normal. Even at three times, you used to get migraines, right Mindy?”

  The blond head nodded. “‘Til the Doc fixed me up, anyway.”

  “He’s good at that. Take me for instance. I’m a mutant,” Lucia said. “My brain handles action potentials in parallel, not in series. If I wanted, my father thinks I could safely go to seven or eight times normal speed without taxing my frontal cortex at all.” She added, “Ironically, because my feedback loop was too fast, this caused an endless string of seizures when I was a kid. They had to pump me so full of anticonvulsants that I couldn’t even feed myself. I almost ended up a vegetable. I still have a ton of neurological damage from my childhood to this day. Dad ended up replacing whole parts of my brain with his nanobots. There are huge chunks of my childhood I can’t even remember.”