by LC Champlin
“You and your party arrived on a helicopter. You could’ve dropped them off at ten or more safe points between here and South San Francisco.”
“I gave them the choice. No one held a gun to their heads.”
“People follow the man with a plan, or in reality the man with a mouth. After the sturm und drang they’ve been through, you know perfectly well they’re in no shape to make logical decisions. They’re scared little sheep. Given bad enough alternatives, even the wolf looks like the shepherd.”
“I know the difference between authority and leadership. And my people are anything but sheep.”
“Mm.” Ken rubbed his chin in exaggerated thought. “I’ve found there’s no benefit to being leader. Glorious purpose or not, it’s a burden. Leaders get all the blame and none of the credit. Count the cost before you step up to be alpha okami.”
Okami. Wolf. “A burden makes its bearer stronger. People’s lives are at stake. There’s nothing more important.”
“Not even the data on those drives? Hmm?” Ken’s brows disappeared into his bangs. “You put a priority on it, even though it meant dragging your people away from safe zones.”
“The information on those drives could save millions of lives.” As long as it saved his people’s lives, any others amounted to icing on the cake.
“Developing the data will require a lot of time, not to mention leadership.”
“Which you think you could provide better than I?” The idiocy just wouldn’t stop.
Backing up a yard, Ken barked a laugh. “Riddle me this: Why would I want to break up your club? Does it look like I think you’re a threat, or like I need a motley crew? I have a fortress.” The rest, though unsaid, came across at megaphone volume: You don’t have anything. Not an army, not a Hulk, not a tank. You need me.
“And what an impressive Oshiro it is, too.” Congenial tone and smile.
Brilliant and innovative, the inventor would make a valuable ally. If he refused, however . . . No one is indispensible.
Chapter 36
Sight Beyond Sight
Human – Rag’n’Bone Man
Albin fumbled for his mobile. After a moment of blindness from the screen light, 02:22 slid into focus. The blasted time zone would kill him yet.
With a half sigh, half growl, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. A wave of nausea crashed into him, forcing his head between his knees.
It passed, leaving emptiness in its wake. Did it stem from stress? Psychological trauma? Whatever the cause, it drove sleep to high ground. Gathering his mobile, flashlight, and AR-15, he pushed to his feet.
After tying his trainers, he stepped into the hall. He crept past the other guest rooms. Thankfully Kenichi-san dispensed with the samurai tradition of installing creaky floors as a burglar alarm. Infrared cameras and motion sensors replaced them. Traps akin to the electrified floor also guarded the fortress.
Mr. Serebus distrusted Kenichi-san, but at the moment, the technology innovator’s compound offered their best chance of survival. But they must remain in his good graces if they wished to remain in his fortress.
Footsteps padded behind him. Pivoting, Albin snapped the rifle and torch to pin the figure.
A ghost raised his hand to shield his eyes. “Mr. Conrad?”
“Mr. Kuznetsov.” Albin lowered the weapon and beam. The Russian occupied the bottom of the list of people he wished to meet in the wee hours. The possibility of gaining information on Birk’s data, however, nullified his disappointment at the encounter. “I assumed you would be asleep or assisting with the data.”
“We reached a stopping point.”
“Did you make any progress?”
“Yes and no. I’m sure Mr. Serebus will explain it in the morning.”
Albin flicked the torch’s beam back in Kuznetsov’s eyes. “Are you unable to provide a summary? The files were the reason for our last several combat encounters.” Out with it!
Blinking, Kuznetsov stepped back. “If you want to look at the files, I can give you access to their location on the Oshiro drive.”
At this, Albin’s shoulders relaxed. “Very well. Do so after I return.” The hint could not come across more clearly if he had written it on the wall: now leave me.
“Speaking of not sleeping,” Kuznetsov blundered on, “Mr. Serebus was brief in his explanation, but I assume you haven’t truly rested since . . .” He trailed off as he followed Albin. Did the man lack all ability to understand subtlety?
“Since Friday.” Was it now truly only Sunday night?
“Are your dreams troubling you?”
“Time zones are troubling me.” Why did his mind’s unconscious processes suddenly interest everyone? “Where will I be able to access the CCTV feeds? I need to see outside. I also require access to the news reports.” How did New York City fare?
Kuznetsov bobbed his head like a mourning dove. “Come.” He motioned for Albin to join him as he turned back down the hall. “I don’t have full access, but I can help.”
“Kenichi-san does not trust his former employee?”
“We parted on good terms, but Mr. Oshiro is . . .”
“Cautious. Yes.” A thought struck, originating from frustration with the situation. “Do you regret your decision to leave Oshiro Nexus Innovations?”
“No!”
“Are you certain?”
Kuznetsov flinched, then he straightened to his full height, two centimeters below Albin’s. “I left to pursue other opportunities. You and Mr. Serebus have been very good to me.” Spending his formative years in the Soviet Union caused his reflexive shudder at the color red and his compulsion to prove his worth.
“You have been a considerable asset to Arete Technologies, Mr. Kuznetsov. Your service as a liaison between Arete and ONI lessened the difficulty of my tasks. Mr. Serebus was appreciative as well. ONI’s use of our processors was a considerable contract.”
“I like my job, Mr. Conrad.”
They halted before a sliding panel. To the right of it, a counter bore the portrait of a dragon and a tiger locked in combat. The dragon, a blue Oriental lung, held a gold disk in its fore claws. Kuznetsov pressed his thumb to the object. Dragon and tiger writhed on the portrait, or rather the screen.
“In here.” The engineer slid the panel aside to reveal a circular room. Flat-screen monitors covered the walls from floor to ceiling, surrounding a podium in the chamber’s center. As the men entered, a light clicked on to bathe the room in crimson. Kuznetsov stepped up to the podium and placed his palm on its center. “Tsukiyomi-no-mikoto, engage.” He pushed the surface forward, then lifted a pair of sport-frame glasses from the cavity. “Here.” He offered them to Albin.
With a sigh, Albin slipped them on. The walls glowed as the screens flared to life with images of halls and rooms inside, and paths and gardens outside. One quarter of the screens remained blank. Apparently Kuznetsov’s security clearance failed to unlock that level.
Each view remained for five seconds before cycling to another. All looked calm. The lab flashed onto a central screen, displaying Kenichi-san in front of monitors. As Albin’s gaze paused on the screen, the glasses sensed the lack of motion in his eyes and responded by shifting the view to full-field.
“What of outside?” At the words, the walls glowed with images of the exterior and its driveways, gardens, and walkways. Views of the mansions several acres away appeared on half the wall, then the screen views detached from the wall to stack in the air before him. After collapsing into a green sphere, the orb spread across his glasses. A three-dimensional layout of the Oshiro and its neighbors formed. A view in thermal imaging materialized beside it.
While the neighbors’ mansions suffered from parasites in the form of cannibals—if he judged by their aimless wandering—Kenichi-san’s compound resisted. On the heat map to the right, the abominations’ skin appeared white with yellow sections, denoting a temperature at or above normal body level. If the
y indeed transformed into undead zombies as Behrmann suggested, the corpses would cool to their surroundings, a navy blue.
“Kuznetsov, how much do you know of the situation beyond the Oshiro?”
“We’ve been watching the news, but I know they aren’t giving the full story—”
“How do I access the media reports?”
“Display news feeds.” News footage appeared in a grid across the walls, representing at least a hundred channels from around the world.
“In summary?”
“There are terrorist attacks across the country and in the population centers of Europe and the UK.”
“Have any more occurred since yesterday?”
“Scattered, mostly low-tech, such as trucks running into crowds, or lone gunmen opening fire on civilians. Nothing of note in New York.”
Ah, Janine and David remained safe. Relief lightened the burden of his concern for them. But terrorists did not pose the only danger. “Are there cannibals elsewhere besides San Francisco?”
Shifting his weight from foot to foot, the hardware engineer nodded, wincing.
How sadly unsurprising. “Do they differ from those here?”
“I-I’m not sure. There’s not much information. The authorities say it’s a drug like Flakka or Spice. But some people on the news say it’s a sickness. Either way, they say people should keep their distance—” Kuznetsov’s explanation faded to white noise.
No doubt the government thought people would descend into still more panic if they knew they faced a contagion that could turn its victims into mindless cannibals. Bloody imbeciles! Ignorance of the monsters’ capabilities ensured even more people would contract the infection.
News footage displaying a hallway flashed across the screen near the top of the grid. Two gunmen in shemaghs trotted up to investigate a corpse. That passage . . . Doorway Pharmaceuticals?
The system brought the feed to full screen and activated the audio. Behrmann delivered the report: “The gunmen”—terrorists—“aren’t sure what the affected are, but they’re using them to their advantage. We know that only a gunshot or heavy blow to the head stops people who are suffering from this condition. Their black drool and possibly their other body fluids spread the drug.” On she rattled with half truths.
The “affected.” The “drug.” Even if she did wish to buck the system, the Powers That Be would edit or refuse to air her report.
When he looked to the bottom of the wall, where clips of other news channels scrolled past, the ABC feed returned to its original size. There, in the lower right corner, played more ABC. A still of Mr. Serebus in his plate-carrier chest rig appeared on the top half of the screen. Another image showed Albin with an AK. Unease at the attention twisted his stomach.
Behrmann outdid herself with the headline: New York Businessmen Face Gunmen to Assist Military in Hostage Rescue.
She proceeded to deliver a favorable account of their actions during the debacle. As long as she avoided worsening their status in the eyes of the government, she could report as she pleased. This carte blanche assumed she refrained from broadcasting their location for terrorists and terrorist mercenaries to hear.
“Are you all right?”
Albin blinked. “If you encounter Kenichi-san before I do, please inform him that I request security access for this system.”
“Certainly.” Kuznetsov ran the side of his thumbnail along the podium edge in an idle search for an imperfection he could begin worrying. Across his face warred a host of emotions: fear, pain, admiration, relief.
With a sigh, Albin forced his hand off the rifle to catch Kuznetsov’s shoulder. Heat radiated from the Russian’s wiry muscles. “Mr. Kuznetsov. We are in a war, but you are among friends.”
“Thank you.” Depression settled over the engineer’s demeanor as he in turn gripped Albin’s shoulder.
“Now, I require a view of the outside.” An idea struck before Kuznetsov could answer. “Are these glasses only useable in this room?”
“They work anywhere they can connect to the Oshiro network.”
“Access building layout.” A three-dimensional map appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the glasses: the main floor, upstairs, and basement. A green dot pulsed in a chamber of the Oshiro. Albin strode out of the room, following the hall that should lead to a staircase. The dot moved with him.
They halted before a sliding panel. Kuznetsov turned to a silk painting of two dancing cranes on the opposite wall. Placing his right palm on an image of a stone near the birds’ feet, he turned to watch the door slide open.
Four floors later, Albin entered the skydeck. The lights came up, casting the room in a sick green. Windows ringed the lookout, providing a view of the mansions and foothills of Woodside.
With the blackout that had rolled across the Bay Area, he looked out on a sea of darkness. Here and there a light burned like the cabin lamp of a fishing vessel. Headlights flashed in the distance as residents fled their mansions, or perhaps suffered invasions by vandals.
“Access night vision,” Albin hazarded. Green light washed out into the sea of ink. Judging from Kuznetsov’s gasp, the windows rather than the glasses produced the effect.
Weapon across his chest, Albin strolled the perimeter.
Silicon Valley hosted the residences of Steve Jobs of Apple, Paul Allen of Microsoft, Eric Schmidt of Google, and many other titans of technology and wealth. Their presence made home values skyrocket, drawing more upper-class residents. Business Insider named Woodside among the most expensive zip codes in the nation.
The lords of the realm would return to reclaim their lands. In the meantime, the invaders would sack the castles.
At the corner of his glasses blinked an icon in the form of a camera with lines radiating from it. He rested his gaze on it. Activate thermal imaging? appeared. “Yes.” Wandering figures materialized around other houses, exposed flesh burning white and yellow. The cannibals.
Sparks flashed in the yard of a mansion four houses from the Oshiro. Gunfire? As if reading Albin’s mind, Kuznetsov addressed the Oshiro: “Enhance image.” The window overlooking the flashes pulsed in response, then an enlargement of the area appeared on the glasses. Figures darted behind shrubs and out-buildings. Their hands and faces glowed orange, unlike the feverish infected.
A heartbeat later, headlights swung down the street. The vehicle veered onto a side road and disappeared among the trees and houses.
The headache that had sunk into the background crashed into Albin’s frontal lobe, cascading behind his eyes. Turning on his heel, he strode down the steps. The desert of his mental landscape opened in his mind to offer sanctuary in its darkness and cold.
On the ground level, he headed toward his room.
“Mr. Conrad?” came the engineer’s voice, hesitation softening it even beyond normal.
“I will await Mr. Serebus’s explanation of the data,” Albin preempted him. The words carried more snap than Albin intended.
Kuznetsov opened his mouth, then shut it. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away.
Albin sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Kuznetsov. I do not know what lies ahead, but it will require fortitude and teamwork. You have done well and are among friends.”
Peeking over at Albin, Kuznetsov forced a smile.
Chapter 37
Scrambled
Carol of the Bells - Autumn Burns Red
Outside Mr. Serebus’s room that morning, Albin raised a fist to rap on the panel’s frame—only to step back as the barrier slid aside to reveal the man in question. Damp hair slicked back, fresh steristrips covering facial injuries, and a glint of ferocity in his eyes, he appeared much improved from his state last night.
He wore a clean T-shirt, which read ONI—Reality’s worst nightmare. Albin smirked. “I take it you and Kenichi-san improved relations?”
“I’m pretending not to notice his passive-aggressive maneuvers.”
“Of course.
”
“So, breakfast?”
As they started down the passage, Mr. Serebus asked, “Do you have the Percocet on you?”
The blister pack in Albin’s pocket pressed against his thigh as if requesting new ownership. After all Mr. Serebus had endured in the past three days, he deserved a modicum of control. Albin produced the pack.
His employer accepted the pills, then swallowed half a tablet.
++++++++++++
“Sir,” Albin began as they trekked toward the kitchen, “I believe you will find this useful.” He withdrew a folded scrap of paper from his hip pocket. “The information was in Birk’s black notebook.”
Frowning, Nathan opened the page. He stopped so quickly Albin had to take two steps back to rejoin him. “Lexa Birk, in Berkeley. Is this the family Vic was blubbering about? Maybe he wants us to pay her a visit.”
“Why?” Albin’s eyes narrowed.
“I should have mentioned it earlier, but Birk wanted us to find his safe. I’m not certain why, though.”
“I see. Perhaps he hoped we would bring her the contents of his safe.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask, Why? Well, no matter.” Shoulders twitching in a shrug, he pocketed Lexa’s address. “Birk’s files will keep us busy enough here. But excellent data mining, Albin.” Grinning, his patted his friend on the back.
Albin smiled like a pleased feline.
As they continued toward breakfast, their caravan added a yawn-stifling Badal, hollow-eyed Mikhail, news-wired Josephine, wild-haired Marvin, and ear-pricked Judge. They trailed into the kitchen.
And what a kitchen! Stainless steel gleamed on all surfaces. Luckily, Ken had skipped the underworld theme here. No doubt he stocked skull goblets somewhere, but at least no cauldrons squatted over fires, and no animal carcasses hung from the rafters.
The guests spread out around the kitchen. Double refrigerator doors swung open, clearing the way for Marvin to stick his head inside. Judge nosed in beside him. “Hey, get out, girl. You already ate.” Ken stocked dog food?