by Todd McAulty
The fifty-ninth floor was dark and abandoned—to the right of the elevator, even the drywall was missing. But I found the stairwell that gave roof access right where the old blueprints said it would be.
The stairway was clogged with junk, though. Metal screens, boxes, even old paint cans. It would take some time to clear it all—and time was precious.
“There must be some other way to the roof,” I said. “Because they sure as hell don’t come this way very often.”
I started throwing everything off the stairs. It made a helluva racket, but time was more valuable than stealth at the moment.
I encountered another problem when I reached the top. I knew we weren’t just going to waltz out onto the roof without dealing with a locked door, but I’d expected an electronic lock. Something small and timid.
“Aw, crap,” I said.
“Problem?” asked Sergei.
“The damn door is padlocked. With chains ’n’ shit.” I clutched the cold lock in my hands, tugged once against the chains. “And the lock looks damn sturdy.”
“You are going to have to break it,” said Sergei calmly. “With crowbar.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Yes,” said Sergei, with infuriating confidence, “you can.”
I wanted to argue, but it was pointless. “Okay,” I said. I set down the backpack at the top of the stairs, limbered up with the crowbar for a few seconds, and then went to town on the lock.
I will spare you the painful (and I do mean painful) story of Me versus The Lock From Hell. Suffice to say, it is a tale of prolonged drama, unexpected reversals, tragedy, woe, blood, skinned knuckles, tearful capitulation, gentle encouragement, renewed hope, profound heroism, foul language, blind rage, and an ironic twist.
“I’m through,” I said after nearly ten minutes, still breathing hard from my exertions.
“Did you break lock?” Despite all his words of encouragement, the bastard sounded mildly amazed.
“No, one of the chain links was rusted out,” I said. “Hang on, let me get the chain untangled.”
A moment later I had the chain off the door, and the dented, cursed, and still wholly intact padlock with it. The hinges were a little rusty, but with a little encouragement I got the door open.
It was dark and windy out there. Very windy. The door opened up near a corner, facing the center of the roof. The roof was a maze of plumbing, ductwork, naked condenser coils, vents, and towering communication arrays. The latter were near the edges and brilliantly lit, casting weird shadows over everything here in the interior.
And there were drones. They hovered out there like wasps around a hive. The lights from the towers were blinding, and I could only see one or two at a time, but the air was filled with their constant hum.
“Are you on roof?” asked Sergei.
“Give me a sec,” I said. “I’m getting suited up.”
Back in the stairwell, I pulled off the medical tunic and got back into my museum intruder garb. I secured the scarf around my face as tightly as I could—there was a lot of wind, and I wasn’t going to have a free hand. I checked the drone jammer, made sure it was still on. Sergei had told me I didn’t need to worry about the thing running low on power, but I still felt better checking it every few minutes.
Then I reached into the backpack and pulled out the payload.
“I’ve got the flag,” I said.
“Don’t forget pins,” said Sergei.
“Yeah, yeah, I got the damn pins.”
Back on the roof, I took a moment to orient myself. Sergei and I had pored over pictures of the roof of the Sturgeon Building, selecting the tallest communication tower on which to hang our flag. On the pics, the choice had been obvious. But here on the roof, blinded and turned around, I had no idea which tower was which.
“Sergei! Which tower is it?”
“What?”
“The tower! Which one did we select?”
“High-frequency satellite receiver,” he said.
“Guide me to it!”
“Okay . . . okay. Is west of your location.”
I turned around, then turned around again. “Which way is west?”
“Can you see Belmont Building?”
I squinted. Everything beyond the harsh glare of the towers was just blackness. “No.”
“Hancock Building?”
“Sergei, I’m blind up here. I can’t see anything!”
“No,” said Sergei resolutely. “You can see dig.”
I looked around, a contradiction already forming on my lips. But I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right.
I could see the dig. From this altitude it consumed almost the entire eastern horizon, interrupted by only a few tall shadows I assumed were skyscrapers. A five-mile line of fire in the middle of the lake, stretching up into the sky.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I can see the dig. It’s on my left.”
“You are on north side of building. Satellite antenna is on southwest side.”
“Southwest,” I repeated, looking around.
“On your right,” he said patiently.
“I knew that.”
I made my way to the southwest corner, navigating around various obstacles. Just before I reached the tower a small aerial copter, not more than four feet in diameter, shot out of the darkness and buzzed my head, missing me by inches. It zoomed up toward the next tower over, finding a spot sheltered from the wind and nesting down like a bird.
“Lot of traffic up here,” I said.
“Most drones will ignore you. They are service units for towers—weather drones and such.”
“Weather drones,” I said. “I bet they forecast for shit.”
“You are correct,” said Sergei.
I knew where I wanted to hang the flag, but I’d have to plan my approach. The wind kept shifting, sometimes treacherously so, and I hadn’t come all this way just to lose my balance and end up a street pizza.
“New update,” said Sergei. “Drones are being recalled.”
“Someone finally looked at the cameras,” I said.
“Perhaps you are correct. Soldiers are being pulled out of alley, returning to building.”
“Bet you a hundred bucks they’re on their way up here.”
“Possible. What is your status?”
I looked up at the network of bare girders and crisscrossing steel that formed the base of the tower. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I started to climb.
It was easier once I got under way. Carrying the flag was the hard part, since it meant I did most of the climbing one-handed. The wind was harsh, but more or less steady. Once I got higher than about thirty feet the core of the tower got a little crowded, and I started climbing on the outside.
The tower swayed in the wind. Not much, but it got more noticeable as I got higher. With each gust of wind the tower seemed to sway a little farther out, dangling me perilously close to the edge of the building.
“I’m high enough,” I said.
I unfurled the flag. The wind took it immediately, almost yanked it out of my hands. I got the first pin through the flag and attached to a steel girder, but the second one took much longer. Twice the damn flag slipped through my fingers, flapping madly in the breeze, and I had to climb up and grab it out of the air again. But the top pin held firm, and soon enough I had the second attached. I did one more for good measure, then climbed down the tower.
I stood back to examine my handiwork. “How high is flag?” asked Sergei.
I was about to answer “Fifty feet” when I realized that it was more like thirty-five. Sure seemed a lot higher when I was on the tower.
“Almost forty feet,” I told Sergei. “I bet you can see her from half a mile away. She’s beautiful.”
She was. She flew steady and true in a strong gust of wind blowing off Lake Michigan, and the red, white, and blue glowed in the bright lights of the tower.
“Welcome home, girl,” I said.
Then
I reached into my pocket, and turned off the device.
“Stand by,” said Sergei. “Drones are picking up fresh signal.”
“They better get a move on. I’m starting to freeze up here.”
“They have you,” said Sergei. “They are on the way.”
“They’re here,” I said.
XIV
Saturday, March 13th, 2083
Posted 11:51 pm by Barry Simcoe
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The first drone came in hard from the west, bucking the wind. It soared out of the darkness like a great predatory bird, coming in close. It parked itself in the air not fifteen feet from where I stood, hovering over me, getting all up in my face.
Look at you, I thought. Cocky bastard. Come in a little closer where my crowbar can reach you, you tin-plated piece of shit.
“Surveillance algorithm is receiving visual,” said Sergei.
“Yeah? Can you see me?” I waved at the drone.
“Stand by.”
A second drone zoomed by on the right. This one was bigger, a little heavier, with more nasty attachments.
“Its buddy is here,” I said.
“Drones have received new instructions. They are to observe only, not engage.”
“That means soldiers are on the way,” I said.
“You should leave.”
“Roger that,” I said. “I’m gone.”
I hunched over and sprinted for the center of the roof. I heard the first drone spin up behind me, beginning pursuit.
I ducked behind a big metal vent and turned the device back on. I counted to five then stood up, watching the drone. It sailed right over me, beginning a search pattern among the maze of heat exchangers and vents in the middle of the roof.
Loser, I thought.
“I have image from drone,” said Sergei.
“Yeah?” I said. “I bet I look good.”
I made my way back to the door. Just before I reached it I heard a noise, on the far side of the roof. I ducked down, crawled over to a three-foot metal roof cap, and peeked over.
Half a dozen soldiers had emerged from a metal hut on the east side. They were armed and moved very quietly. The one in front was directing the two behind him with quick, silent motions. They nodded and raced west to flank the communications tower.
“Venezuela’s finest are here,” I said.
“Do not let them see you.”
“Yeah,” I said.
I crawled back to the door, squeezing through and closing it behind me as quietly as I could. I retrieved my crowbar, then started down the stairs.
There was someone standing in the doorway at the bottom. Whoever it was was short, not much more than five feet tall. The figure was nearly featureless in the shadows, but it didn’t look like a soldier.
I hesitated, but only for a moment. The only way out is through that door, I thought. Clutching the crowbar, I strode down the stairs.
By the time I neared the bottom, I knew who it was. Sweet baby Jesus, what the hell is she doing here?
It was the robot from the Field Museum. She was dressed in the same dark cloak. She watched me through her inflexible mask, with its strangely painted features. She was missing the bag on her shoulder, but otherwise she looked exactly the same as at our last encounter.
“Mr. Simcoe,” she said. Her head lifted slightly. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Shit. The drone jammer was in my pocket, but it seemed to have no effect on her at all—just as it hadn’t when I first encountered her at the Field Museum. She was staring straight at me. Whatever she was using for image recognition, it was clearly far more sophisticated than the off-board systems Black Winter and the Venezuelan drones relied on.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“You will proceed to the sixteenth floor. There you will take possession of a mobile data drive. You will take this drive to Specialist Vulka, and assist him in decrypting the contents.”
I’d pretty much stopped listening after she said “Specialist Vulka.” Shit, I thought. That’s the second time she’s mentioned Sergei. We’re both in it now.
“No,” I said.
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “Specialist Vulka is mistaken in his assumptions regarding the origin of F5-117. It is not a bioengineered virus. It is much more insidious in character and genesis. There is a counteragent, but it will require time to synthesize in volume.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
I raised the crowbar, tried to assess what it would do to her. It was hard to gauge her exact body shape under the cloak, but her frame seemed delicate, almost fragile. The crowbar was reassuringly solid in my hand.
“The data includes information on the source of the F5-117 pathogen, and guidance on engineering the counteragent,” she said. “But time is critical.”
“Please get out of my way,” I said.
Sergei stopped his constant typing. “Who are you talking to?” he said.
The robot didn’t respond . . . and didn’t move. Her head cocked to the left slightly, giving her an almost puzzled look.
I couldn’t see her hands. The oversized sleeves of her cloak met in the center of her torso, like a monk in prayer. She could have anything hidden in there. A knife, a gun. A rocket launcher. Two steps closer, and she’d be able to put her cold robot hands around my neck.
I needed to get around her, right friggin’ now. One swing from the crowbar should send her sprawling. Break that mask in half, expose what was hiding underneath. I raised it to my shoulder, gripping it with both hands.
I took a step forward. She continued to regard me, without flinching.
I took another step. She was too small to block the corridor; I pressed up against the wall and slipped past her on the right. Her cloak brushed against my legs, but her robot hands did not close around my neck.
I was in the hallway. Forty feet away was the elevator. I made for it without looking back.
“They’re waiting for you,” she said.
I stopped, turned around. The robot stood facing me with her hands at her sides. They were small robotic hands, with fingers that looked like tiny styluses. “I don’t think so. They think I’m on the roof,” I said.
“They’re not sure where you are. But Colonel Hayduk is already furious that you’ve gotten as far as you have. He has stationed Quanta team on the first floor and sealed off the lobby. You’ll be taken into custody the moment you step out of the elevators.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said.
“Even if you should make your way out of the building, you will not likely escape the coming outbreak. The pathogen has a nearly eighty percent fatality rate. It will reach critical exposure levels in the next twelve to fifteen days.”
She began to walk toward me slowly. “I am afraid you cannot run away far enough, nor fast enough, to escape what is coming. One way or another, you decide your fate today.”
Sergei hissed in my ear. “Is she speaking of pathogen? I need to hear what she is saying.”
“No, we really don’t,” I said. I was backing up, toward the elevator.
“Specialist Vulka will require a sixty-gallon bioreactor to synthesize the counteragent. It will take several days to procure it. There is a reactor of sufficient volume available through a commercial distributor in Michigan.”
“I need to hear this,” Sergei said. “Please, get closer.”
“Sergei—”
“Specialist Vulka will also require seven hundred gallons of high-grade solvent and a vapor extractor. He will need to procure these immediately.”
“Closer,” said Sergei.
I swore under my breath and stopped retreating. The robot continued her slow approach. There was a slight sway to her walk, like a dancer. Her hands came together dem
urely at her waist.
“You will find Primer Teniente Nasir on the fifteenth floor. Tell him the Catalina Mission requires Colonel Hayduk’s data be secured immediately. He will hesitate; you must be as insistent and as impatient as possible.”
“What kind of data?” I asked. Every instinct I had told me I should run. Why am I wasting time listening to this?
“Primer Teniente Nasir is terrified of authority; he will give you whatever you ask for. If you are bold, you can acquire everything you need.”
She was right in front of me. One small hand reached up, and I felt her metal fingers brush against my chest.
“And you have already demonstrated that you have no problem being bold,” she said.
“What data do we need?” asked Sergei.
“What data do we need?” I said.
“All of it. All of Colonel Hayduk’s personal data,” she said. “It contains information on the source and nature of the pathogen and the formula for the counteragent. Nasir will procure it for you.”
“I can’t get to the fifteenth floor without going through the lobby,” I said.
“Take the elevator to the thirty-first floor. It is under construction and currently abandoned. You can drop to the twenty-ninth floor, then take the west elevator to the fifteenth.”
“What about cameras?”
“I will deal with the cameras. I will digitally alter your voice and appearance in the data record so that you will not be recognized.”
Her fingers tugged the scarf away from my face. “You will not need this.”
I took her fingers in my hand, removed them from my scarf. They were cold and hard.
“The soldiers are not your primary concern,” she said. “You will meet a hostile intelligence on the sixteenth floor. Its designation is Standing Mars. It is a dangerous opponent, and it will kill you if it finds you.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“We share an enemy, Mr. Simcoe.”
“Who is that?”
She seemed about to answer, then paused. Her body froze for a brief moment.
“The situation has changed,” she said. “You must hurry. You can still escape the Sturgeon Building, but to do so requires that you get under way immediately.”