by Todd McAulty
Time to hurry.
A woman walked out of the closest office, holding a data slate. She stopped abruptly, openly staring at me in the combat suit. Behind me, the bald guy in uniform stood up and tapped on the glass wall to get her attention.
I strode past her without slowing. There were half a dozen offices in immediate sight, but I was interested in one in particular. I got lucky with the fourth one on the left. A thin metal plate on the door read gustav hayduk.
The combat suit gave out two more beeps, more assertive this time.
Hayduk’s GPU unlocked the door for me. The office was almost obsessively tidy. A single 20-inch computer screen stood sentinel on his desk next to a slim handheld tablet. Two metal cabinets dominated the back wall. There was a camera mounted on the ceiling, and it tracked me automatically as I entered the room.
I knew I wouldn’t have time for a thorough search. Fortunately, I didn’t need one—I found what I wanted in minutes, in a heavy case on the floor next to the cabinets. I lifted it onto the table and tried the lid. It wasn’t locked, and it slid open with a satisfying click.
On top was a two-page report, bearing the insignia of the Venezuelan Corps of Engineers. I set that aside. Underneath, sealed in what looked like evidence bags, were the power cells for the combat suit. As I lifted them from the case, two more beeps sounded in my ears. The suit, hungry for power.
Goddamn. At last.
It took me thirty frustrating seconds to tear open one of the bags. They were made of the same stuff as airplane black boxes, I swear to God. I finally got a small rip in one corner and, using both hands, tore a hole large enough to slide out the power cell.
Outside I could hear the woman speaking to someone, and then an answering voice from the far end of the hall. I spun the cell in my hands, looking for a way to turn it on. It was a slender metal disk, oddly flexible, about three inches in diameter and almost featureless. I couldn’t find anything that looked like an On button. Finally, hoping for the best, I reached around to the small of my back and inserted it into the tightly recessed cavity at the back of the suit.
The reaction was immediate. My visor went completely dark, rendering me blind.
That wasn’t what I’d expected. I felt suddenly claustrophobic, trapped, breathing only stale air inside my mask. I heard footsteps out in the hall, muffled conversation, someone barking instructions. All while I stood there stupidly with my hands behind my back.
I heard more conversation. Someone had moved into the room, was possibly standing right in front of me.
I straightened slowly, fighting to stay calm. I reached out for the desk with my left hand, trying to get my bearings, moving slowly so I didn’t appear to be groping. The suit seemed heavy and constricting all of a sudden, and I really did feel like I was suffocating. The urge to tear off the mask was almost overwhelming, even though it would mean exposing my face to the cameras—not to mention whoever was in the room with me.
The room was suddenly very quiet. For a moment I thought I could sense someone moving to my right, trying to circle around behind me, and I jerked my head in that direction reflexively. But my visor remained fully dark.
I felt frustrated and helpless—why hadn’t I learned more about the suit before taking a risk like this?
There was another soft sound, this one to my right. My hand went to the back of my mask, ready to pull it off. But I hesitated, gripped by uncertainty. Should I try to pry the power cell out instead? Would that return the mask to normal, or just make things worse?
As I stood there, feeling vulnerable and stupid, something blue flickered in my visor. It happened a second time, and suddenly I could see again. My cheeks felt cool air circulating in my mask as the suit came to life around me.
There was a low, measured, feminine voice in my ear, so quiet as to be almost inaudible, conducting what sounded like an automated systems check. It said: “Tactical navigation—currently unavailable.”
And: “Low orbit DP—currently unavailable. Remote guidance systems—no response.”
And more stuff like that. Most of it incomprehensible to me, but all with a similar theme: the suit was lost and confused, and everything was pretty much crap.
I really didn’t care at that moment. With my vision restored I spun around quickly, looking to see who was in the room. I expected to find a soldier at my side, about to club me with a rifle butt.
Standing behind me was Jacaranda.
“Hello,” she said, in her odd musical voice.
I was so startled, I had nothing to say. She took two steps forward, walking around me.
“I must say, Mr. Simcoe. You are a man of exceptional daring. This is unexpected, even for you.”
“What are you doing here?” When I spoke, the suit amplified my voice. It boomed into the room, strangely distorted.
“I am here to assist you. This room is where you will find all your answers.”
There was another shout, out in the hallway. The men with guns would be here in moments.
“I’m not interested in answers,” I said. “I’m here to save—”
I glanced up at the camera. I’d almost said Sergei’s name where everything I was doing was almost certainly being recorded.
“Do not concern yourself with the cameras,” she said. “While you are in this room with me, they will not hear you.”
“I’m here to save Sergei,” I said.
“I am sorry about your friend. He is lost to us now. Once Colonel Hayduk takes a prisoner, they do not return. Innocent or guilty, it matters not to him. They belong to him, and he does not release them.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said. Clutching the second power cell and Hayduk’s GPU, I stepped toward the door. Jacaranda moved smoothly to block the way.
“Get out of my way,” I said.
“Do not let his sacrifice be in vain,” she said. “Look.”
Despite myself, I glanced where she was pointing. On the floor next to the back cabinet was a small portable safe.
“Open it,” she said.
“No.”
“I will give you the codes,” she said.
“Get out of my way,” I said.
She stepped closer. So close that I could see through the eye holes of her mask. I expected to see a hint of silver, the mysterious robotic face I’d caught a glimpse of in the Field Museum, but instead I saw what looked like soft skin around her eyes.
“You’re so close,” she whispered, “to truly understanding what’s happening. You know there’s a Sovereign Intelligence in Zimbabwe investigating you. You know there’s a race of robots secretly living under Chicago. You know Armitage is scheming to exterminate human life in the Midwest. You know the pretext for the invasion of America was a lie. Don’t you want to know why?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s all connected,” she said. “All of it. And the connecting piece is in that box.”
I hesitated. “Connected how?”
“By the truth. The one the Sentient Cathedral is so desperate to conceal. That truth is the real reason Armitage has risked everything to control Chicago. And why Hayduk is so desperate to find you.”
Shit.
I bent down and examined the safe. It was roughly a two-foot cube, pretty low-tech. It had a thumbprint scanner, a keypad, a handle on the front, and not much else.
“It needs a thumbprint to open,” I said.
“I shall give you the bypass codes,” she said.
Something wasn’t right. “You have bypass codes for this safe?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then you open it. If you have all the codes, and can waltz in here past all this security, then why do you need me?”
Jacaranda didn’t answer. I stood up. I started to circle around her.
“You don’t need me to open this safe, do you?” I said. “You could have opened it yourself any time you like. You could have given them to me days ago. But you didn’t. Instead, here y
ou are. You want me here. Why?”
Jacaranda remained silent. I kept circling, watching her.
“You’re a ghost. Or you pretend to be,” I said. “But you need me for something, and you’re not telling me what it is.”
She stood frozen. The only sound was a dull hammering coming from the hallway.
“Well,” I said. “We’re at an impasse. We have to trust each other, or this is all going to be over in a matter of minutes. I’m willing to play along. But you’re hiding something from me, and I need to know what it is.”
In response, Jacaranda lifted her head slightly. I followed her gaze.
“What?” I said. “The cameras? You said they can’t see you. No, wait . . . that’s not what you said. You said that when I’m in here with you, the cameras can’t hear me.”
“Correct,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Hayduk,” Jacaranda said, “is not a stupid man. He is putting the pieces together. He is beginning to suspect my existence. He is beginning to suspect that he cannot trust the evidence of his digital surveillance network.”
“So what?” I said. “You don’t even show up on his cameras. He’ll never find you.”
“He doesn’t have to. If he becomes concerned enough, he’ll report his suspicions to his master.”
“Armitage.”
“Yes. And Armitage is capable of finding me, once he’s told where to look. He’ll see the traces that no one else does.”
“So for you to stay hidden, you need me to . . . ah.”
“You understand,” she said.
“Yes, of course. You can hide yourself, but you can’t hide the theft. You need me to cover your tracks. So you block the sound to the cameras, but not the visual. So Hayduk has someone to blame—the American terrorist—instead of a ghost, and he doesn’t turn to Armitage for help.”
“Precisely. I am also delaying the feed to the command center. Hayduk does not know your location, and he will not for several minutes.”
“Good news,” I said, bending over the safe. “Why didn’t you just tell me that to begin with? Let’s get this done.”
Altogether Jacaranda gave me eight codes. If I’d known it was going to take that long to open the goddamn safe, I wouldn’t have bothered. When she was finished, I yanked on the handle impatiently. The safe opened smoothly.
Inside was a pistol, a slim black data slate, four stacks of Venezuelan bolívar bills, a thin black case, and a wallet. I reached for the slate.
“The wallet,” said Jacaranda.
I grabbed the wallet and stood up. It was made of leather and very light. I flipped it open.
It wasn’t a wallet. It was a carrying case for a short, squat data drive.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Hayduk has not been chasing you to recover the suit,” said Jacaranda. “Nor to prevent you from using the recipe for the antivirus you took. He has been desperate to find you because you stole a much greater secret.”
“I don’t have time for riddles. Spit it out.”
“The data drive you took from him,” she said. “It contained several documents.”
“Yeah. Most of them we couldn’t decrypt.”
Jacaranda put her fingers on top of the hand holding the drive. Her touch was light and warm.
“This is the algorithm to decrypt the drive,” she said.
“What’s on it?”
“The true reason for the war,” she said simply.
Outside, I heard more hammering and the sound of breaking glass. It was definitely time to leave.
“I sealed the glass enclosure after you stepped through,” Jacaranda said matter-of-factly. “But it won’t hold them for long.”
I tossed the wallet away and slipped the short data drive into the bag with the remaining power core. There was another empty slot at the small of my back, and I was tempted to try inserting the second core. But if it caused another system fluctuation or reboot like the first, I’d be standing here blind with my thumb up my ass when the soldiers burst into the room. I left the core in the bag and moved to the entrance.
“I delayed the camera feeds in this room,” she said. “But that will not prevent the soldiers in the hall from seeing you when you leave. Once you step out that door, I can no longer help you.”
I hesitated for a second. I had promised Black Winter that I’d help put him in touch with Jacaranda the next time I saw her . . . although this hardly seemed the ideal time to bring it up. I settled for asking, “How can I contact you?”
“I will arrange communication when it is safe.”
“I understand. Thanks for your help. How will you get away?”
“The same way I got here,” she said mysteriously.
“Good luck,” I said.
“And to you.”
I pulled open the door, stepping back cautiously as I did so. The corridor was filled with shouting and the sound of breaking glass, but the section of hallway immediately in front of the office was empty. I couldn’t see a soul.
That wasn’t strictly true, I realized abruptly. The suit was sketching thin ghost outlines on the inside of my visor, and after a moment I realized they were people. People in the corridor—or the outlines of people, seen right through the walls. Presumably in infrared, or whatever spectrum the military was using to track and kill people these days.
If the suit was to be believed, there were four people in the hall. The two closest were easy to identify from their outlines: the woman and the bald door guard. The other two were amorphous blobs with legs—but they were moving closer, approaching from the right, at the far end of the corridor. I heard another shout, this one oddly amplified by the suit.
I stepped out of the office. There was a sudden shriek from the young woman, who stood barely twenty feet to my right. She covered her mouth and stumbled backwards, keeping her eyes on me. She was the only one on my side of the glass wall.
Behind her, on the other side of the glass, the bald guy was trying to smash the glass door using a metal chair. When he saw me, he dropped the chair and pulled out his own GPU card. He held it against the metal pad on the wall, and I saw it flash red. He swore in frustration. Clearly this wasn’t the first time he’d tried.
Behind him the man who had followed me from the stairwell and another armed soldier were approaching fast. They both held short pieces of unpolished metal that would serve very nicely as crowbars. They waved the bald man back and went to work on the door.
I turned my back on them and headed in the opposite direction.
I passed more offices. A white-haired man stuck his head out of one, speaking to me sternly in Spanish. I ignored him, and he stepped back inside and grabbed a phone.
Moving in the suit was easier now. Air was flowing, and the mask no longer felt sweaty and restricting. The suit no longer resisted me, or even seemed as heavy. If anything, it almost seemed to move in sync with me. This effect became more prominent as the minutes ticked by, as if the suit was learning. Or maybe it was just limbering up, like an athlete before a marathon.
In fact, the only uncomfortable aspect now was my ankles. The suit had clamped down on them, as if compensating for the lack of boots and determined to keep a tight seal. All well and good, but it was cutting off the circulation in my feet, and I was starting to lose feeling in my toes.
The offices ahead were under construction, and the wall on my right was missing. The Venezuelans were building something, something that needed heavy-duty power cables—cables that were currently wrapped in nonconducting plastic and dangling unused from the ceiling. A tall, lumpy black metal pillar dominated the space. There was something familiar about it, familiar and deeply alarming, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it might be and I didn’t have time to investigate.
I pushed on, looking for an exit. On my left a windowless office had been converted to a makeshift biolab, with half a dozen grow-tanks filled with fluid—fluid and dark shapes that stirred slowly in un
seen currents. A middle-aged woman in a white lab coat who had bent over a table to inspect a portable pump looked up at me in surprise.
I kept moving. Behind me I heard renewed shouting, and a loud crack as the door gave way. They were coming through.
The corridor ended, opening into a large conference room. Dozens of folding metal chairs were arranged in disordered lines before a battered podium and a huge wall-mounted data display. Exits were clearly marked on both the left and right. I took a hard left as I entered, getting out of the firing line of the soldiers coming up fast behind.
Straight ahead, jogging forward to investigate all the commotion, were two soldiers. The guy on the left looked familiar, but I couldn’t immediately place him. He had the stripe of a lance corporal, a cabo segundo, on his epaulette.
The one on the right was Sergeant Noa Van de Velde.
The corporal reacted first. He drew his sidearm with impressive speed. As he did, I recognized him. He was one of the soldiers who’d chased me through half a mile of underground tunnel before running into the Orbit Pebble.
He had his gun aimed squarely at my chest, and his hands were steady. But he didn’t seem prepared to fire without word from his sergeant. “¿Sargento?” he said.
Van de Velde appeared frozen. She was gaping at me, her mouth open.
The suit did not like the corporal. He was starkly outlined on my display, and his weapon was flagged in bright red. The suit wanted me to disarm him. It seemed hungry for motion.
All right, suit. Let’s see what you’ve got.
“¿Sargento?” he said again. He glanced uncertainly to his left.
I lunged. The suit anticipated me, accelerating me faster than I would have thought possible. I swatted the corporal’s hands to the left, simultaneously grabbing his elbow. The gun fired harmlessly into the wall.
I yanked him toward me, hard, pulling him off balance and pinching his wrist. I slammed the palm of my left hand into his chin, forcing his head back. I felt something in his elbow crack. The corporal shouted in pain.