by Guy Haley
Otto engaged his full suite of cybernetic and biophysical enhancements as he hit the man-high corn, pushing his body well past human norms. His secondary heart drove doctored blood hard through his body, assisted lungs wringing the air of oxygen. His adapted adrenal glands issued synthetically optimised ephinephrine, feeding his muscles with energy at an accelerated rate. Otto's enhanced biochemistry was not intended to make him stronger, although it did, but to enable his body to keep pace with his secondary polymer musculature. These muscles, contracting to carefully timed impulses drawn off his rewired nervous system, were what provided him with his inhuman strength, driving his limbs like pistons as he hurtled across the field. Without boosting, his organic muscles would be ripped to pieces by the actions of the polymer bundles.
Wheat stalks whipped at his hands and face as he ran. Kolosev was ahead of him still. Kolosev had aged badly, fatter, pastier than his mugshots. Passing into middle age, he dressed like a child in stained Gridkid gear, tight luminous pants and puffsleeved shirt. On the 'roo springers he ran like a cheetah, a simple mechanism of levers and springs known for a hundred years lengthening his legs, mimicking the efficiency of a kangaroo's limbs. Under Kolosev's own power, the rig would have sped him, but like Otto's limbs the springer was heavy with polymer muscle bunches, lending the fugitive speed that Otto could not match. He tore through the wheat like the wind, rig bouncing over the summer-dried earth in bounding strides. Past harvest and ploughing, it would have been different, for Kolosev's rig would surely have foundered in the sticky black chernozem. Right now Otto could never catch him.
"Oleg!" Otto shouted. "Stop, or I'll have to shoot you! Oleg!"
The fleeing hacker kept his face forward. Kolosev leapt high as he cleared some obstacle, and Otto lost him to a wrinkle in the steppe. Otto let out a long string of hard German expletives and ran on. His shoulder hurt, and his stomach burned with acid reflux. He could keep a pace of thirty kilometres an hour for a couple of hours, even at his age, but this speed was draining his resources fast.
Otto burst into the open, stubble beneath his feet. A hundred and fifty metres to his left the staggered wall of giant harvesters droned forward slowly. Staple-shaped front ends terminating in multiple wheel units, flails on a wide drum between them, cutting and winnowing. Long hoppers ran behind the main bodies, raised high off the ground, rears supported on pillars with their own wheel units at the base – from the air they looked like insectile letter Ts crawling across the earth. Chaff escaping from secondary pods harvesting waste for biofuel blew in a constant stream toward Otto, obscuring his view in showers of shivered straw and grit.
Otto stopped to get his bearings. A glimpse of movement, quicker than the harvesters; Kolosev was well ahead of him, nearing the wall of machines and its shroud of dust.
"Oleg! Stop!" The Ukrainian carried on running, each step a high leap.
Otto levelled his caseless automatic two-handed at the fleeing hacker. His adjutant ran his ocular magnification up to the absolute maximum. The Ukrainian bounced around in his vision like a fly trapped in a jar, close to the furthest effective range of Otto's pistol, and he wished he'd brought a bigger gun.
If I hit him, it's his own fault for running, he told himself, and fired.
The bullet missed.
Otto squinted down the barrel of his pistol for another shot, and lowered it. Kolosev was too far away.
"Scheisse."
His MT lit up. Lehmann. Don't worry, Leutnant, I have him.
A gun fired, way back behind him. A second later Kolosev staggered. Lehmann's shot took the 'roo springer's left heel assembly out, the sound of the shot following the bullet. The springer's damaged leg dragged. Otto accelerated. Panic showed on Kolosev's bearded face as he undid the springer's straps, hammering at the quick release until his legs popped out of the rig. He fell free and made a hopping run toward the nearest harvester. He was up the ladder on the left wheel pod pillar as Otto reached the vehicle. Otto was on to the ladder as Kolosev scrambled round the harvester's machine cabin.
Otto followed hard behind.
Kolosev stood in the middle of the catwalk that spanned the width of the harvester, looking wildly from side to side, shirt stained with sweat.
"Kolosev, stop. You've nowhere to run, and I'm getting indigestion."
Kolosev stared at the hopper full of wheat kernels, as if he were thinking of jumping in, and thought better of it. "You're getting old, Klein," he panted. He stepped back as Otto holstered his gun. Kolosev was unmodded: the real Grid experts never wore hardwired mentaugs. Kolosev was free of cybernetics, not even base-level healthtech; they knew how it could be used against them.
"Look at yourself, Oleg, you're out of shape. Don't run like that again, you'll have a heart attack."
"You come in here with the VIA? What was I supposed to do? After all I've done for you in the past, you bring them here! I've been busted out of every place I've ever been by them. Ten years' cold storage they've cost me. Why you think I ran?" Kolosev spoke in terse Grid English, truncated and peppered with invogue leetspeak, smeared over with a thick Slavic accent.
"I'm not with them, Kolosev, they're with me. We're not here to bust you. I only need some information, the usual."
"Yeah?" Kolosev's fat face pulled an unconvincing hardman sneer. "Your kind 'ways does. You loot me, Klein, it upset me."
"I am looking for Waldo, Oleg."
Kolosev snorted and slapped the railings of the catwalk. "You know he and I do no see eye to eye no more. I no run with him, I work free."
"Solo?" said Otto.
"I never said that."
"But you're alone now."
Kolosev glared, trapped. "Yeah, I'm alone now," he said, his English losing its posture, wandering closer to standard.
"I'll pay," said Otto. "I'll pay a lot."
"How much?" said Kolosev.
"A million, Euro."
"You need him bad, huh? Two million. And you broke my springer, you can buy me a new one. I want that as extra."
"I'll buy you an aircar if that's what you want."
"Thanks. I'm trying shed some kilos."
"And springers aren't tracked."
Kolosev shrugged.
"Fine, Oleg, just tell me where he is."
Kolosev fished a phone from a pocket on his sleeve. "Money first."
Otto sent a coded transfer instruction out through his adjutant. Kolosev's phone binged, filled with the VIA's money. EuPol had given him unlimited funds for this expedition. Otto figured they'd find a way to claw it back later.
"Heh," Kolosev said, licking his lips. "You do need him. Why?"
"Where is he, Kolosev? I'm losing my patience," said Otto, and stepped nearer.
The fat man held up his hand. His eyes were screwed tight against the sun; he really didn't get outside much. "Relax, Klein, I tell you. What's the big deal? Let me guess –" a triumphant grin flickered across the Ukrainian's face "– k52's small adventure in the RealWorlds, yes? Am I close?"
The likes of Kolosev always dug out what others tried to hide. No harm in letting him know; if Otto didn't succeed, then everyone would know anyhow. Otto nodded.
"Damn fucking bastards! I am good, no, Klein? Huh? Huh? Every Class A gold hacker know about that. Me, I one of. We the future, you big mob, Klein. Fuck me!"
"Big talk, Oleg."
"You look at me, Klein, you see fat man. I look at you, I see an extinct species. You are needing Waldo to get you in, in past the security. Only he can do it, no?"
"You are a genuine genius, Oleg," said Otto flatly.
"Ah, now you flatter. Well –" the Ukrainian gave an extravagant shrug "– what if I tell you that it no matter? You no hear?"
"Where is he, Oleg?" growled Otto. He pulled his gun out again. "Or that money is coming right back out of your account, and I'll deposit a bullet in your face instead."
"I tell you! Calm, calm, big mob, you Germans so serious." Kolosev was giggling, he was still high. "He's in Sino
siberia, man, hiding out in an old Soviet army base from way back when."
Otto put his gun up. "That wasn't so hard."
"Yeah, won't do you no good. I'm working for some big fishes now, big fishes! They're not going to like you roughing me one bit, cyborg man." Kolosev laughed. "You want to get in to the Realms? You have no idea! I tried it 'cyborg' –" he hooked his fingers round the word, mocking it "– I try it and 'ffft'." He held his hand to his head like a gun, thumb falling like a hammer. "I no do it, so you no do it. I found him, my old buddy Waldo. I had so much I want to say to him, right before I smack him in the mouth. But you have no idea what's going on, big mob, you so…"
Kolosev's right temple exploded, taking most of his face with it. He slumped, last breath gurgling in his throat, and pitched over the railing into the teeth of the harvester.
For a second, the chaff blew red.
A bullet stung Otto's cheek, gouging flesh as it ricocheted off his reinforced skull, knocking his head round. It hurt like hell, but its momentum was too spent to do him real harm. Otto dropped, pressing himself as far as he could into the grill of the catwalk, making the most of the low lip running along its base. A further bullet thunked into the carbon body of the harvester a few centimetres from his head. No report from the weapon; the shooter was far off, the harvester too loud, his gun probably silenced. Otto crawled backward, trailing blood, seeking the shelter of the hopper humped up behind the harvester. By the time he was in its cover, his healthtech had staunched the blood. His wound itched as it healed.
Otto called up an aerial view. Grain silos to the west. The shooter had to be there. His adjutant reported a minor viral attack on his systems, easily fought off.
In the satellite view, Otto saw a bike rising into the air.
The silos were four kilometres away. Whoever had shot at him had been good, Ky-tech good.
An unused squad icon in his iHUD flickered briefly and guttered out.
"Kaplinski," growled Otto.
Otto ran back to the village, his face numb. He ordered Lehmann to keep watch from the office block, just in case.
"What happened to you?" said Chures. Valdaire looked up from her work at the desk and gave a small gasp.
"I got shot. We have to leave here, now. Kaplinski is here."
"How do you know?"
"I know," said Otto. "He's taken out Kolosev. Come on! We have to go. He probably won't chance a close approach with me and Lehmann here, but he is unpredictable, and he is not working alone."
"Just a minute!" said Valdaire.
"We do not have a minute," said Otto, and he made to grab Valdaire.
"Lay off for a moment, Klein! Chloe, is there anyone here that should not be?" asked Valdaire.
"We're the only sentients for ten kilometres," chirruped Chloe. "Brainless things elsewise."
Chures stared at Otto, an open challenge. "Finish your data rip," he said. "We need this information."
Otto stared back, and shrugged. He went to the door and checked the yard right to left and back again. He seemed nervous, and that worried Valdaire.
Five seconds passed. "Download complete," said Chloe.
"Now we can go," said Valdaire. She picked Chloe up off the desk.
"Veronique," said Chloe. "I have access to Kolosev's network, including the other source of EM activity. There is something you should see there, in the office block. Six more humans."
"What are they doing?" asked Valdaire.
"They are inactive."
Otto looked out over the yard. No movement or noise, just corn crake and combines rattling over the plain. He tapped Lehmann's feed, looking out through his eyes, something he'd not done for many years, and it brought a rush of unwelcome memories. "OK, but we are leaving as soon as we can."
"You're lucky Kaplinski shot Kolosev first," said Chures.
"Luck has nothing to do with it. He killed Kolosev because Kolosev knew something. If Oleg had known nothing he would have shot me first. Kaplinski is insane, but he is not stupid," said Otto.
"What is his problem?" asked Valdaire.
"All of the Ky-tech had neurosurgery," said Chures. "One of the things done as routine was an empathetic damper. It was supposed to stop PTSD in Ky-tech soldiers. It didn't work so well."
"Because it turned you all into sociopaths?" said Valdaire to Otto.
"You were in the army too, you know what it is like," said Otto. "They wanted to stop us feeling guilty for performing our duty."
"I was behind a desk," said Valdaire.
"You still killed people," said Otto, "even if you only pushed buttons. You know what it means to end a life; the feeling is the same if you can see them die or not." He ushered her through a broken glass door into the office block. Wind gusted through empty steel window frames, concrete walls streaked with moisture, ancient linoleum tiles flaked to fragments. "The conditioning was reversible: flick a switch after the war, be back to normal, even scrub the bad memories away. But it went too far with Kaplinski."
"Turn left, up the stairs, first door on the left," sang Chloe.
Otto went on. "Kaplinski did not take to renormalisation. He never felt anything but the urge to fight ever again. He got out of the hospital, killed half the damn security. I was ordered to hunt him down."
"He got away," said Chures.
"Ja, he got away," agreed Otto. "And now he is trying to kill me."
No sign of him, said Lehmann over the MT. The air bike is immobile, 50 kilometres away. I've called in the local EuPol.
He'll be gone when they get there, thought Otto back.
He's gone already, said Lehmann.
Did you check out the EM signature in this office?
Negative. No time.
"This is it," said Chloe. They stopped in front of a door.
Chures looked to Otto. He nodded. Both readied their guns.
Chures silently counted down on his fingers. On three, Otto kicked the door in, his augmented legs sending the ancient wood to pieces. Chures darted into the room, covering all angles.
"Holy…" said Valdaire.
"Well, I did tell you," said Chloe smugly.
The room was weatherproofed, its one window foamed up and ceiling repaired. Inside were six functioning v-jack set-ups, each worth a fortune, each highly illicit: couches, medical gear, nutrient tanks and hook-up. On every couch was a body, face contorted with pain.
"They're all dead," said Chloe. "Bio-neural feedback."
Otto checked the corpses one at a time; cold, stomachs bloated, dead long enough for rigor mortis to have come and gone, but not dead long. With the September heat outside, probably 50–70 hours, as he counted it, though he was no expert. Then his adjutant consulted the Grid and came back with a similar figure. Anything more precise would need tests. All were emaciated.
The last was different. "This one's alive," said Otto.
"I'll get the v-jack off him," said Valdaire. "See if I can pull him back into the Real."
"It'll kill him," said Chures.
"He's dead already," said Otto. "Pulse is weak, ECG erratic – look at him. He might be able to tell us something useful before he goes."
"Klein is correct," said Chloe. "The subject is undergoing total neural disassociation. He has minutes of life left."
"Who is he?" said Chures. He was checking the room carefully. He knocked some of the foam out off the window, allowing dusty sunlight into the room.
"Unknown. He has no Grid signature, no ID chip," said Chloe.
"Han Chinese," said Otto. He picked up a limp arm. His enhanced eyes picked out the traces of an erased judicial tattoo on his wrist. "Political exile." He let the arm drop.
Valdaire removed the v-jack from the Han. She studied the medical unit attached to the wall, then pressed a few buttons. There was a hiss and a mixing wheel spun round. A gasp of air escaped the man's lips. His eyelids fluttered.
He sighed something in Mandarin, so quietly Valdaire had to bend in to hear it.
He s
miled, said something else, and went limp.
"What did he say?" said Chures.
Chloe spoke. "He said he dreamed of golden fields, that is what he said. Veev, it is."
Otto looked out the window at the corn. "That is to be expected."
"He's dead," said Valdaire.
"You said Kolosev knew something?" said Chures. "He's been trying to get into the Realms himself."
"Unsuccessfully," said Valdaire.
"He was looking for Waldo, and not on his own," said Otto. "This level of set-up is beyond Kolosev's means. Damn shame our only leads are dead."