by Mel Odom
Glancing down the street, Skater saw the Tsarina jockeying for position. He couldn’t see the mini-cannon popping out of its hidden recesses, but he knew it was. He hoped it was.
In the other direction, more mercs arrived in two other vehicles. Luppas hadn’t stinted on paying for additional help.
“We’re out of time, Wheeler,” Skater said.
Elvis was using both sides of the street, deploying an evasive pattern. The mini-cannon slung under the helicopter’s nose wiggled back and forth like an insect’s antenna, the movements growing less and less as it locked on the fleeing van.
Then a jet of liquid fire belched from the ground and streaked toward the helicopter. When it connected, the helicopter turned into a mass of whirling orange and black flames that seemed intent on devouring itself. Pieces of the craft rained down across the street, bounced off the surrounding buildings. The explosion was almost deafening.
The heat of the blast swirled in on Skater, making him slit his eyes. He glanced at Duran. The ork looked battered, his face bloodied. “Can you make it?” Skater asked.
Elvis had braked the van nearly a hundred meters away, but the flaming debris made backing the vehicle up an unwise decision.
“I’ll make it, kid,” Duran said. “I haven’t not made it yet.”
Falkenhayne stood in the ork’s shadow, her face blanched white and bleeding from a wound on her forehead.
“Take her to Elvis,” Skater said. “I’ll hold things down long enough for the two of you to get a lead.”
Duran looked like he wanted to argue.
“A few steps, Quint,” Skater said, “that’s all. If somebody comes through those doors”—he nodded at the entrances near the elevator bays—“and steps out behind us, they’ll cut us down.”
Duran nodded, then offered his shotgun. “Gonna need more than that little peashooter you got.” He unbuckled an ammo belt and passed it across as well. “See you on the other side.”
“I’ll be there,” Skater promised.
The ork threw a protective arm across Falkenhayne’s shoulders and headed her toward the van.
“Hold up, Elvis,” Skater said over the commlink. “They’re on their way.”
“I’ve got it, omae.”
“Wheeler,” Skater said, peering at the ragged line of mercs in the street and at the two newly arrived vehicles that were starting into motion, “can you take out the hounds?”
“I’m there, chummer.”
A heartbeat later, another round from the Tsarina slammed into the lead car at nearly ground level. The car came rearing up off the pavement and overturned onto the one behind it. Out of control, the rear car veered into the side of the building and smashed into the wall, rending metal and shredding plascrete in long screams.
Skater put the shotgun to shoulder and fired into the mercs near the underground parking garage entrance sixty meters away. They were lit up by the flaming debris of the helicopter and the twisted wreckage of the two vehicles.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Duran and Falkenhayne had covered almost a third of the distance separating them from Elvis and the van. Then an electronic voice screamed in his ear.
“Skater!”
He looked up, bringing the shotgun around automatically. In the upper corner of the entranceway, a security monitor, its screen fractured in the earlier exchange of gunfire, gazed down on him.
Kylar Luppas looked at him from the screen. Below it was a camera pod. Skater figured the elf had rigged the apartment tower’s sec systems.
“What do you want?” Skater asked. “I was just on my way out.”
“I think you’ll reconsider.” The camera view suddenly pulled back, revealing the feminine form beside him.
It took Skater the length of a drawn breath to recognize Deja Chilson. Larisa Hartsinger’s step-sister and Emma’s aunt. His blood ran cold when he saw the merc standing behind her with his hand knotted in her hair and a knife blade tucked under her chin.
“One word from me,” Luppas promised, “and the blood of this woman is on your hands.”
Skater made himself look at Luppas. “What do you want?”
“The woman, of course. And the program.”
“Don’t, Jack,” Archangel called over the commlink. Skater was running his end of the operation inside the apartment tower over an open mike. That way the outside teams would know everything that was happening without needing Cullen Trey to pass information along. “Luppas is lying. He’ll get you and he’ll kill you right along with her.”
“I can’t let him kill her,” Skater replied subvocally.
“Don’t be ditbrained,” Archangel said. “You don’t owe her anything.”
“She’s Emma’s family.”
“She was using Emma against you.” Archangel paused. “Jack, please—”
“I can’t, Angel,” he said softly. “She’s Emma’s family.” He stared into the monitor screen, knowing the camera was picking him up. “Okay, Luppas, you win.” He reached into his pocket and took out the computer chips Falkenhayne had given him. “I’ve got the program right here. Do you want to come up or do you want me to come down?”
“Come down, Skater,” Luppas said. “You’ve got too many friends topside who might decide they’re luckier than they are. And bring the woman.”
“I can’t,” Skater said. “She’s already gone.”
“Then you’ve signed this woman’s death warrant.” Luppas raised a hand.
A cold taloned claw twisted in Skater’s guts. He closed his fist over the chips. “And you lose the program.”
The merc standing behind Deja Chilson yanked her head back farther, baring her throat. The woman screamed in fear and closed her eyes, launching into a prayer when she was almost out of breath.
“Jack,” Trey said over the commlink, “Luppas has a spell lock active that I can work through. If I can break past the spell lock’s defenses, I can attack him from astral space and maybe buy you a little time.”
“Okay, chummer,” Skater replied subvocally.
“Just let me know when.”
“I’m coming, Luppas,” Skater said so the sec monitor could pick him up. He walked out of the entranceway, headed for the elevators.
“Jack—” Archangel said.
“You know what to do,” Skater said subvocally over the commlink as he stepped inside the elevator cage. “Get it done. It’s the last chance we’re going to have.”
56
Archangel flew through the gridlines of the Matrix. Cyberspace rendered the Bellevue sprawl in ebonies and emeralds, all hard-edged lines. She aimed herself at the glowing blue Fuchi Research icon, located on Sixth Street SE and 112th Avenue SE in Bellevue, and spread the feathered wings of her icon.
She cut through the distance, then hovered in front of the tall structure. In her Matrix-linked sight, Fuchi Research looked like a sword thrust into the ground, the blade fanning out in a sharp-edged octagon.
Choosing her point of egress, she selected one of the PR channels the corporation kept open to prospective employees, stock brokers, and government representatives, giving soy-pabulum downloads and no easy access to sensitive data. She flew through the curving hallway lit by a soft pink neon radiance and landed perfectly in front of the dataslave working the front desk.
The dataslave looked like a Greek god seated behind an obsidian desk, tall, bronze, with dark hair in tight curls. The Fuchi logo was emblazoned on a blue and white marble wall behind the dataslave.
“May I help you?” the dataslave asked.
“I want to talk to Ramona Fishbein,” Archangel said. Inside she was shaking, mad at Skater and fearful for him all at the same time. She understood his reasons for walking back into the trap Kylar Luppas set probably far better than he did himself, but she still begrudged him his decision. It was the stupidest thing he could do under the circumstances. Going after Falkenhayne had left common sense behind as well. But they’d all gone with him for the chance of clear
ing themselves completely of the situation. Desperation had pushed them to that, but Jack was operating out of guilt now. And that, she knew, was the worst thing to deal with. She knew.
Most of all, though, she was mad at herself. Mad at the way she felt about Jack. Mad at Jack because he obviously didn’t feel the same way. And mad at the whole situation that had changed their relationship even though she hadn’t wanted it changed. The only person she wasn’t mad at was Emma.
And Skater’s little girl had been the catalyst that had changed it all.
“Who may I say is calling?” the dataslave inquired unctuously.
“Ripley Falkenhayne.”
“Just a moment,” the dataslave said, “and I’ll see if Ms. Fishbein is available.”
From his tone, Archangel knew the dataslave was putting her off, following a preset laundry list of orders that would impress but not satisfy. He didn’t know what the Falkenhayne name represented. She accessed the utilities she had at her disposal.
The attack utility she used against the dataslave tossed him out of the corp Matrix representation. Somewhere the dataslave was waking up in his meat body with a severe case of dump shock. His loss of control over the Matrix area immediately triggered barrier IC that closed her off from other parts of the corp.
That was fine with Archangel. The operation Skater wanted here hadn’t required any kind of finesse. All she had to do at this point was jack out and be gone.
She opened a small window, checking how long she’d been in the Matrix. And how many deaths Jack could have died already. She cursed, then got angry with herself for being angry. Control was always the centerpoint of her life; it was what had given her a life.
A wave of electronic data static shimmered in the air in front of her. Fuchi wouldn’t be able to easily use black IC in a public forum in the Matrix. Not even one they’d established. And before anything really harmful could happen to her, she was certain she’d be able to jack out.
The electronic datastream solidified in front of her, becoming a woman.
Archangel didn’t recognize her.
“I’m Ramona Fishbein,” the woman said.
Archangel’s finely tuned cybernetic senses and her indigenous talent for intuition warned her that the Fuchi decker was gathering nasty surprises around her even now in the form of combat utilities as Fishbein confronted her. “You’re looking for a woman named Ripley Falkenhayne and a man named Kylar Luppas.”
The porcelain face never flickered.
Archangel sensed she’d scored a direct hit. “If you want them,” she said, “come to the Chester Apartment Tower on Overlake Drive. I hope you can find it before Luppas gets away with Falkenhayne.” Then she opened her escape from the Matrix, making a red button appear in mid-air. She tagged the button and flipped out as the first of Fishbein’s attack utilities reached for her.
* * *
Archangel came back into the physical world with a rush. Her breathing was labored, her heart hammering against her ribs as she peered across the flaming debris scattered in the street.
“Are you okay?” Wheeler’s voice came not from his physical body inside the Tsarina, but from the commlink.
The dwarf rigger’s body was cocooned in the seat behind her, totally immersed in the vehicle, drawing feedback from the physical world through metal and circuitry rather than flesh and blood.
“I’m fine,” she replied, unstrapping herself from the seat.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to help Jack,” Archangel said.
“Don’t leave the car.”
Archangel tried the hatch, but the locks were engaged. When she tried to release them, they defied her.
“Jack wouldn’t want you out there.”
“Jack is willing to die for that woman,” Archangel said, “because she’s maybe related by blood or past or whatever the hell he thinks he knows to Emma. She tried to use him, and would have if she’d gotten the opportunity.” She slid a dagger free of her boot. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
“We were told what to do. Did you contact Fuchi?”
“Yes.” Archangel turned in the seat, the blade held before her. She knew Wheeler’s internal monitors were picking up visuals on her. The knife gleamed in her fist. “Fuchi will be down on this spot in seconds. Wheeler, I know you’re aware that I treasure you as a friend, but I swear by everything you hold holy that if you don’t pop that hatch and let me out, I’m going to unman you while you’re lying in the cocoon and let you worry about getting a transplant or a vatjob regrowth some time in the future.” Wheeler didn’t respond.
“No jokes.” Archangel kept her mind numb, trying hard not to think about how long Skater had been down in the underground parking area with Luppas. “I’m not going to let him face that butcher on his own. Elvis has got to drive the van. Duran’s been hurt. You’ve got to run back-up on the over-the-road hump of this run. Cullen’s—” She cocked her head and opened the commlink. “Cullen.”
“He’s checked out,” Elvis replied in a low voice that let her know he wasn’t happy with Skater turning himself over either.
“Cullen’s already there,” Archangel finished up. “Now pop that fragging latch or sing soprano for the next couple months!”
The latch popped.
Archangel clambered out of the Tsarina on the side nearest the building. Two vehicles carrying Luppas’s mercs shrilled by, rattling off a string of machine-gun fire at the Tsarina that sparked from the armored hide.
Glancing up the street, Archangel saw that Elvis had already gotten underway. The van followed Overlake Drive West, avoiding the traffic that had stalled around the scene where the wreckage of the helicopter and the vehicles blocked the way. Groat Point and hopefully safety were only minutes away for Elvis, Duran, Trey, and Falkenhayne.
If Trey didn’t get his astral hoop flamed off by Luppas or one of the combat spellworms.
Archangel reached back into the Tsarina and grabbed the assault rifle Duran had outfitted her with. “Take care of them,
Wheeler,” she said, knowing the car’s audio receptors would pick up her voice even though she didn’t use the commlink.
“Good luck,” Wheeler said. “Get him out of there if you can, and get your hoops down lakeside fragging quick.”
“Buzz turbo, Wheeler.” Archangel turned her attention from the dwarf and ran for the apartment tower. There were enough people on the street and peering through windows and doors that she managed to get across without getting noticed by Luppas’s people. The mercs were also busy replacing their totaled transportation, small groups of them checking the cars parked along the street.
According to the building maps she’d accessed, besides the elevators and the public stairwells leading down into the underground parking garage, there was also one used exclusively by maintenance personnel. She gained the entranceway of the apartment tower, slamming her visor down and keying in the infrared function, and aimed herself for the maintenance area, seconds slithering painfully by in her mind.
* * *
It felt good knowing Trey was there with him, Skater decided. Even though he couldn’t talk to him. He kept his left hand tightly closed behind his back.
He took the elevator down to the parking garage, listening to Elvis tell him they were underway with Falkenhayne and listening to Wheeler tell him he was rolling behind the others, set to take out the opposition they’d picked up. It was something. Skater had always known—that there’d come a run he couldn’t finish if he didn’t get out of the biz, a run where he’d end up a step short when the final cards hit the table down and dirty.
And he didn’t fool himself about being able to save Deja Chilson. They were both dead if that was the way Luppas wanted to play it; both waiting for the time to make it official. He just hadn’t been able to walk away and let her die by herself because she’d been on the periphery of his life. Because of Emma, because of those ties to Larisa that he still hadn’t resolved for himself,
as well as the sense of responsibility. After all these months, he still didn’t know where the responsibility for Larisa’s death began or where it ended.
The elevator bobbed to a stop. The doors opened. He wished he could flex his left hand; he was already getting a cramp in it.
Kylar Luppas stood in front of him, a mocking smile on his elven face. “The programs, drekker.”
Deja Chilson stood in front of a merc nearby, the knife still poised at her throat.
“Let the woman go first,” Skater said.
Luppas scowled. “I can have you shot and have someone take them off your corpse.”
“It would be interesting to see if any of your men could put them back together,” Skater said. “Let her go and give me a show of faith. As a professional, I know you don’t have to kill me to get what you want. All you’ve got to do is position me where I don’t have a choice.” He made a show of looking around the underground garage. “In my professional opinion, I’m there.”
“Maybe some of this has become personal for me,” Luppas said.
Skater gave the man a crooked smile, then lifted the hand he’d kept out of sight behind his back, revealing the grenade there. “Your call, Luppas, but it’s on my terms.”
Luppas met his gaze stone-faced, measure for measure. “You really want me to believe you’re brave enough to sacrifice yourself like this?”
Skater shook his head. “Not brave enough. Scared enough. You fixed it so we’re both all out of choices.” He paused. “If you let the woman go, I’ll let one of your men get close enough to take the chips out of my pocket. Otherwise, I’ll let you shoot her, then I’ll just open my fist. If you’re going to let her go, now’s the time.”
Luppas held his decision for a time, then waved at the man with the knife at her throat.
The merc dropped his blade, then pushed Deja Chilson roughly forward.
The woman stumbled, a hand over her stomach as she struggled not to be sick.
“Get on the elevator,” Skater said. “Find someone you can stay with until Lone Star reaches you.”
“Jack, I—”