by Dave Swavely
From the side doors of each helicopter sprang four dark shapes, two on each side, which hung in descending order next to it for a moment, making it look like the big birds were sprouting wings. But it soon became apparent that these were not wings, but smaller birds—the remote-controlled flying machines called “falcons” that we had built with the Sabon antigravity technology and used to assist our peacers in surveillance and pursuit. As these falcons now dove toward the surface in different directions, it was clear that the triplets were controlling them wirelessly with their cyber brains, and sending them in pursuit of the fleeing mercs. We had “falconers” who could control the flying robots, but only one or two at a time. The triplets were each controlling four of the black birds, while also piloting their Firehawks.
Terrey switched the displays so that twelve screens with a view from every one of the falcons hung around us in the room. Now I was really experiencing sensory overload, and I’m sure it was worse for Lynn, but our gazes darted among the screens nonetheless. This was just too good to miss.
The first falcon that reached a man running on the surface simply gassed him and left him lying unconscious (it did this by firing softshell pellets from its wings, which also contained killer and stopper rounds). But when another caught up with a merc in a rather big underground tunnel (the remains of a subway, perhaps?), it not only hit him with one of the gas pellets, but also hauled his body back up to the surface by shooting toward him an Immobilization and Retrieval Apparatus (IMRATS or more often RATS, for short). This device looked something like the back of an open wallet and was attached to the falcon by a plasteel cord that extended and retracted from the bird. The apparatus at the end, when contacting a human figure, would encircle the person and lock its ends together. Then it would contract, immobilizing the person and enabling him to be transported (usually without too much injury). By an interesting coincidence, the RATS was located on the bottom of the falcon, right about where a real bird would extend its claws to grasp its prey.
The falcons made short work of the fleeing mercs, with only a few incidents—one was accidentally flown into a wall and knocked out; another was shot by a merc and had to be brought back to the helicopter. But the others found and acquired their targets impressively, and we all watched the last two arrests because Terrey deleted the other displays and made those larger on one side of the room.
One man had escaped the pursuing bird earlier by being clever enough to put on a little gas mask from his utility pack, so that when a pellet struck his arm and discharged, he was able to continue moving and disappear into a small debris tunnel. The falcon pursued, and the man crawled on all fours through the other end and back to the surface. Then he blocked that end of the tunnel with a big piece of debris before the falcon could emerge, and took off running across the surface again. Unfortunately for him, the menacing bird fired killer rounds at the debris to unclog the exit, then rose into the air and put him down with stoppers. These rounds were often referred to as “Xs” (pronounced “exes”), because the plasteel contents expanded into the shape of a cross, about three inches in diameter, after being fired. They often left marks in the shape of an X on the body of the person who was immobilized by them.
The last merc tried to make a stand in another small tunnel, where he stopped after a curve and fired his handgun at the falcon when it came around the corner. But he missed, so the falcon merely backed up out of view, fired a gas pellet at the wall near the man, and waited until he collapsed to use the RATS and haul him to the surface. By that time one of the triplets had already landed her Firehawk and was skipping from prisoner to prisoner, checking if they had any cyberware she could hack, and also threatening the conscious ones with torture if they didn’t talk. On the audio feed of a falcon hovering near one of the mercs, I overheard her say something about cutting off parts of his face and neck to match her “decorations.” I imagined that an exotic cyborg brandishing a knife about a foot from your face was rather intimidating. But the man didn’t talk, because he didn’t know anything. None of them did.
“It’s like I told you,” Terrey said, summarizing the findings of his team. “The kind of people who organized this wouldn’t take the chance of giving these people anything we could use.” He turned off the displays and took the mouse sheath off his finger.
“Min, send a squad of peacers to pick up the survivors,” I said. “Lock ’em in the cathedral and interrogate them, just in case they know something.”
“Can my team join us here?” Terrey asked, to Lynn as much as to me. He obviously recognized her level of influence in our relationship. “We need to get started right now, if we’re going to save your life. The other parts of the kaleidocide won’t be this easy to stop.”
I thought for a moment, then said, “Terrey, will you excuse us for a few minutes? Min, you can stay, but tell the other agents to hang with Terrey outside until we call.”
“Fine,” Terrey said. “But I suggest you don’t take too long, and in the meantime don’t go near the window, don’t eat or drink anything, and don’t even wash yourself with any water, until we can get the safety measures in place.”
He headed toward the door, and as he did I addressed him again.
“I will consider it bad faith if you planted any listening devices in this room—without telling us right now, that is.”
He kept walking out, but glanced back with a mild smile, sideways nod, and a little wave of his hand that told me not to worry about it. Then he was gone.
9
ENIGMA
“Are there any bugs in here?” I asked Min, who turned his head and body slowly, scanning the entire room, and then answered no.
“So what do you think, Lynn?” I asked, and when she didn’t answer right away, I said, “Keep in mind what we just saw, that Terrey was able to head off part of the danger already. He obviously knows what he’s doing. And his team certainly is impressive, wouldn’t you say?”
“Do you want me to say something?” she asked, bristling a bit. “Or do you just want to tell me what you think?”
“No. Go for it.”
“I’m sure he’s good, that seems obvious. But I would say the more important question is, can you trust him?”
“Of course. Farther than I can throw him, anyway. He’s—”
“You’re answering too quickly. Stop and think about it more. What’s he really like?”
“Do you have some reason to distrust him?” I asked. “Some, uh, intuition?” I had learned to take seriously her intuitions, or instincts, or whatever they were.
She thought for a moment, then said, “No. But I don’t know him. I want you to think more about it, and maybe do your thing, check on him or whatever you do.”
“Okay,” I said, and nodded to Min, who I knew would initiate a thorough combing of the net. “As for what I remember about Terrey … he was loyal to the king, if not to the entire chain of command, and he was loyal to me personally, especially after I did him a big favor. He talked a lot about money, how his only goal was to be rich.” I thought some more. “But there seemed to be more to him, though he didn’t want to admit it. I once referred to him as ‘a man of principle in disguise,’ something like that. But it could have been wishful thinking on my part. I’ve had experiences with other friends from my younger days, where I had idealized them, only to be sorely disappointed later.”
I had little more to say about this, and I felt the urgency to do everything I could about the imminent threat to my life. In fact, I had to admit, despite my considerable experience with almost dying, I felt more fear now than any other time I could remember. This puzzled me, but perhaps it was because of Lynley, the little baby girl inside Lynn’s belly, which I found myself staring at presently. She was our “replacement” for little Lynette, who had died a year previous, in violent circumstances like the one we were facing now. I hadn’t known much about fear since I entered the military at age eighteen, half my life ago, but I knew enough that I didn’t w
ant to go through anything like that again.
“My instinct is to trust him,” I said, looking back up at Lynn’s face. “And I think we need his help.” I shrugged and turned to Min. “What did you find?”
“Nothing very alarming,” he answered. “His communications are hidden under an extreme amount of ice, which would be unheard of for an average person, but not too surprising considering his vocation.” He looked at Lynn. “Hotel and other rental records show that he has had numerous female friends in various places around the world, but his only visible bank account is cosigned by one particular woman. It has to be publicly accessible for her sake, presumably.”
“Hmmm, one true love, though a ladies’ man?” I said. “That’s the kind of disguise I was talking about. Bit of an enigma.” I looked purposefully at Min. “What do you think?”
The big brown man was silent for a long time, perhaps finishing a sweep of the net.
“I agree that we need all the help we can get,” he finally said. “From my knowledge of the resources and forces arrayed against you, I am surprised that he was able to expose and eliminate the assault team so quickly. I would be comfortable with hiring him, as long as we run a perpetual analysis. If he does happen to love money as much as he said, he has a good reason to do his best for you. But he could also be bought by someone else.” He paused to change gears. “But what would really satisfy me is some time alone with the triplets.”
“Really, Min?” I looked at Lynn, and we both laughed. “You’re hoping for some cyborg ‘fourplay’?” I couldn’t resist the joke, even though I knew that the same injuries that had resulted in Min’s cyberization had also rendered him unable to enjoy that part of life. He was like the eunuchs who long ago served in the palaces of royalty—in more ways than one.
“A poor choice of words,” he said with a rare smile. “The triplets are undoubtedly the ones who conceal Mr. Thorn’s communications and accounts so well, so they must be his confidantes. I would like to understand their perspectives and motives better. Perhaps I could ask them some questions while you take the call you have received from Stanford Glenn.”
“Oh, my glasses,” I said, instinctively patting my belt and pockets. “I left them in the bedroom, in all the excitement earlier.” I looked at Lynn and winked. “And I mean before Terrey came.”
“Stop,” she said, blushing. She didn’t like any talk about sex in public, especially ours, but I always thought she was too prudish.
“Come on,” I jabbed at her while I headed toward the bedroom door. “You didn’t have a problem laughing at Min a minute ago.”
“’Cause that wasn’t about me.” Right. At least she was honest.
I grabbed the glasses quickly, then returned to the big room.
“You asked me for my opinion, sir,” Min continued. “Would you mind if I added one more thought?”
“Absolutely, Min. You don’t need to be so humble about it.”
“I would suggest talking to Mr. Rabin before you make a final decision.”
This reminded me that my personal “eunuch” had belonged to the king who ruled before me, and he was still keen on advancing his interests, even posthumously. But I thought it was a good idea, because this was the reason Saul’s wisdom and experience had been downloaded from his brain before he died, into his Legacy Project.
“Tell Terrey we haven’t made a decision yet,” I said to Min, “but that he can bring the triplets here, on the condition that he lets you talk with them on the way. Or interface, or intercourse, or whatever you cyborgs do. I’ll make a few calls and then give him our answer.”
Min nodded and left the room. Lynn said, “I’m gonna take a shower” and did the same. I slipped the glasses on and saw that I had indeed missed a call from Stan Glenn’s direct line, a rare and important enough phenomenon that I needed to call him back, even under the circumstances, though I reminded myself not to talk too long. I kept the glasses on so that my side would be audio only, since I expected to be on the defensive and didn’t want my face to give away any lies I had to tell. He must not have had any such concern, because he answered with full video from his chest up.
He wore his trademark white sweater, which as always made the darkness of his skin more pronounced. I had wondered many times if he did that intentionally, like a megaphone announcement of his blackness, but had also always been afraid to ask him, because I was generally happy with our relationship and didn’t want to endanger it in any way. He had been a professional athlete in the same sport as Darien Anthony, my late friend and associate, and had known and liked D. I think we developed a connection because of that, and because of our shared sympathy for what had happened to our mutual friend. Which was a good thing for both of us, because Stan was arguably the most influential government official in our neighboring country, the American Confederation. His office was a combination of the historic ones of secretary of state and minister of foreign affairs, charged with conducting all the interaction with other governments on behalf of the American people. And in today’s global economy, that role may have given him as much power as the president herself, if not more. The health of nations depended more than ever on their relationship with others, and that was especially true of the decentralizing and destabilized AC, which had both lost the Bay Area and annexed Mexico in recent years. So as one news site had posted, referring to his characteristic appearance, Stanford Glenn represented “the great black and white hope for America’s reputation in the world.”
The fact that Stan was content to appear on video while I was only audio was a good sign for me. It suggested that his censure would have few teeth—as did his opening greeting.
“You know I had to make this call,” he said.
“Why?” I responded, like an innocent lamb.
“We’ve had reports that BASS conducted some kind of military or police action on American soil … again.” Occasionally we had to do something in the East Bay, but it was only a few times a year at most.
“You’re calling Oakland ‘American soil’? You’re the ones who gave up on the East Bay after the quake.”
“Now that’s not fair. We can’t help it if no one wants to live there, and we can’t throw money at a place where no one wants to live.”
“Only since the money ran out,” I said with a smile he couldn’t see. “Before that you were throwing it left and right at places like Oakland.”
“I don’t know about that—it was before my time. But I know we could make it a nice place again if we had more money, like the kind we could make if we become your business partners.” He was referring to the Sabon antigravity technology, of course, which he and the rest of the world wanted BASS to share with them.
“I heard Oakland streets aren’t even on your satnav maps anymore,” I said, ignoring his plea.
“We call it GPS in America.” Was he trying to remind me I wasn’t from this country? “And that’s because for the first few years after the quake, people were following their GPS—most direct route—to Frisco or Napa Valley, and they were getting robbed, killed, or at least badly lost.”
“Yeah, not good.” I laughed. “I was just there.”
“Oh, you were there?”
“Well not really. Virtually.”
“So your people were.”
“What happens if I say yes?”
“It could be bad, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“We make some kind of deal, like for some kind of cutting edge technology?” He couldn’t see my smile, but I could see his. “Maybe a flying car that would save me from the DC traffic?”
“I think you’re bluffing. No one wants an incident. I’m guessing the Queen suggested, or even pressured you, to make an attempt with me.” “The Queen” was our way of referring to the president.
“You’re a quick study, Michael. Only one year under your belt, and you’ve already figured out how these things work. But you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I won
’t be surprised if it happens before long, Stan,” I said, returning his familiar address, then turned more serious. “Saul’s open to it, but he doesn’t want it going to any governments with a penchant for warmongering or violence. That’s why you shouldn’t pick a fight about anything we do in Oakland.”
“You’re using present tense, for a man who’s been dead a year.”
“He being dead yet speaketh.”
“Sounds like a ghost story.”
“It is,” I said, “and I actually have to talk to him now about some problems we’re having.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’ve heard from me.”
“That I have.”
I hung up, imagining his next conversation, with the woman we called the Queen. “Yes, ma’am, I talked to him personally for about five minutes. Yes, ma’am, I gave him a piece of my mind about Oakland and negotiated for the Sabon technology. No, ma’am, but I’m hopeful.”
It was interesting that when I mentioned my “problems,” Glenn didn’t bother to ask what they were. I wondered if he might possibly know about the kaleidocide, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I was about to summon the dead man we’d been talking about, with a brand-new kind of séance.
10
NEW YORK
During the day, Lower Manhattan was a colorful place, visually and demographically. But late at night it became almost monochromatic in both.
An eye looking down upon this part of the city would see, for the most part, varying shades of gray—from the concrete and metal of the buildings on the dark end, to the soft whites of the evening lights and the new snow falling through the air. In between were all the other colors that had been visible in the daytime, but were now washed out into the middle shades of gray by the prevailing weather and indistinguishable from the old, dirty snow around them. The only nocturnal survivor from the bright colors of the day was taxi-yellow—not the thick river that carpets the streets during business hours, but smaller trickles flowing here and there, enjoying much more freedom of movement in the almost deserted sprawl.