Recombination

by Brendan Butts

  I hadn't seen a police drone since I left Miami. They were the workhorse of the Miami police force. Why send officers out onto the streets in cruisers that burn eth, when you could have decker fly Drones around for a third the cost.

  There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the layout of the streets. Half were narrow enough to be one-way, though cars seemed to be coming and going in both directions, sometimes having to jump the sidewalk to get by each other.

  As we got further from the station, moving in what I guessed was the direction of Snake turf, the people and vehicles we passed gradually changed. Near the station, it had been businessmen and women in crisp suits and fancy cars. Another area seemed to have a large population of neo-goths, though the suits were still present on many people. Then, the buildings around us started to become less and less well maintained. Graffiti appeared on many of the walls.

  It had started out as political slogans requesting social change and fundamentalist Christians cursing clones. Now, like the people had, it was shifting, less articulate. The names of gangers were everywhere, some crossed out, some painted over.

  I tried to take in all the gang names, hoping to absorb as much information before we met up with the Snakes. Or another gang, if things didn't go so well.

  There were layers and layers of graffiti covering most of the buildings on the street we walked down now. I took it all in. It was like the history of this street. Paint, on top of paint, on top of paint. If you peeled back the layers I bet you could have found tags from fifty years ago. Entire building walls, sometimes up to twenty feet off the ground, were like murals of gang names, slogans, members’ names, pronouncements of low drug prices, and more.

  The East India Boys had the most tags up, sometimes the name of the gang, sometimes just the initials with a circle around it. Second most was the initials for a gang, three S's with a wavy line running from the first S to the last. I decided that it was the Snakes tag. The three S's sounded out would have sounded like a snake hissing. I thought that was pretty clever.

  There were other gang names painted on walls. Some faded, some fresh. Not a single building had escaped the graffiti. The owners must have long ago given up wasting their money on cleaning supplies and new paint.

  Zenigra was walking a little ahead of me, offset to my left. He had told me to keep close to the walls and keep my eyes open. Feeling guilty, I stopped taking in the graffiti and looked around.

  There were no police drones present here. Growing up, I'd heard that in order for a gang to let you in you had to bring them a police drone you had caught and disabled. Catching them was thought of as an art. Disabling them wasn't supposed to be all that hard. After you caught one, you just smashed it against the street really hard. You had to be careful though, the decker controlling the Drone could discharge a shock through the casing that was likely to knock you out, not to mention turn your arms into useless lengths of jelly for the next few hours.

  Burnt out cars lined the sides of the street, their charred metal frames like ancient bones. The sun was no longer directly above us and I realized that except for something like an hour or two a day, this entire area, maybe even the entire statewide sprawl, would be in a state of perpetual shade.

  The thought depressed me. I would miss the sun. Even in Miami, giant glow lamps mounted on the dome ceiling gave you the impression you were outside. It didn't look like I would be enjoying many sunny days in Boston.

  The stalls of street vendors, cooking questionable meats, filled the air with a pungent, but not unpleasant, aroma. One of the stalls we passed was built into the skeleton of one of the burned vehicles, meat grilling where the engine had once been.

  I scanned the people we passed, looking for the face I had seen in the crowd at the station. Most everyone was wearing synth-leather. I even saw a group of young gangers all wearing the same Du-Wear duster I had on. The ones who couldn't afford synth-leather wore cheap knockoffs. Others I spotted wearing only dirty rags.

  Almost everyone was dirt stained and in dire need of a shower. I wondered how my freshly cloned flesh looked to them and how long it would take living on the streets for me to fit in with this kind of crowd.

  A few times I was approached with offers to purchase drugs or stolen goods. I shook my head and said I had no money. They moved on. On one occasion, a particularly filthy and persistent dealer thrust a glowing vial into my face and shook it.

  "Prime stuff man, " he said hurriedly, his voice almost a squeal, "Prime stuff. V-202 man, uncut. You want? Only a hundred bucks. It's a deal mano, really, come on chum, un-cut!" He put a lot of emphasis on the uncut part.

  I continued to walk, shaking my head and explaining, as I had to all the other merchants, that I didn't have any money.

  "Come on, man. Fancy clothes, what are those, brand new? You down here for some action? I can get you some action. What are you looking for?"

  "Not looking for anything, man," I said, holding my hands up.

  "Come on mano, trade you the vial for that ace coat you got, scan? It's lab grade mano."

  Just then, Zenigra spun and pushed the man away from me.

  "He's just a kid, baka. Go peddle that stuff somewhere else."

  The dealer took one look at Zenigra and started backing away.

  I moved up alongside Zenigra, hoping fewer people would approach me with him at my side. Either because of Zenigra's bulk or because he looked like more than just a tourist, the tactic seemed to work and no one else approached us.

  We continued walking and I was pleased to realize I wasn't getting winded, even at the extreme pace I was having to move to keep up with Zenigra.

  We walked for another fifteen minutes. I gauged we'd gone at least five miles and about an hour had passed.

  "Getting close now, you see the Snake graffiti? All fresh," Zenigra said.

  I'd noticed it too. The paint was so fresh in some places that it seemed to glisten with wetness. I also noticed East India Boys graffiti, equally as fresh. This must have been contested turf.

  "You never told me why you thought the guy at the terminal was a merc."

  "I counted three at the terminal," Zenigra replied.

  Three? Damn. Where had the other ones been?

  "And Lucas doesn't have any of his own muscle up here, he must have hired out. That means mercs or a solo."

  "What’s the difference?" I asked.

  "A merc is usually ex-military, and they usually run in groups. They're a dime a dozen and pretty cheap. A solo is like a corporate samurai. Real smooth chummers. Dish out a lot of damage. Usually wared up with cyber, and clone insurance. They don't work in groups, hence the name. They cost big money."

  "Lucas must have a lot of flash though, why would he risk low-level mercs?"

  "Well," Zenigra said, and he seemed to be thinking it over himself, "We might not have seen a solo coming, but it's only one guy. They're better at assassinations and corporate extractions than capturing kids undamaged."

  I bristled at Zenigra calling me a kid twice in the same hour.

  "So, his thinking was that more mercs means a better chance of getting me alive and unharmed?"

  "Yeah, that's what I figure anyway."

  We rounded a street corner and down the street in front of us, visible through the gaps between buildings, I could see the ocean. Now that I thought about it, I'd been able to smell it for a couple of blocks now. Salty air carried off the sea by the breeze. It smelled so familiar, so much like home, that I hadn't even noticed. A wave of nostalgia for Miami swept over me. I locked it down after a few seconds, so it wouldn't distract me.

  "If the mercs are still on us, chances are they got no idea where we're heading, but they gotta assume we're going to get somewhere at some point, so we ain't safe yet. There are two apartment buildings at the edge of the ocean, one is the Snake base. One is the East India Boys. You can't miss 'em, they're only about a hundred yards apart."

  "Seriously? The two gangs can live that close to each
other?"

  "It ain't easy, but neither wants to give up the building. They've been holding them down for years. Getting in is a little tricky though, you'll see."

  I frowned, wondering if we were going to get shot at as we approached.

  Zenigra pointed out the tops of the two towers as we rounded another corner. We were now running parallel to the ocean to avoid walking through a street fight.

  "Those are them there, can't remember which one’s which though."

  "What?" I exclaimed, "You mean we could walk into the wrong one?"

  Zenigra laughed, "Not likely, the lower levels are painted in each gang’s colors. The Snakes’ building is green. The EIBs are yellow."

  I let out a breath of relief and we turned another corner, now heading directly toward the buildings. They were still half a mile away and it looked like there was a four-lane street running in front of the buildings that we would have to cross, but we were almost there.

  The big street was raised off the rest of the city like a speed bump. We would have to walk up the steep incline, then down on the other side. Still no sign of which building was which.

  "There's a tunnel that runs under that street there. It keeps with the road for almost ten miles or so. It's closed now, but you can still get in it."

  "What kind of tunnel?"

  "Used to be a highway."

  "Aces, I bet it's pretty flash down there."

  Zenigra chuckled again, "If you don't mind the rats."

  We continued walking along the sidewalk, my shins starting to tingle a bit from the hill. When we were about a hundred feet from the big street, the sound of an engine roaring behind us spun me around.

  A black Hondamitsu SUV was careening down the cramped street a quarter mile behind us. The street wasn't very crowded, no other cars on it, not even the burned out husks I'd seen earlier. Still, it wasn't empty and pushcarts and pedestrians were definitely present. One man tried to jump out of the way of the SUV and his arm got clipped on the mirror. He went down screaming and the SUV didn't even slow down.

  "RUN!" Zenigra shouted. He was already in motion.

  I turned away from the SUV and started running toward the apartment buildings as fast as my legs would carry me. Which was pretty damn fast. I barely had time to register the fact that I was only having a little trouble keeping up with Zenigra. He was running full out, his massive legs propelling him forward. The aluminum bat was in his hand. I hadn't seen him pull it out.

  We reached the top of the hill and were heading toward the big street when another black SUV careened toward us from the right. They had been coming down the big street, driving the wrong way, hoping to prevent our escape and bottle us in. They must have expected Zenigra to be fast, but they had assumed, wrongly, that he would have to keep his pace slow or risk leaving me behind.

  The SUV that had been coming up behind us drove past on the left just as the one on the right pulled up next to us on that side. I hoped they would collide, but no such luck. The windows on both SUVs rolled down and needle guns popped out.

  Needle guns shoot darts. The darts are usually tipped with some sort of tranquilizer, but they can also be poison. I assumed these were just tranqs. I'd seen the guns used hundreds of times in spy movies about corporate samurai running extraction missions.

  The air hummed with electronic discharges as the needle guns pumped nail-like darts into the air around us.

  I put my hands up to protect my face and kept running. We were almost across the street and I could see the two apartment buildings, towering 40 or 50 stories above me. Now that we were on the top of the hill, I could see the base of both buildings.

  Astonishment slowed my pace fractionally until I got it under control and sped up again. The first several floors of both buildings were under water. Waves crested and broke against the walls of both buildings.

  The tidal wall that had been erected around this part of the state was meant to keep the water from rising above what had been ground level fifty years ago. Apparently, these two buildings had been built before that. The ocean was only yards away. The buildings were still at least three hundred feet distant.

  Damn! How the hell did we get in? The only reason we weren't on the ground from tranqs was because we were running so fast we were hard targets to hit from moving vehicles. If we had to slow down and swim, we'd be sitting ducks.

  That was when I noticed two small wooden walkways leading out toward each respective building. The walkways were nothing more than single planks of wood.

  Great. Now we had to run across something not much bigger than a tightrope. We would have to slow down. It would only be marginally faster than swimming. Would the planks even support Zenigra's weight? My mind raced, taking in our options, looking for another way, and finding none.

  Further out, where the water deepened, the planks were just floating. I wondered what was holding them up at all.

  The SUVs were still pouring needle fire around me. I felt a wisp of air against my face as one almost hit me. Then I felt three impacts against my back, but no pain. Thank god for Du-Wear.

  Then the SUV's were screeching to a halt, no more road in front of them.

  I took in the twin buildings in front of me and it wasn't hard to pick out which one belonged to the Snakes. Green graffiti was everywhere on the outer walls of its first five floors, and higher up in some places. I picked out the walkway that led to the Snake's building and changed course fractionally. I caught sight of a huge mural of a snake that started at about the tenth floor and continued about fifteen floors upwards. It was coiled around the building as if it planned to squeeze the life out of it. The mural was intricately done and looked to be well maintained.

  Then I was on the wooden plank and running, slowing down only slightly. I took each plank in less than two steps and was halfway out to the building when I hit the first of the floating planks. My foot fell hard on the plank and it gave a bit beneath me, causing me to stumble. It really was floating. As I stumbled forward, trying to regain my balance, I could see the large air-filled containers that the plank was tied to. They were of all shapes and sizes ranging from empty two-liter bottles to large plastic water cooler drums.

  I fell. My hands flew out automatically to brace my fall. As I hit, the plank dipped again and I thought for a second it was going to tip over. It didn't, and I made a mental note to thank whatever Snake had built this makeshift raft walkway for her craftsmanship. If I made it, that was.

  I got up shakily and the air around me was again cut with the whizzing of needles. I didn't even look behind me, just started moving again. Adrenaline had me jacked up pretty high, my senses as alert as they had been when Lucas had ambushed me in the forest.

  Was that really only a few days ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

  The planks proved as hard to navigate as I had expected. They dipped under my weight and water sloshed onto my clothes. Thankfully, the Du-Wear boots kept my feet dry.

  I had a very hard time dealing with the planks. Each one was different and would dip more or less than the last, making it impossible to find a rhythm for my movements.

  The needle fire stopped, though I barely registered the fact. I was concentrating fully on keeping my balance on the stupid floating planks and moving as fast as I could.

  I reached the tower. A ladder with only three rungs had been welded onto the side of the building. It led up to a smashed in window that served as the entrance to the Snake Base. The lowest rung was at about waist height so I grabbed the highest, found purchase with my feet on the lowest rung, and pulled myself up and in.

  I sprawled out onto the floor, my breathing heavy after the insane sprint and panicked trip across the planks. We were safe at last. I checked myself for injuries, found nothing more than scraped palms from when I had fallen. The Du-Wear duster had held up, it didn't appear to have let any of the needles through.

  I turned back to the window to check on our pursuit and wondered if the mercs would risk approa
ching the Snake base.

  That was when I realized Zenigra wasn't there.

  Chapter 21

  I looked around the shattered remains of the room I stood in, hoping that Zenigra had somehow made it in here before me.

  Nothing.

  I looked out at the plank bridge, then the water around it. No sign of him. I moved to the edge of the broken window and peered out, careful to keep most of my body hidden by the wall there, just in case the mercs decided to start shooting again.

  I stared hard at the road, the two black SUVs were still there. I concentrated, trying to reel in that area of the road for a better look. It was like trying to focus binoculars. I got it after a few seconds and the scene jumped out in front of me like I was standing only a few feet away.

  I didn't have more than a second to marvel at the feat I had just performed. The kind of cyberware Sasha was equipped with would let you crank your vision up like this. An unlooked for grin spread across my lips at this ability of mine.

  Then I saw Zenigra, and the mercs surrounding him. He was laying on the ground, the aluminum bat a few feet away from an outstretched hand. He didn't look conscious.

  Four of the mercs were laying on the ground around him, unmoving. I watched as one of the mercs still standing walked up and kicked Zenigra in the face.

  Bastards. I'll kill them. Them and their families.

  I put my hands on the window's broken frame, readying myself to jump out of the window and back onto the floating bridge. I didn't know what I was going to do when I got back to the mercs, but a plan was the last thing on my mind. Blind rage was threatening to push out all rational thought and take me over. It was spurring me on, urging me to rush across the bridge, retrieve Zenigra's bat, and crush each and every merc’s skull.

  They're baiting you, Sev. You know that. They're putting on a show to try and lure you back out there.

  Yeah? And what? It's working.