“We’ve had this coming for a long time.”
CHAPTER 52
The Synthates streamed down into the subway station by the thousands. They were less than five miles from the Genico building, and in the tunnels they could travel undetected beneath Manhattan. Jack and Night Comfort stood in the conductor’s car, an old Industrial Synthate sitting in the operator’s chair. When the cars were packed, the doors pinged closed and slowly the train began to move forward on the ancient tracks.
“Your brother has to know we’ll be coming,” Night Comfort said. “He’ll have the building surrounded by crushers.”
“I know.”
“If your brother fights?”
“I’ll handle him.”
The subway car picked up speed, heading south down the old abandoned rail line. An empty station passed, dead leaves littering the platform, the window of a token taker dusty and cracked. When they reached the Gendustrial Zone, Jack would split the Synthates into two groups so they could flank the Genico building. He hoped the crushers had enough sense to run. He wanted this to be peaceful, but he knew that wasn’t possible. There was too much hatred. Too many had seen fellow Synthates killed by the crushers. Once they hit the streets, armed and angry as they were, Jack couldn’t predict what would happen.
The train began to slow as they reached Beach’s pneumatic station.
Someone handed Jack an M-16 taken from the Games armory. He gripped the weapon and headed toward the tunnel exit. Night Comfort led the last half of the Synthates back toward the second station, down the long tunnel that led toward Murray Street. They climbed the stairs and poured out of the station onto Broadway. The sun was bright and the metal of a hundred different types of armor and weapons glittered.
To the east was City Hall, ringed by New York City police officers. The cops stood still as Synthates filled the street. They made no move to intervene. One of them even waved toward Jack. Night Comfort was right. Arden would have told his fellow cops. The naturals knew what Genico had done. They would not protect the Gendustrial power anymore.
They continued south, past Zuccotti Park, the slowly revolving Genico turbine ahead of them. The streets were empty of naturals and soon they approached the wide pavilion that fronted the Genico building near the edge of Battery Park. Broadway forked around the iconic Wall Street Bull, and the Synthates pushed forward, filling the entire Bowling Green space. The crushers guarded the front entrance of the building, rows upon rows of naturals in black uniforms. Helisqualls hovered in the distance, and two armored transports rumbled up over the sidewalk. Beyond them, the waters of the bay lay still.
Jack craned his head back toward the massive pinnacle of the Genico building and its ninety stories. Somewhere up there was his father’s office. Somewhere up there, Phillip was waiting for him.
“You are not authorized to be here,” a megaphoned voice boomed out from the crusher side. “All Synthates currently here have broken curfew and are in violation of genetic law. Synthate code prohibits you from bearing arms of any kind and from leaving your assigned work area. The penalty is capital punishment.”
The lines of Synthates held, one hundred yards distant from the Genico building. Jack stepped forward.
“What are you going to do?” Night Comfort asked him.
“I’m going to talk to them. See if they’ll stand aside.”
“They won’t.”
“Then it will be a short conversation.”
Jack and Night Comfort left the Synthate lines and headed across the open plaza. Ahead of them, the crushers stood five deep. A familiar face stepped from behind the ranks. The man who had interrogated Jack on the night of his arrest appeared, the man known as the Overseer.
He wore military fatigues and a battered cavalry Stetson. A Colt revolver hung at his waist. He sauntered toward Jack, cracking his knuckles as he walked.
“Jack Saxton,” the Overseer said. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Should have killed you when we first met.”
“Nobody has to die here.”
“No naturals have to die, maybe. But you and your kind. All of you have to go to black. We’ll expire as many Synthates as we can. There’s no other way to deal with an uprising. A slave has got to know his place.”
Jack looked around the open square. There wasn’t a cop in sight, only the crushers. “Do your men feel the same? Are they ready to die for Genico’s greed?”
“My men know their place. This has nothing to do with Genico. This is about preserving a way of life.”
“Your ways are over. We can’t be contained anymore. There are too many of us.”
The Overseer shook his head. “You have no idea. An old union breaker said once, ‘I can always hire one half of the poor to kill the other half.’ But the beauty of Synthates is that we can always just build one half of the slaves to kill the other half.”
The head of the crushers raised his hand. Two wide doors in the front of the Genico Synthate shop opened, and out streamed hundreds of Synthates, each fully armed. Their bioprints flared violent images. In the front of their group was Rasputin, Lieberman’s battle-hardened Synthate.
“Fresh from the grow gardens.” The Overseer smiled. “So, as I said. No naturals have to die today.”
The new Synthates took position in front of the crushers. Jack felt himself deflate. These Synthates were new to the world. They didn’t know what kind of life they were destined for and, if Jack could take down Genico tonight, how much better their lives would be. They would fight as they had been ordered.
Jack turned and walked back toward his lines. Night Comfort fell in next to him.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
Jack sighed. “I don’t know.”
“You must know. They are looking to you to lead. Whatever you think is right, you must make a decision.”
Jack surveyed the faces of the old Synthates who crowded the square in front of them. Even if they gave up their arms, and went back to work, what would that serve? They would still be dying in the Games. They would still live as slaves, subject to the whims of the naturals.
“None of them have ever had a choice about anything,” Night Comfort said. “And now they’re choosing to follow you. Don’t take that choice away from them.”
“Send the word,” Jack said. “We will fight.”
CHAPTER 53
High above Battery Park, Phillip walked slowly around the perimeter of his office in time with the sky turbine, looking down at the crowd of Synthates that filled the park below. All of them had been constructed from birth by the naturals but had gone on to develop in ways none could have foreseen. And yet, it was only a matter of time before the naturals were confronted with this moment. A people couldn’t be enslaved forever without a reckoning.
“Whatever happens, the Synthate industry will never be the same again,” Lieberman said. “People will want to know how we ever let things get this far. There’ll be oversight and committees and more regulations. I think we’re witnessing the end of our glory.”
“We should have dealt with this a long time ago.” Phillip felt remarkably clearheaded. In the end, Genico would survive. Greed always survived. But the truth of what had happened here, what had caused all this, might never be known. “Tell the crushers to do what’s necessary.”
CHAPTER 54
Overhead, the helisqualls circled away from the Genico building and swooped down low over Battery Park, machine guns extending.
“Here they come,” Jack called out. “Take cover.”
Synthates scattered for the open doors of the buildings that lined Broadway, finding safety in the office buildings and shops of Lower Manhattan. The helisquall guns fired, mini gun rounds tearing away façades and blowing out the glass of buildings along Broadway. The Guard Synthates, vanishing into heavy stone buildings, had been trained to stay calm in battle. They would make the crushers come into every building and hunt them down one by one if they had to.
Jack t
urned and ran with Night Comfort back north up Broadway. One of the helisqualls peeled off from the main group and accelerated after them. Jack could hear the roar of its turbine, then the whir as the mini gun opened fire. They ducked for cover beneath the stone overhang of the American Express building, chunks of concrete and stone splintering down on them as the helisquall passed overhead.
They watched the machine skim across the side of Trinity Church in the distance before it banked sharply and headed back in their direction. Jack fired his M-16 at the attacking aircraft, but the armored plating deflected the rounds. The helisqualls were designed to be almost impenetrable to ground fire. Jack took Night Comfort’s hand and pulled her across Broadway until they were running down the narrow footpath of Exchange Place.
The helisquall roared after them. The walkway was narrow, and Jack turned back to see the craft miss the turn and slam into the edge of a Chase bank building. The craft righted itself, then the nose dipped and it propelled forward.
“Down here,” Jack yelled, pulling Night Comfort up the narrow confines of Broad Street. The helisqualls were fast and agile, but the machine was having difficulty navigating the carriage streets of old New York. Even so, every minute the two were in the open, the helisquall was able to close the distance. They wouldn’t have much time.
Ahead was the iconic structure of the New York Stock Exchange, the familiar Greek Revival columns stretching the length of the front. They raced toward the main entrance. A cyclone of trash kicked up around them from the helisquall’s rotors. The Stock Exchange stood shadowed in a valley of taller buildings, each rising high above the helisquall. Jack and Night Comfort flung themselves through the unlocked heavy metal doors of the exchange. The helisquall struggled to keep level in the narrow Wall Street ravine. Jack looked through an impact-proof window cut into the thick granite of the exchange.
The helisquall leveled off outside, still buffeted by the turbulence inside the narrow space. High above on the roof of an adjacent building, two Synthates appeared, each bearing rocket-propelled grenade launchers. The weapons were antiquated and any helisquall, under normal circumstances, would easily be able to outmaneuver an RPG attack. But in the tight confines of the narrow street, the craft was vulnerable. With a white flash, two grenades streaked down from the adjacent roof, struck the helisquall, and tore through the machine’s armor. The craft went down in a fireball burst, sheering off the George Washington statue in front of Federal Hall before bursting into flames.
CHAPTER 55
Phillip stopped the Genico sky turbine rotation and watched with Lieberman from high above as the Overseer led an army up Broadway. Gunfire erupted from windows on either side of the walkway from the Synthate mob who had taken refuge inside the buildings. Minutes before, a helisquall had skimmed up Broadway, then a massive explosion had followed near the Securities Exchange. The Overseer hadn’t planned on the Synthates being this well armed. Or this well organized.
Intense fighting erupted outside the Custom House at the edge of Bowling Green. The solid-looking beaux arts building stretched for three blocks, and Synthates had taken position inside the building, firing down with a variety of weapons at the crushers. The Overseer’s men had taken cover behind armored personnel carriers and he had sent the new Synthates forward toward the building. The new batches, just out of the grow gardens, were inexperienced and rushed forward, cut down by the gunfire from the Custom House.
“We’ve got the grow gardens pushing new Synthates out as fast as we can,” Lieberman said. “We’re trying to grow an army.”
“If they get into Genico, Jack is going to try to upload the virus into the scrubber system,” Phillip said.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know my brother. The only way to help the Synthates is make them like us. So can we take the system offline?”
Lieberman shook his head. “There’s no way to do that without severing Genico from the system.”
“How would we do that?”
“We’d have to destroy the building.”
“No matter what happens, we can’t let my brother succeed,” Phillip said. “My father forced us into this position. If we have to destroy the building, that’s what we do. We can rebuild again.”
“I don’t see how we can lose. We have the crushers. We have weapons. We have new Security Synthates. They’ve got a handful of kitchen maids and whores patched together with some stolen relics.”
“They have anger. And they have nothing to lose.”
An explosion outside the Custom House caused a shock wave against the Genico building. Even ninety floors up, the windows rattled in their frames.
CHAPTER 56
Jack and Night Comfort ran the few blocks back to the Custom House. The building housed the National Museum of the American Indian, and they ran up the stone steps beneath a fluttering banner advertising a Hopi exhibit. Statues that flanked the exterior entrance had been knocked from their pedestals and lay in broken fragments. Scattered marble heads and limbs littered the ground. Inside, the building was filled with smoke and rattled by gunfire. War Admiral met them, dressed in Desert Storm–patterned camouflage, wearing a heavy flak jacket and a helmet, and carrying an M-16. Part of his ear hung in bloody tatters.
“We’ve got a few hundred crushers outside. They’re rolling in armored carriers,” War Admiral said as he led them deeper into the museum, past Indian exhibits, their glass cases shattered, tribal relics scattered across the floor. The group entered a collector’s reception room with oak-paneled walls, then stopped inside the building’s magnificent central rotunda, an enormous open space of white marble with a glass skylight that spread above them. The walls were adorned with murals depicting the exploration of early New York.
“How long can we last?” Jack asked.
“Depends how much damage they want to avoid,” War Admiral said. “We’ve taken over the buildings, like you said. Right now they’re the only things keeping us in this. Nobody wants to take out half the real estate in Lower Manhattan. Not until they get desperate, anyway.”
“They’ll have to come after us building by building. Floor by floor,” Night Comfort said.
“How are we with ammunition?” Jack asked.
“Good. Problem is we’ve got weapons throughout centuries. Everything from machine guns to crossbows. None of what we carry is interchangeable.”
“So what do you think?”
“If we’ve got any chance, we need to take a unit to the Genico building. We can keep the crushers occupied out here while an advance team moves into Genico.”
A helisquall engulfed in flames roared overhead, visible through the rotunda skylight. The aircraft spun wildly out of control, then crashed into the top of the rotunda dome; massive pieces of mortar rained down on them.
A whistle blew from the front lobby, the sound of machine gun fire suddenly louder, followed by the drone of machinery.
Two Synthates ran through the rotunda entrance. “The crushers are coming!”
Through the open door of the rotunda, a team of a dozen crushers appeared. War Admiral fired his M-16, forcing them back into the lobby.
“We need to get you out of here,” War Admiral said.
They fell back deeper into the museum. Synthates moved past them to guard the rotunda entrance from the crushers. The warning whistle continued to blow.
“You can get out through the rear of the museum. There’s a second door leading onto Bridge Street. From there you can try to make your way to Genico.”
They followed War Admiral through the remainder of the exhibits, then down a narrow corridor that ended in a heavy bronze door. War Admiral pulled the bolts open on the door, then heaved on the handle. Slowly the door swung open into a small alley behind the Custom House building. War Admiral held out his hand.
“Good luck. Don’t make this all be for nothing.”
Jack shook War Admiral’s hand. “I won’t.”
Night Comfort hugged the big S
ynthate. “Thank you.”
War Admiral bowed, then vanished behind the heavy metal door. The locks swung back into place, and they were alone in the alley.
CHAPTER 57
Jack and Night Comfort moved quickly from the alley onto Bridge Street. They passed along a series of loading docks, heading south toward Bowling Green. In the distance, a crashed helisquall lay on its side, the front windshield cracked, the dead pilot visible inside.
“Do you know how to operate one of those things?” Jack asked.
Night Comfort studied the helisquall. “Sort of.”
“What does ‘sort of’ mean?”
“I’ve done a simulator,” Night Comfort said as she reached the downed aircraft. The pilot’s face shield was smashed, his body limp and slumped over against the seat. Jack unbuckled him and dragged him from the helisquall.
Night Comfort slipped behind the flight controls. Jack sat next to her. The front console seemed undamaged. She swiped her hand over the power grid and the turbines whirred to life.
“You sure this thing can fly?” Jack asked.
Night Comfort lifted back on the controls and the helisquall began to unsteadily lift upward. “Fifty-fifty.”
The right wing was badly damaged. Strips of armor plating hung down near the turbine. Black smoke poured from one of the engines, but the machine slowly rose off the ground, then hovered ten feet in the air.
“Looks solid,” Night Comfort said, testing the tilt. “Where to now?”
“Think you can land this on the Genico roof?”
She lifted back on the controls and the helisquall jerked upward. Jack’s stomach lurched as the ground fell away quickly beneath them. “Guess we’ll find out,” she said as the machine banked sharply and skimmed out across Bowling Green toward the Genico plaza.
Below them, a mass of crushers moved toward the Custom House building. Gunfire poured down on them from both sides of Broadway. The helisquall sputtered as something gave way with a metallic clunk in one of the engines. The entire craft lurched to the right, the ground a dizzying blur far beneath them.
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