“The mental stability issues,” Berg said. “Right. I’d heard about that.”
“Yeah,” she said, looking at her feet. “Thought I was good for that. So, you can see why I’d be a little concerned about visions only I can see.”
Berg nodded solemnly. “I can see that. Well, you’re not crazy.”
Stein laughed. “Nope. Just got graffiti in my head.”
“You really don’t know your parents?”
She shook her head. “Genetic material donated anonymously. Supposedly no one knows. Easy enough to do a parental screening against the database, I imagine. I asked — many times — when I was a kid, but no one would do it.” She looked away. “So, I stopped asking.”
He tapped a bit more on his terminal. “Yeah. That’d have to go through the navy docs, I guess. They’re the real geniuses on genetics. Hang on. Here. This is the highest end genetic screening tool this thing has.” He waggled the terminal. “Might tell you something about all this. About your parents, I mean.” He brought his finger down on the screen in a flourish. “It should take…wow. Several days.” He looked up at her sheepishly. “I guess I’ll get back to you.”
She shrugged again, growing frustrated at the dead weight hanging off her right shoulder. “Knock yourself out, Doc. But I stopped asking for a reason.”
§
“I’m going to shoot a billion of them.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
“There aren’t a billion of them.”
“I’ll shoot them multiple times.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
“You’ll get bored after like, the first hundred thousand.”
“Ahhhhh…you’re probably right.”
Simultaneously, each soldier spat on the ground, setting off a wave of similar expulsions from the soldiers gathered in the alley. Someone had done it unthinkingly a few minutes earlier, and because it had looked like a cool soldier–looking thing to do, it sparked an instant trend. Leroy had tried several times himself but found his mouth too dry. Not that he wasn’t confident in his ability to mess up a hundred thousand dudes himself. He was totally confident in that. He just kind of thought it would be another few weeks before he had to mess them up. Why the rush? Give them time to get their affairs settled.
The plan for the morning was to charge the security guys who had camped out in the garden well, near 10th and America. They were asking for it, Supreme Commander Kinsella said. And the ‘Good Guys’ were going to give it to them. Kinsella had tried getting everyone to call themselves the ‘Loyalists,’ but no one really liked the sound of it. ‘Good Guys’ was a lot more straightforward and had caught on much quicker.
Leroy leaned against the wall of the alley they were using as a staging area. He stuck his jaw out in the way that made him look grimmer and more serious. For the tenth time since they got there, he checked his terminal to make sure it was still on. He needn’t have bothered — everyone else’s terminal would receive the same message when it was time. And sure enough, a few seconds later a chorus of chirps from every terminal in the street. From a dozen different directions, the sound of Bletmann, the mayor’s assistant and organizer of the night’s attack, clearing his throat, then asking, “Everyone ready?”
In response, every soldier individually responded that, yes, they were ready. It was all pretty noisy and confusing, and Leroy wondered whether Bletmann would actually be able to hear if anyone said, “No.” Leroy recalled this kind of thing was usually handled differently in books and movies. They had other leaders, he thought. Smaller ones, in chains. Was that right? There certainly didn’t seem to be any chained dudes bossing people around tonight.
Evidently enough people had said they were ready, because a second later, the mass of terminals all shouted, “Go!” So, they went.
Leroy didn’t make any special effort to push to the front and just allowed himself to be swept along with the rest of the group. On the main street, his team merged with a dozen other similarly–sized teams, all coursing towards the escalator. A bottleneck formed there, good guys bumping into good guys, starting arguments, which considering how armed everyone was, were never going to end well. The two or three comatose bodies that resulted from these arguments did not improve the efficiency with which the rest of the group passed through the bottleneck, and not for the first time that day, Leroy wondered if there might have been a better way.
By the time Leroy made it up into the garden well, he could already hear the sounds of gunfire off to the south. By now completely separated from the group he was supposed to stick with — Attack Squad Jaguar Sword — Leroy stopped, confused about what to do next. Soldiers charged off in every direction, bravely shouting requests for covering fire, or promises to provide covering fire, or simply getting cut down by their own covering fire, all of this happening still several blocks away from the enemy. Leroy spotted a group of less crazy–looking good guys moving south and followed them as they took up a position just behind the corner of a building. Someone who looked like they knew what they were doing stuck his head around the corner, then waved the rest forward. Leroy tagged along at the rear, pleased he had found someone new to run behind.
The team turned the corner of the building and jogged down the street to the base of an apartment block, entering it by the front door. Here, they scattered, most heading up the stairs to the second and third floors, from there spreading out in the hallways on the south side of the building. Leroy did the same, slipping into an apartment on the second floor, where he found three of his squad mates arguing with an old woman who evidently didn’t want her apartment to be the scene of today’s war. Her side of the argument was notably outgunned, and before too long she lay unconscious on the floor while Leroy and his new friends took up position by the windows.
Outside they could see the intersection at 10th and America and the fortified semi–circle the security forces had set up there. Park benches, landscaping planters, and a tremendous variety of repurposed furniture had all been dragged into place to provide cover for the gathered goons. Already on the ground in front of these defenses were the sprawled forms of the good guys first out of the gate, who had charged directly into the security force’s guns, apparently eager to get their war over with quickly.
Someone yelled something about messing up thousands of people’s days. A spray of fire erupted from the window to Leroy’s right. Here we go. Raising his pistol up and out the window, Leroy pointed it in the direction of the bad guys and started shooting. There was no way to tell if he was doing anything useful, so he opened his eyes, but even that didn’t tell him much. But perhaps most importantly, nothing bad was happening, so he kept at it.
Eventually, some return fire thudded into the walls beside him, but it took Leroy at least a few seconds to realize what it was and almost as long to hit the ground in a panic. From the floor of the apartment, he looked around. He felt more than a little embarrassed to see he was the only one cowering; everyone else was still shooting, and clearly having quite a bit of fun. Getting carefully back to his knees, he peered out the window again. The amount of security guys shooting back seemed to be diminishing, whether they were hurt or simply hiding. We’re winning! From the other side of the street, a wave of gunfire erupted from the upper–levels of another apartment building, charged particles crisscrossing the street, slamming into the security fortifications from the other side. That put an end to most of the return fire, and Leroy could see a couple of security officers sprinting back south.
“You two, come with me,” one of his new friends said, pointing at Leroy and the guy beside him. This was the guy who seemed to know what he was doing — he had knocked out the old woman very quickly and efficiently — so Leroy followed him without hesitation. Smart army guy paused at the door and yelled, “Everyone else keep those guys pinned down. And don’t shoot us!” before heading outside and downstairs, moving to the rear lobby of the b
uilding. From there they could see out the glass doors as the suppression fire thundered down on the now mostly empty defensive perimeter, a deadly sewing machine stitching patterns in the street. “See over there?” their new leader said, pointing across the grassy area to a set of planters halfway between the building and the security fortifications. “We’re going to run over there and see how that goes.”
“How’d you get so good at this?” Leroy asked.
“Video games,” the guy replied. Leroy nodded, wishing he had played more of those. “Let’s go!”
So, they went. Somehow Leroy found himself leading the charge, possibly because the other guys were better at war than he was. Halfway there, a helmeted head appeared behind the planter, ducking down again just as quickly as a volley of fire kicked up dirt in the planter. Too late to turn back, Leroy kept running, sliding to a halt feet first behind the planter. Thinking even less than normal, he jabbed his gun around the side of the planter and fired repeatedly. He couldn’t hear anything, but again, nothing bad seemed to happen, so he didn’t stop. By that point, his new teammates caught up to him, sliding into place behind the planter beside him. “Nice job!” the smart one said. “Though I think you got him by now.” Leroy sheepishly withdrew his gun. He looked at the smart army guy and shrugged. Looks like I’m pretty good at war, too.
Then the sun went out.
§
For two hundred years, the daylights in the garden well had gone on every morning at 7 a.m. and turned off every evening at 8 p.m. No war, labor shortage, or billing dispute had ever interrupted this cycle. So, when the daylights went out that morning at 11 a.m., it was fair to say that most people in the well were profoundly unprepared for it.
Except for the security troops who had been explicitly told it would happen.
On the monitors, Thorias watched those officers creep forward now, terminals awkwardly held out in front of them, scanning in the infrared. It wasn’t just the daylights out — power had been cut to every apartment, streetlight, and other source of illumination, as well. It was as pitch dark as the garden well had ever been, and would be until the Othersiders remembered that their terminals all had flashlights. He watched in amusement as a few of those Othersiders did remember that, turned them on, and were immediately shot for their troubles, the only thing the lights actually illuminated being themselves.
This had been one of his better ideas, a way to not just fend off the Othersiders, but to humiliate them on their first outing. Helot had loved it and immediately ordered Curts to help with the technical side of things. It was exactly the kind of plan Helot would like — short, relatively tidy, and with a bit of luck, one that would take the fight out of Kinsella’s army without anyone having to die.
§
Sergei crept forward, pistol held in front of him, a terminal awkwardly mounted to the top of the gun with tape. Through the terminal, he could see dozens of other security officers creeping forward doing the exact same thing. It had taken them a few minutes to muster once the attack began, and then a few minutes more waiting while the Othersiders overextended themselves.
Lights flickered in the darkness as Othersiders scrambled with their terminal lights. The terminal lights were badly unfocused and could only usefully illuminate things a couple of meters away. Just enough to navigate by or to act as a glowing beacon which screamed, “Shoot me!” Security officers behind Sergei somewhere gladly obliged those requests, picking off the lights as they flared up.
Not all of the gunfire in front of Sergei had stopped, but all of it was blind, the Othersiders probably hitting themselves more than anything else. Sergei’s team skirted the main battlefield, moving around to pick the Othersiders apart from their flanks.
A red blur staggered out of a building in front of Sergei. It could have been a civilian, but he shot it anyways. The blur crumpled to the ground, and as he drew closer, he could see it did in fact have a pistol with it. Take that, armed blur. He bent down and scooped up the pistol, tucking it into the bag he had slung over his shoulders. He then slid a plastic pair of binders around the blur’s wrists, snapping them closed. The rest of his unit moved into the building, doing the same with their own blurs.
That basic, confused process repeated itself for what seemed like hours, Sergei and his team calmly moving from building to building, knocking out blurs, shooting at bobbing white lights in the middle distance, then cuffing their victims and taking their weapons. Thorias had been adamant they were to do nothing else, but the riot a week earlier had created more than a bit of bad blood in the security corps, and despite the fact that the subjects were completely limp at the time, Sergei saw at least a few cases of ‘subjects resisting arrest.’ He didn’t partake in too much of that himself, but he didn’t stop it either. ‘They Started It’ wasn’t security’s traditional credo, but it seemed to be catching on now.
§
Leroy froze, blind, panicked. It was completely, utterly black. Even the streetlights had gone out. Although maybe they weren’t on in the first place — it was, after all, eleven in the morning. He blinked, again and again, willing himself to see something. The terminal on his thigh squealed with senseless shouting and cries.
A short distance away, a blinding bright light appeared, the brightest thing Leroy had ever seen. Blinking, he realized it was a terminal light held by one of his new friends. A salvo of charged particles thumped into it, knocking down the light’s owner, shutting off the terminal.
“Shit,” someone said beside Leroy. It sounded like the smart war guy. “I think they just shot the kid,” he said.
“No, I’m still here,” Leroy said.
“Cool. Other guy? You shot?” Silence. “Yeah, I think they got him.”
“What do we do?” Leroy asked.
“Should probably stop turning on lights, I guess.” More gunfire, this time coming from behind them. “That came from our guys!” smart war guy said. “Hey, morons! Stop shooting!” Another volley of shots stitched the ground, thumping into him. Leroy heard him moan and slump over.
Considering his options, Leroy felt his way around to the other side of the planter, taking cover from the good guys. All around him he could hear and see lights flickering on and off, shots snapping those lights off. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the sound of confused moans. It sounded like someone who had been knocked out in the first wave was waking up, complaining of unexpected blindness. Leroy heard him stagger to his feet, then cringed as a sudden glow from his terminal announced his position. More shots from the south sailed over Leroy’s head, bringing the darkness back.
Eventually, the remaining good guys smartened up, and most of the gunfire stopped, aside from some concentrated spurts off to his left somewhere. Knowing he was in the worst possible place to be when and if the lights came back on, Leroy rounded the planter and began crawling in a direction that seemed like home.
It was slow and awkward going, bumping into benches and buildings and bodies as he went. And somewhat worryingly, the spurts of gunfire seemed to be getting louder. He changed direction, trying to crawl away from them. But to no effect. Whoever was shooting was crawling a lot faster than he was. Or perhaps not crawling at all.
“Where do you think you’re going?” someone said behind him, someone probably not crawling. An impact in Leroy’s ass, then a tingling sensation, then somehow, the darkness got darker.
§
Hogg approached the front of Kinsella’s garden well apartment, weary to get this over with. It had literally been a very long night, and he wasn’t in the mood for whatever nonsense was going to be hurled at him next.
Hogg hadn’t known the attack was being planned — he would have begged Kinsella not to proceed if he had, explaining as forcefully as possible that a group of armed fools were still fools. As soon as he had heard what was happening, he had rushed to the opposite side of the garden well to watch the disaster unfold overhead. Watching their initial success and forward progress hadn’t dulled his concern in
the slightest, the whole time confident that it couldn’t last.
He was right. He just couldn’t have imaged how right he would be.
When the streetlights started to come on at their normal hour, they revealed the last of the security forces retreating back to their former defensive perimeter, leaving a couple hundred good guys trussed up on the surrounding streets. Hogg had spent the rest of the night helping untie his fallen comrades, the whole time under the guns — and within earshot — of the mocking security forces.
He had expected some kind of rebuke from the mayor, though imagined it would come accompanied by a group of armed thugs. Even though he’d had nothing to do with the planning of the disaster, he knew that wasn’t going to matter — the mayor didn’t seem like a man who concerned himself with fussy details like that. Kinsella might even think Hogg had tipped Helot off. Hogg would protest his innocence — that was at least worth a token effort — but mostly he just felt resigned. Unwanted in one end of the ship and unpopular in the other. He had nowhere left to go.
The guards at the door recognized him, one of them stepping out of the way and holding the door open for him. It was the same pair Hogg had duped when he went to ‘arrest’ the mayor at the arena. “Hogg, sir. You can go right up,” he said with a smile. Hogg tried not to let the surprise register on his face. This was a friendly visit? Neither had even cast a glance at the pistol on his hip. Which meant he wasn’t walking into an ambush. What was it then? As he rode up the elevator, he wondered if Helot would let him back on the cool side of the ship if he shot Kinsella.
The doors opened, revealing one of the mayor’s many interchangeable lackeys, who greeted Hogg, directing him down the hall to the mayor’s bedroom. With the security forces no longer actively hunting him, Kinsella had finally let his wig down and moved home. Entering the bedroom, Hogg found Kinsella’s aide Bletmann seated in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, slouching over one of the armrests. To judge by his blotchy, red face, Hogg guessed that he had been crying. Stepping further in the room, he approached Kinsella, who was fully clothed and sitting upright in his plush bed, back against the headboard. He beckoned Hogg over, gesturing for him to take a seat at the foot of the bed.
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