by James Wake
She pressed her gloves to the walls of the shaft, then her feet, and climbed. Much easier this time.
* * *
The pills had kicked into high gear. Jackson felt sharp, every noise screaming in her ears even through the helmet, every motion jittering by her eyes. Her synthetic muscles felt spectacular for once, taut and ready for action.
She stepped down a dark hallway, gun drawn, landing on her heel and rolling her foot forward without a sound.
Ortega gulped for air behind her. “Christ, why are the elevators dead?”
“Shut up!” she barked at him. Bad enough having to duck the APS teams sweeping the building without him carrying on. If Cheshire was up here, he’d hear Ortega coming for sure. At least this floor looked empty so far.
“I’m telling you, the cat’s not here,” he said.
“Then why did you follow me in?”
“What, and let you go alone?”
Fair enough. Jackson took a corner, letting the spotlight shining from her goggles sweep across an empty, dark waiting room. She felt an open space behind her, where she should have been covered.
“Stay on me,” she said.
“I’m trying!” Ortega said, catching up to her. He was darting his eyes all over the place, his lights flashing up and down—everywhere but where they should be.
“Ortega!” she growled. “Breathe. Focus.”
“Says the lady who took my pills.”
More dark hallway waited ahead. Jackson prowled along, her usual stomping boots silent. Cheshire was up here. He had to be up here. There had to be a face hidden behind that damn cat, a real voice behind that excruciating wailing in her ears.
She took another corner, her eyes lighting up. Another short length of hallway, ending in double doors. Double doors with multicolored lights flickering from behind.
“Ortega!” she half whispered.
Nothing.
Jackson didn’t dare take her eyes off the door. “Ortega!”
Still nothing.
She cursed under her breath. With her revolver trained on the door, she moved forward, slow and steady. Better this way, a part of her thought. She and Cheshire were going to talk. A private talk, woman to cat.
Almost close enough to touch the door. She thought about trying Ortega one last time, but no, the cat was hers to catch. Jackson felt it, coursing through her veins—not the pills, but those were surely helping. The pills couldn’t make her feel that good old familiar thrill, the rushing panicking joy of a good breach.
Gun ready, she lifted one leg and stomped the door open with a mighty kick.
Nothing.
An empty office. An empty desk. A small robot, on its side on the desk, flashing rainbow lights.
A child’s toy. A small robot cat, of course.
Jackson groaned in disgust, letting out a long breath. Her shoulders slumping with disappointment, she holstered her gun.
* * *
Nadia crawled upside down, creeping through the space above ceiling tiles. A vent ran by her side, full of buzzing hot air. Impossible to hear anything below, difficult even to hear Tess. A row of thick pipes and cable bundles passed underneath her.
“Hey, that fiber there. The thick orange one,” Tess said. “Or sorry, is it carrot? Tangerine? No, wait, nasturtium!”
“Hilarious,” Nadia said, attaching another splice connector to the cable. No link light appeared. “So the entire network infrastructure of this building is inactive?”
“I mean, it makes sense. You’re hunting a notorious hacker? Cut the power, cut the network.”
“Doesn’t seem to be giving you any trouble,” Nadia said. Farther ahead, lights flickered up through a vent grate. Voices maybe. No, definitely. A familiar voice, teasing at the corners of her recognition.
“Yeah, APS has some pretty serious jamming going on civilian bands right now. Which is why I got one of them to invite me on to their frequencies. Didn’t you wonder why I was playing with voice modulation earlier?”
Nadia stopped crawling toward the voice. “So what are they saying?”
“Dunno. I haven’t busted their encryption. That would take days.”
“Pity.” Nadia stopped over the vent grate, looking straight down to see a most pleasant surprise.
“What? No way,” Tess said.
Of course it had sounded familiar. That tone, firm and tough and no-nonsense. None other than relentless, heroic Officer Jackson was standing below, gun drawn, her goggles shining a spotlight in front of her.
Jackson was looking intently at something, advancing out of Nadia’s view with her weapon ready. She followed, sliding through the dark crawlspace. Jackson’s voice failed to make another appearance, leaving Nadia to guess—but she spotted another grate in the tiles up ahead.
Something crashed below, a loud smack that sent Nadia skittering faster toward the vent. She looked down to see Jackson standing at an open doorway, sighing and holstering her gun.
Standing there. Still. With her back to Nadia.
A thought occurred.
Nadia tried to dismiss it, which only made it more intense. It felt so familiar—the way she felt seeing a particularly fetching piece of jewelry sometimes. The ones she had to have, had to take, not buy, had to steal, or she would spend the rest of her day—or several days—in a dark, angry place, unable to hold back all the hatred she kept stomped down so well.
She didn’t like being in that place. And she would not go willingly.
With a sly little grin, she reached down and stuck her gloves to a ceiling tile, pulled it up, and delicately placed it aside.
“What are you doing?” Tess said. “What are you doing?”
Nadia hung from her sticky fingers and lowered her body, letting go and landing in a crouch with hardly a sound. She didn’t risk responding to Tess.
“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” Tess said.
Jackson’s back was still to her, staring at an empty room through a ruined door. Nadia recognized the gun sticking out of the holster on Jackson’s hip, not one of those slim semi-automatics other cops carried, but a revolver, large and heavy.
It was the first time Nadia hadn’t wanted to recoil in disgust looking at a gun. She had no intention of using it, but it had style—classic curves, black understated metal, with a handle made of striking dark-stained wood.
It would do.
With a sudden burst of movement and sound, she leapt forward. Her right hand yanked the revolver from Jackson’s belt while her left grabbed one of the woman’s wrists and pinned it to her back. Nadia jammed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Jackson’s head, tucking it right under the bottom of her helmet.
“Don’t move,” she said. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Jackson froze. “It’s you.”
“Aaah!” Tess said. “Why?”
Nadia could barely contain the smug satisfaction under her mask. “So good to see you again, Officer Jackson.”
“How do you know my name?” Jackson said, straining her arm against the hold.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Nadia said, jamming the gun harder against Jackson’s skull. Her finger wasn’t anywhere near the trigger. “No time for pleasantries, I’m afraid.”
“Darn shame.” Jackson was still straining a bit. “Are you Cheshire?”
Nadia scoffed loudly. “I’m looking for him.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You have him trapped somewhere in this building. Where?”
“You think I’d be clearing this floor if I knew?”
“I told you, I’m not even there.”
“Stop that right now and get out of there!” Tess said, adding a feed to Nadia’s goggles. It was a bird’s-eye view of the building’s entrance; there had to be a camera on the crane. Teams of Domes were streaming inside.
Anger flared up in Nadia’s chest, forcing her hand to yank Jack
son’s arm tighter in the hold. “Where is he? Where is Cheshire?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll take you as a consolation prize,” Jackson said, raising her free right hand. “I already pushed my panic button. My mic is broadcasting to every unit nearby.”
“Ugh, you invited your friends?” Nadia said, covering for the panic in her chest. “We were having such a good time, just the two of us.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll put that gun down and let me put the cuffs on. I’ll even think about bein’ gentle with you.”
“What fun would that be? Do not turn around.” She released Jackson’s arm and took a few steps back, her heart pounding, her mouth turning into a desert. Tess had been right, of course, and Nadia had all but told her to shut up, to quiet down and let the big girl handle things.
Disgust washed over her—sweet, familiar self-loathing. She had to make it up to Tess later somehow.
Leaving. Leaving was a good idea right now. She fumbled with the revolver, meaning to unload it, drop it, and disappear back up into the ceiling—surely there was a simple button to empty the gun, a clip or something.
“Why aren’t you leaving?” Tess roared in her ears.
“How do you unload this stupid thing?”
“Just drop it and…look out!”
Nadia looked up, too late. Jackson’s fist slammed through the air into Nadia’s gut, as slow and ponderous as the crane. If she hadn’t been taking punches from Brutus so regularly, it surely would have laid her out. Instead she turned enough so the hit was only a minor disaster. Even so, Nadia stumbled back, choking and gasping for breath.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Jackson snarled, advancing in a much more menacing combat stance than Nadia had been taught.
Nadia tried to make a witty comeback but managed only a pained little urk. She leveled the gun at Jackson, her hands shaking furiously, finger on the trigger this time.
Jackson gave her a disappointed look, dropping her stance, and pressed a hand to her ear. “Ortega, where the hell are you?”
With a slight crouch and an immense pain in her chest, Nadia shot back up into the crawlspace, sticking one hand to the ceiling. She crammed Jackson’s gun in her bag and took off, crawling through the dark, narrow space.
“Are you okay?” Tess said.
“Still here,” Nadia choked out.
“Okay, okay,” Tess said. “Stay calm, I’m gonna get you out of there. Calm, calm, caaaaaaaalm…”
Nadia’s heart was threatening to tear itself out of her chest. Calm was not a possibility. She darted around a large vent that blocked her way, then turned the corner to see the opening to the elevator shaft.
Flashlights in the shaft, beams of light crisscrossing. Waiting for her.
“I’ll go ahead and say it. You told me so.”
“Oh, my God. Who cares?” Tess said. “Run! Get the hell out of there!”
Ceiling tiles to her left exploded up and slapped to the side. More flashlights pierced through the crawlspace, sliding over her then focusing.
“Visual!” someone yelled.
Nadia made a break away from the lights, squeezing between two bundles of cable, crawling as fast as she could. Something was whirring behind her, a small drone hovering through the crawlspace with a camera fixed on her position.
“Here! Here!” Yelling from below. Rapid gunshots rang out, holes bursting through the tiles in front of her. Something punched her in the back, hard, making her gasp and release her sticky grip.
A cluster of pipes caught her fall, knocking another breath out of her. Bits of tile pelted her mask as dust clouded the crawlspace. Something punched her in the chest. She flinched right off the pipes, crashed through the ceiling, landed hard on a desk, and finally rolled into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Thankfully she’d fallen right through pain straight into numb shock. Nadia shook her head, spraying dust and tile flecks all around her, then shakily tried to get to her feet. She was in an empty office, open desks with no cubicle walls.
“Cease fire!” a man said. “Cease fire. Nonlethal!”
“Fuck that!” another voice said. “Guns hot!”
“Get down! Get down!” Tess screamed.
Easy to drop to the floor in her state. Nadia crouched as low as she could, feeling the crack of bullets over her head. Rows of desks stretched on, a perfect maze to crawl through. She scrambled blindly, anywhere but here.
“You’re hit!” Tess said. “Look at your chest. Let me see!”
“I’m fine!”
“Stand down!” It was Jackson this time. “Damn it, I said stand down! Where is she?”
Nadia stayed low. No one in sight at the moment. She poked her hand above a desk and saw nothing before instinct forced her to yank it back down. Bullets tore the top of the desk to shreds, the shots ringing in her ears and pelting her with bits of computer screen.
“I said stand down!” Jackson yelled.
“Get that city cop out of here!” another voice said.
“Hey, kid!” Jackson said, sounding like she was struggling with someone. “Give it up before you get killed!”
“Not happening!” Nadia yelled back. “But thank you ever so much for your concern!”
“You haven’t done anything to get the death penalty. Don’t be stupid!” Jackson said. “Back off…Get your hands off me!”
Nadia dove to the next desk over, trying to roll but merely scrambling awkwardly as her chest screeched in pain. No gunshots rang out the moment she moved. Improvement. At least until that same pesky drone hovered over her, a camera on a small frame with a single encased rotor. No doubt announcing exactly which desk she was hiding behind.
“Cover left!” a man commanded. “On me!”
She heard them moving, closing in. The crane feed showed nothing but empty vehicles; apparently every available unit was in the building, chasing her down.
“Jammer?” Tess said.
“Yes!” Nadia said, her head touching the floor.
“Okay…now!”
Screams. Thuds of bodies hitting the floor. Nadia stood, startled, as she saw how utterly hopeless it had been—she was completely surrounded by Auktoris guards, all writhing around.
Exit sign nearby. As the drone hovered near her head, Nadia swatted at it, catching the frame and clamping her hand over the camera. She took off toward the door, bounding from desk to desk then bursting into a dark hallway.
A door marked STAIRWELL to her left, a Dome to her right. The Dome jumped in place and raised her gun, yelling, “Hands up!”
The drone was still struggling in her hands. Nadia whipped it at the officer, making the woman yelp and flail around as she fell backward. No time to enjoy the sight of it, not even a glance back as Nadia hurried through the stairwell door. Thudding boots echoed from many floors below, accompanied by flashlights.
“Any other…way out?” she asked, fighting for breath.
“I don’t think so. Ugh, this is all my fault!”
Nadia looked up. Everything was quiet and dark. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, cold sweat soaking everything she was wearing. She took off up the spiraling stairs.
“Roof?” Tess said.
“What other choice do I have?” Nadia said, panting through her mask.
The jammer buzzed and smoked on her belt, hot even through the layers of her clothes. That tingling shot deep into her teeth again, her right hand stinging and seizing up.
“This is bad,” Tess said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
“Don’t talk like that.” She hopped up the last railing and kicked her way through the roof access door, feeling her heart stop and try to leap out through her throat.
Two people were standing on the other side. Not Domes—blue uniforms, black helmets and masks, tactical armor. Not totally faceless, each of them a human being still, if only glimpsed through the gogg
les under their helmets.
Time stopped. Even the pounding of her heartbeat was slow and resentful. They stared at Nadia, frozen, eyes wide in surprise, each of them with guns in hand but still pointed at the roof. Of all the things to notice, Nadia read the patch on each of their shoulders, “B Team is for Best Team,” and took a moment to wonder at their being allowed to put that on a uniform.
The closest one, a man, started to raise his gun. Without thought, her veins bursting with adrenaline, Nadia grabbed the barrel and snapped the heel of her other palm straight into his nose with the considerable force of the sleeves over her arms.
The other one was a short, stocky woman, also raising her weapon and yelling something. Nadia slammed her electrified arm bracer at the woman’s face. The officer tried to block, her arm catching Nadia’s. She heard a pop and a shriek as the woman collapsed. Nadia touched the shock pad on her other arm to the man’s neck before he could recover. He collapsed as well.
Nadia stood still in a completely breathless, dumb moment. It suddenly felt cool, up here in the night air. Her body—and her empty hands, which she stared at in mute shock—had moved on their own, through motions she had practiced hundreds of times.
“Whoa!” Tess said. “How did you do that?”
Nadia was already running past them, tearing across the roof. “I’m not entirely sure?”
“Your heart rate is off the fucking chart. You need to breathe.”
Nadia pounded air as she sprinted. She didn’t think a human could breathe harder. Engines roared above her, bright white light that sent her skidding to a stop and shielding her eyes. A helicopter, its twin encased rotors blowing wash all over the roof, a bright news-stream logo painted down the side. Nadia kept moving, looking for anything to hide behind. Huge blocks of metal in rows stuck out of the roof, square monoliths to dash between.
Pressing herself to the side of one, she glanced back at the stairwell door—guards with guns were pouring through, fanning out into a line behind her. She kept running before hopping a low wall and crouching next to another A/C unit.
Flashlights ahead. More yelling. Too soon—this was all too soon. She couldn’t be caught already. She looked around again. Still surrounded. She glanced down at the sharp pain in her chest and spotted a ragged hole in the cloth. Thick silver gel leaked out of it. Nadia poked the hole, too numb to tell if the bullet had penetrated her flesh. Surely there would be blood?