Friction

by R S Penney

  “What can I do for you?”

  Smoothing his features, Ben looked up to meet the man's eyes. “I recently arrested an arms dealer,” he said, blinking. “A guy by the name of Nicolae Petrov. Does that ring any bells for you?”

  “Should it?”

  Ben turned.

  The young woman was watching him over the balcony railing, her grim expression betraying a rather intense dislike. “The man was selling force-field generators,” Ben said. “Antauran force-field generators.”

  Tyron smiled, looking away to avoid eye contact. “Oh, Tanaben,” he muttered. “It's a big galaxy. I'm sure there are plenty of people selling Antauran weapons. What makes you think I'm involved?”

  “If you're not the one behind it,” Ben said, “Then you know who is.”

  “Even if I did, why would I tell you?”

  Ben suppressed a sigh. This was getting him nowhere. If people like Petrov were bringing advanced weapons to Earth, it was only a matter of time before the situation got so out of hand there was no fixing it. He had no time to indulge Tyron in a verbal fencing match. “Five years ago, I caught you distributing weapons to colonists on the Fringe,” he said. “I didn't bring you in back then because I knew just how dangerous our neighbours could be. And Leyria is so fixated on keeping the peace, they'd rather order these people to come home instead of arming them.”

  Ben felt a tightness in his face, anxiety brewing in his stomach. If he didn't play this just right – the perfect mix of bravado and deference – he would find himself standing on the wrong end of a loaded gun. “I left you to go about your business because you are the only hope these people have to eke out some modest existence out here. But I can reverse that decision quite easily.”

  A few taps at his multi-tool caused a holographic image to appear before him, a list of several illegal transactions that Tyron had orchestrated over the last few years. “Come on, Tyron,” he said. “You must know I've been keeping an eye on you.”

  The other man scowled, bowing his head to stare down at the floor. Even from all the way down here, Ben could see a sheen of sweat on his face. “If you transmit that data, you'll be exposing yourself to prosecution. What will your superiors think when they find out you let a known arms dealer escape justice?”

  With a great big grin, Ben looked up at the other man. “You really think I'm afraid of that?” he asked, shaking his head. “I've made my mistakes, and I'm willing to pay for them. So…how far do you want to take this little game?”

  Tyron fumed, his nostrils flaring with every breath. He glanced to the side to make eye contact with his hired muscle. “Kill him!” he snapped. “No one threatens me in my own place of business!”

  “Multi-tool active!” Ben shouted. “Program Two.”

  At his command, holograms appeared, and just like that, he was submerged in a sea of Bens. Several dozen transparent copies of himself moved back and forth, blending into one another. Some took aim with illusory pistols while others jumped out of the way of incoming fire. In this confusion, it would be difficult to tell which one was real.

  Ben ducked behind a table.

  The suited man to the right of Tyron stood on the balcony with his gun pointed at the dance floor, firing blindly into the sea of confusion. The tiny woman quickly started running the length of the room to get a better vantage point.

  Ben lifted his gun in both hands.

  He fired.

  A stun-round hit the suited man in the chest, causing him to spasm and flail about before he dropped to the floor. His gun went flying, tumbling over the balcony railing to the floor below.

  The holograms vanished.

  Ben turned and ran for the nearest pillar, crouching low the whole time. He pressed his back to the polished marble. “Stay in the game,” he whispered. “Stay in the game.”

  Clenching his teeth, Ben squeezed his eyes shut. “Multi-tool inquiry,” he barked. “How much power do we have?”

  “Power cells at forty percent.”

  Raven-Hair had run across the balcony, and the pillar now stood between him and any shot she might fire. Tyron, however, was still at the head of the stairs, drawing back his red jacket to expose a gun on his hip.

  Ben thrust his right fist into the air, aiming for the lights that hung from the ceiling. “EMP burst!” he shouted. With that command, his multi-tool fired a swarm of nanobots toward the roof.

  There was a flash, and then every single light bulb shattered in a shower of sparks, leaving the room in near total darkness. Faint moonlight still illuminated the stained-glass windows, but it would take a while for everyone's eyes to adjust.

  Ben ran forward.

  He heard the buzzing of gunshots and flinched at the sound of bullets striking the floor tiles behind him. Thankfully, no one else could see in the dark. Well…Unless one of them had an ocular implant.

  Speaking of which, Ben activated his. The dark night club burst alight in shades of green as his implant filtered infrared light into his visual cortex. He could see the balcony and Tyron crouching at the head of the stairs.

  The man was hunched over with his back turned, frantically pawing at the jacket he had thrown down on the floor. A single shot would do for him. Tyron was not a threat, but Raven-Hair was another story.

  She stood on the balcony with her assault rifle in hand, aiming over the railing at a spot in his path. The only thing that had prevented her from firing was the fact that he had stopped running.

  Ben spun around and fired.

  A stun-round bounced off Raven-Hair's forehead, causing her head to jerk back. She stumbled, then dropped her rifle and fell out of sight.

  “Aha!” Tyron shouted.

  He must have been searching for a remote control of some sort, because an instant later floodlights outside the club hit the stained-glass windows at full force, bathing the room in a rainbow of hues.

  Harsh, caustic light overwhelmed Ben's vision, and he had to deactivate his ocular implant just to see straight. Worse yet, the sudden burst of radiance had left him with a nasty case of retinal burn.

  Ben leaped over a table.

  He landed on his belly, then somersaulted across the floor. He came up on one knee and aimed the pistol in both hands. Retinal burn or no retinal burn, it wasn't hard for his eyes to find Tyron.

  The man was still at the head of the stairs, but he had managed to locate his pistol and was now fussing with the safety. If he wasn't so tired, Ben would have pointed out the irony of a weapons dealer being unable to use a simple handgun. “Put it down!” he instructed. “Tyron, I will shoot you.”

  “You shouldn't have come.”

  “Well, I'm known for doing things I shouldn't,” he countered. “Did I ever tell you about the time I let an arms dealer go free?”

  Tyron stiffened, then rubbed his brow with the knuckle of his thumb. He backed up until he was almost touching the windows. “No, Tanaben, you should not have come,” he said. “You don't know what you've gotten into.”

  “He's right,” a silky voice added. “You should not have come.”

  Ben whirled around.

  She stood at the entrance to the club, bathed in a sea of colourful light: a woman in a purple dress and a cloak of all things. The hood was drawn up, making it impossible to see her face. “Young Agent,” she said. “You've meddled in things that you should have left alone.”

  Ben shut his eyes tight, head drooping with frustration. “Lady,” he said, “I don't know what costume party you came from, but if you're involved in an arms deal, I'll arrest you too.”

  “Try.”

  Ben pointed the gun at her.

  The strange woman just stood there with her hands at her sides, her head bowed so that he could not see into the hood. “You will have to fire, Agent Loranai,” she added. “I will not come willingly.”

  He did.

  The woman blurred. It was over so quickly you might have thought you'd imagined it, but in the blink of an eye, she was suddenly two steps
closer and completely unharmed by the bullet.

  Ben fired again, unloading half his clip.

  Where there had once been a woman, there was now only a streak of purple that seemed to vibrate on the spot. Not one slug hit her, not one. Ben didn't want to believe it, but his rational mind could not deny what he had seen with his own eyes. Only one living thing could move like that. This woman was a Justice Keeper.

  The woman strode forward with terrifying confidence, flipping her cloak back over her shoulders to expose her bare arms. At that moment, Ben noticed a pistol strapped to her belt. “You have my deepest apologies.”

  Ben tapped the force-field generator on his belt.

  A screen of white static appeared before him just before the woman lifted her arm to point the gun at him. There was a slight buzz, and then flattened slugs were bouncing off the wall of energy.

  Ben ducked behind the table.

  He pushed the damn thing over, forming a makeshift wall, then fell to his knees as his force-field lost power. A single plastic table would not provide much protection from bullets – concealment was not cover – but at least, this would make it difficult for the woman to aim

  He threw himself down on his belly with his head toward the table. He rolled like a log, doing his best to avoid staying in one spot. Sure enough, a bullet hole appeared in the plastic just a few inches to his right.

  Ben reversed direction

  Another bullet hole appeared in line with the spot where he had been hiding just a few seconds earlier. Had he remained still, he would have taken a slug to the head. “Stay calm,” he whispered. “Think.”

  Ben shut his eyes and hissed. The tension was going to give him a heart attack. “Multi-tool active!” he bellowed. “Activate a hypersonic pulse, full frequency spread.”

  He heard nothing, but the high-intensity sonic waves would agitate the fluid in just about anyone's inner ear. The only countermeasure was a small implant that filtered out the sound, an implant that he himself carried. Of course, the downside was that it blocked everything. He was drowned in total silence.

  Ben peeked over the table.

  The hooded woman stood not twenty paces away with her gun hand extended, the pistol aimed at a spot just a few inches to his left. She quickly reoriented herself to point the gun at him.

  Ben ducked.

  A bullet cut the air above his head and struck the floor tiles behind him with a sharp pinging sound. The damn bitch had an implant of her own! Sweet Mercy, there was very little chance of him walking out of here alive.

  He unclipped the secondary force-field generator from his belt – it was always a good idea to carry more than one – and powered it up. Once it was ready to go, he risked a peek over the table.

  The woman was right in front of him.

  Ben activated the generator and watched a storm of flickering white flecks appear just in time to stop a bullet from piercing his skull. The flattened slug dropped to the floor in front of him. He pushed another button on the generator.

  The force field sped forward like an out of control shuttle, striking the woman and knocking her off her feet. She flew backward several paces before crashing into a table and rolling over. No time to stick around.

  He got to his feet and ran.

  Lifting his pistol in front of his face, Ben hissed through clenched teeth. “Standard rounds,” he growled, watching as the LEDs on the gun went out. Let's hope that bitch is too winded to get up.

  Beneath the balcony, he saw a window that looked out on the street in front of the club. Ben lifted his gun and fired, causing the pane to shatter. Half a second later, he was jumping through.

  He landed in a crouch, keeping his head low. A growl escaped him, and he focused on finding cover. “Come on, Ben,” he said, stepping aside so that he wouldn't be visible in the window. “You're almost to the goal. Don't quit on me now.”

  He kept low and made his way along the sidewalk. Whoever this woman was, the chances of her following him into the street were small. If he were a traitor, the last thing he'd want to do was call attention to himself. Still, he wasn't out of danger just yet. The hostile greeting he had received at the air field suddenly made all kinds of sense.

  By this point, those goons had likely rigged his shuttle with something that would explode the instant he left orbit. He didn't dare call for backup or try to alert his superiors to the situation out here.

  Doing that would almost certainly get him killed. There was no doubt in his mind that Tyron had played a part in bringing those weapons to Earth, and if there were Justice Keepers involved…Well, there was no telling how far up this went. He didn't dare speak of what had happened on an open channel.

  He would have to arrange some low-pro transport back to Earth. A cargo-hauler would do nicely. As he ducked out of sight behind a small building, he felt a chill run down his back. If Keepers could no longer be trusted, the whole system had fallen right into the Bleakness.

  Chapter 10

  This branch of the Capitol Credit Union was a squat little building that stood all by its lonesome in the corner of a parking lot. Lights in the front window revealed a pair of guards making their way past the teller line. If he understood the situation correctly, these men would be retrieving the excess currency from the vault and transporting it by means of an armoured truck.

  Physical currency.

  What a quaint notion. On his world, any man who suggested such a thing would be mocked. Coins, notes – and any other physical commodity for that matter – would be far too easy to steal. Commerce was carried out by means of a bio-chip implanted in each citizen's hand and keyed to his DNA.

  Leo frowned, turning his face up to the overcast sky. Useless fools, the lot of them, he thought, squinting at the clouds. The people of this world are all fat, soft and gullible. Ripe for the taking.

  He started forward.

  As he drew near the credit union's front door, he saw through the glass pane that the uniformed men had made it to the back. They stood with their backs to him like a couple of mice gobbling up crumbs. Completely ignorant of the looming alley cat.

  Leo pulled a small syringe from a pouch on his belt.

  Pressing the tip to a vein on his left arm, he pierced his own flesh – the pain was a gift, a reminder that he was alive – and injected himself. Amps surged through his system in seconds. He could already feel his heart rate climbing.

  Baring his teeth, Leo shut his eyes tight. A sudden burst of heat flared through his face. Strength comes at a price, he reminded himself. Those who will not make the hard choices deserve their fate.

  He tossed the needle aside.

  Once through the door, Leo found himself inside a narrow vestibule where cash dispensing machines offered their services at all hours of the night. A second door led into the building's interior. So far, the guards had not noticed his presence.

  Raising a gauntleted forearm, he rolled back his sleeve to reveal a Leyrian multi-tool strapped to his wrist. Such useful little devices, these things. Why had his people never conceived of anything similar? “Multi-tool active,” Leo ordered. “Execute program twenty-two.”

  The silver disk on his forearm emitted a pair of blue lasers that scanned the lock on the door, tracing its every contour. Only half a moment passed before the tool gave off a beep. Tiny nanobots emerged from the desk, clumping together to form a key that would fit the lock.

  Removing the disk from his gauntlet, Leo slid the key home and gave a twist. The door opened with a satisfying click, and – wonder of wonders – the pair of idiots who had just now managed to open the vault still didn't notice that they were not alone. These men called themselves guards?

  Leo stepped forward.

  One of the guards froze at the scuff of his footsteps, shivering as though someone had dropped an icicle down his shirt. He rounded on Leo with his mouth agape, his eyes ready to pop out. “Jeff.”

  The other guard turned as well.

  This one was both taller a
nd fatter than his companion, the fabric of his beige shirt stretched by a noticeable belly. His face was flushed and scrunched up in an expression that made it look as though he had trouble opening his eyes. “How did you get in here?” the man demanded. “Hands in the air, now!”

  His face split by a cruel grin, Leo shook his head. “This is a truly pathetic display,” he said, moving forward. “But for the fact that I have chosen to draw this out, you would be dead already.”

  The men reached for guns on their hips.

  Leo thrust his chin out, staring at them through slitted eyes. “You possess enough honour to face this like men,” he said with a nod. “For that, I'll do my best to make it as quick and painless as possible.”

  Both guards drew pistols, clutching them in both hands. As one, they lifted their weapons to point at Leo, faces pale with fright. Amps made his heart pound, made his reflexes sharper.

  Leo fell over backward, slapping hands down on the floor. Clenching his teeth, he stared up at the ceiling while the guns went off with a CRACK! CRACK! He felt bullets whiz through the air.

  Leo snapped himself upright.

  He jumped and flung a hand out to the side, the spring-loaded gauntlet on his right wrist delivering a razor-sharp metal disk into his grip. He threw his new weapon with all the strength his body could muster.

  The disk landed in the fat guard's forehead, blood spraying from the wound as he spasmed and flailed about. The man dropped hard onto his backside, making a croaking sound when he hit the floor.

  In that moment of confusion, the shorter, thinner guard backed away and raised his pistol in trembling hands. Poor fool. He would never make a clean shot with that much anxiety. Not against a man enhanced by Amps anyway.

  Leo sprinted forward.

  He dropped low, extending one leg toward his prey as he slid across the floor tiles. The gun went off with a violent growl, sending bullets flying over his head. Half a second later, he was right in front of the trembling guard.