Has it really come to this, hiring thugs and causing mass destruction? Where is the style? Where is the intelligence? Luis had changed the name of the Black Cat into just another gang-land murderer.
“I have to stop this,” said Seita, pulling his gun from its holster, a small but powerful laser dot automatic. He switched the weapon to his left hand and started to fire off shots at the Humvee’s tyres, but because Roman was having to avoid the trailing shots from the Jeep the car was swerving too much for him to get a bead on them.
“Steady, just for a minute,” shouted Seita over the roar of gunfire. Roman tried to hold position but suddenly the gunner of the Jeep spasmed as he clutched his neck, before tumbling off the back of the vehicle. Roman had to veer wildly to avoid him and ended up tearing through some grass at the side of the road before making it back onto the tarmac, by which time the lorry, jeep and Humvee had all disappeared around a corner. As Roman tried to regain some speed he just managed to avoid the jeep, which had come to a halt in the middle of the road with the driver slumped over the wheel. Another casualty for Luis.
The lights of Humvee were blood red in the distance, before a flash of brighter crimson showed that the lorry was coming to a halt. As they approached a bright white light suddenly flared ahead of them. Within a second the Humvee was tearing towards them, guns blazing. Roman had no choice, turning wildly and flying through a metal barrier to the left, sending the car into a spin as it tumbled down the embankment and into darkness.
Chapter 7
Roman could feel his own breathing rattling in his chest. The sound of sirens echoed around him, seemingly coming from all directions. Sensation began to creep back into his limbs. He could feel water running down from somewhere and splashing over his face, running into his mouth with the rank taste of car oil. When he finally felt ready he opened his eyes to the sight of scattered bricks and masonry, along with the flickering remains of his headlights just about illuminating the back of a small town house.
He pushed the now deflated remains of the air bag aside and tentatively tried to move his head, which thankfully wasn’t impossible. He looked across to find the passenger seat door open, swinging back and forth in the wind as the rain lashed in where Seita had been. He tried to crane his neck to look further but the sharp pain across his chest reminded him that he was still belted in. He reached down and undid the clasp, which as it turned out was the only thing holding him in place. He tumbled out of the car in a heap, crashing painfully onto the rubble strewn concrete below.
He groaned as he shifted his weight to try and take away some of the pain of landing but it felt as if he were bruised all over. The rain of the summer storm was both cooling and freezing, easing his pain as he started to become numb but replacing it with shivering that ran through his body. Eventually he was able to get to his feet and survey his surroundings.
By the looks of it they had crashed down the slope above before hitting the back wall of the property lengthways, pushing them up and over as the bricks had crumbled beneath them. Luckily it had slowed the car to such an extent that they had stopped before hitting the house, the owners of which must have been out as there were no lights on and there was no way that anyone sleeping in the house wouldn’t have been woken by the noise.
The sirens were getting closer. His car would soon be found and it was probably better if he weren’t found with it. Hopefully that was what Seita had thought which is why he had left so quickly, rather than it simply being a case of abandoning Roman to die. There were one or two bloodstains across the scattered bricks that were slowly being washed away, so it was likely Seita had been injured. Despite his being essentially a tool of Seita’s in the apprehension of Luis, he still felt concerned about the man’s welfare.
Roman saw blue and red lights flashing through the deluge at the lip of the embankment so he turned away from the car and started moving. It was time for the Black Cat to lick his wounds and start again.
The previous night's violence had made all of the news channels, with most of them referring to it as a Yakuza attack on the big business of ParCorp. The name of the Black Cat was only mentioned once, but it was enough to incense Roman as Luis’ stolen face flashed across the screen, captured by the express way speed cameras.
According to the reports, Luis hadn’t needed to take off with the lorry itself as the Mendel only actually took up a small amount of space and was stolen from a refrigeration unit one metre across. Despite the relatively small size of the shipment Roman knew that it was more than enough to keep the imposter in formula for at least a year, meaning that he wouldn’t have another Mendel theft to intercept. He’d have to look out for another crime, which unfortunately would probably be a lot more sinister in motive and would be harder to intercept, especially in his current condition.
He’d awoken to find that most of his chest had turned a green tinted red from bruising and his body was so stiff he could hardly get out of the hotel bed. It had been a struggle to get back, with over two hours of unfamiliar roads walked before he had found a taxi station to take him back into the city. The walk itself had been strangely peaceful, as he had staggered through the night-time of suburbia in a pained delirium. He had walked a maze of dark houses filled with sleeping families and occasionally lit windows, where night owls were working through the darkness, and all of it had been punctuated by the lurid drinks machines that could be found on most Japanese street corners. Nobody ever seemed to vandalise them, probably due to the lack of value in what they contained, but Roman liked to think it was out of community spirit.
He tried shifting his weight, but there was no getting out of bed, not yet. He decided to call for room service as there was no way he’d be able to leave the hotel to get his own food.
When the waiter came in Roman had to remember to keep part of his face covered up, just in case the waiter had seen the news report and recognised the same features. That was one of the most galling things about the whole affair... he had spent years keeping a close control on his identity and operating from the shadows and then Luis steps in and within a month the Black Cat has become public enemy number one.
When the waiter had gone, Roman ate a little of the traditional breakfast of rice and miso soup he had ordered, whilst thinking back to the staunch traditionalism of Ozawa. It was strange that a country so in love with history and tradition was also at the forefront of the technological revolution. Surely as the world advances, the gap between the future and the past will get wider and men like Ozawa will be stuck in the middle...
Eventually he felt rested enough to continue his search. He pulled out his tablet computer and interface, slipping on the gloves along with the visor as he drifted back into the Network. Time to try another approach.
The rolling landscape swirled and shifted beneath the feet of his ghost. Where he stood there radiated flashing angular lines of blue, his data footprint, but due to the strength of his IP mask the residue he left behind was minimal as most was washed away in a swathe of faux-corrupt data that flowed behind him.
He dragged up the menu sphere and tried to recall his previous route but his hand slipped through the after image of the kernel, showing that his search had lost its target. It would take more searching this time; Medea had found the intrusion and taken measures. Hopefully Roman would be able to work around them. After all, he had invented Cupid, for better or worse, and Medea still hadn't retro-engineered it after presumably years of deceiving him.
A general sweep then. He set off, drifting free of the land and angling himself towards the largest structures nearby. He traced the colours from their surfaces, running his fingers over a glowing miasma of data as he moved, testing and looking for an opening. It was enjoyable certainly, weaving his way between the data towers, riding on the wave of information that drifted around him as clear and as tangible as liquid. Unfortunately it didn't get him any closer to Medea. He decided to try a more dangerous approach.
Once or twice in his past b
y necessity Medea had contacted the Marketplace to see if they could source some Mendel and he knew that the price was sky high. If the raid had secured a years’ worth of Mendel then he guessed that they would want to let a little of it go on the Marketplace to secure some more finances. Not enough to flood the market, but just enough to make a small, healthy profit.
He headed towards the last entry port that he'd known to be connected to the Marketplace. It was an encrypted window on the data tower of a fictional company called Harmer Inc. that Medea had once mentioned. It was the world's worst kept secret, with the police knowing for several years that it was a front but never being able to find enough evidence to get the company shut down. It made deals, kept its finances up to scratch, even paid all of its taxes promptly and on time in every territory that it traded in. It was a supreme irony that 'legitimate' businesses tried to avoid tax like the plague by exploiting every loophole imaginable yet the Marketplace was squeaky clean. It was probably why they had come under scrutiny in the first place.
He closed with the window, which was the size of a small coin in a glossy blue black surface, belching data cords of fictional legitimate deals which spiralled off into nothingness. He looked at it from a few angles, running his ghost's fingers around it to see where the access port was, before acting on a whim and turning a full hundred and eighty degrees and craning his neck to stare at it. It shimmered and flexed in front of him. An angle lock, I just have to find the right one...
He pressed his head against the data wall above the entrance and turned his head to downwards to face it. The size and shape stretched away, making him feel queasy as it pulled at all three dimensions before revealing its truth. He saw that it was huge, vast, cavernous... and open. He quickly stepped inside.
The way ahead was a colossal worming structure lined with pulsing red lights that flowed past him and downwards in neon streaks, as if he were being slowly swallowed by a colossal caterpillar. The darkness ahead glimmered intermittently with light before fading again and soon he saw that it was illuminating a vast expansive plain. The entrance was leading to a hall lit with a blue glow, just visible beyond a thin web of fine lines that criss-crossed the entirety of the tunnel.
He slowed as he got closer, knowing a net dump protocol when he saw one. The scene beyond was blurred, and he knew that if he tried crossing the web without having the necessary permissions he would be cast back out and his equipment would most likely be fried. He'd have to be careful.
What would they be looking for? It could be anything, and most likely something that changed regularly to keep the security forces out. He stood back, looking down at his ghost image shoes in thought. They glowed blue at the edges. The hallway creased a little under him, spongy and cold.
He called up the command orb and swept his fingertips over its golden surface. He pulled up the international corporate image of Harmer Inc., that logo with the two cranes flying in a constant circle around each other. Slowly revolving corporate nonsense. Let's try the direct approach.
He swept through the options until he reached 'contact' and opened up a new session. Slowly a face coalesced in front of him, a severe woman with clipped back hair and neat, minimal make up.
“You are speaking to Harmer Inc. How can I help you?” she said in clipped tones.
“I'm here to buy,” said Roman. He had no idea how to proceed, he had always let Medea handle the finances.
“Our sales arm can be found on port 3466. Thank you for your time.”
The image started to fade. Roman hastily recalled it.
“They don't sell what I want,” he said, whilst quickly trying to recall what Medea had said in the past. Something about a chain. The chain to the Marketplace.
The face came back, creased with a frown.
“This is just an enquiry channel sir, please allow me to direct you to the relevant departments.”
“I'd like that very much,” said Roman, “but it has to be the right department.” He thought quickly, trying to remember the names of those that Medea had dealt with in the past, independent hoods and the occasional Yakuza, men of means, power and product. One name stuck in his mind.
“I need something from Callisto.”
The woman's face twisted and warped into an open text field, with a large counter above it. It was counting down. Ten... nine... eight...
There was only one chance. He quickly typed in the first few lines of biological code for Mendel, remembered off by heart from years of laying out complex equations.
The timer paused at two before slowly moved away into nothing, pulling with it the fine web and leaving the vibrant colours of the Marketplace beyond to wash over him.
He walked down some steps and out onto a ghost playground, a physics nightmare of angles and shapes, with various vendors phasing in and out behind 'stalls' – laid out details of the products they were selling. The ghosts here were wild and varied, a mash up of desire and posturing. Anatomically impossible women intermingled with vast men woven with muscles that would have no room to flex. Hair and clothing were unrestrained and varied, fluorescent hues and strange textures, with all transactions being carried out by the ghosts themselves, face to face. This was the Marketplace's secret, and how it could remain anonymous. No data trails, just words, rejection or acceptance.
A large black obelisk that was nearby suddenly spun up and approached him, before casting a blue light from a pin point on its side.
“Can I interest you in Caper, the new hallucinogen from Mycos?” it asked in a surprisingly gentle voice, almost that of a child.
“No, no thank you,” said Roman, manoeuvring his ghost past the object/seller and moving out into the throng.
He needed to find some trace of Medea, evidence of a sale. Some kind of proof that the duplicitous bastard had been around so that he could latch onto it and follow it back.
He stopped dead, his eyes wide as he stared at a face he hadn't seen for years, the love that he had left behind.
Tavisi Shah.
She was dressed differently of course, carrying the same fashion sense as the others in the huge swirling mass of bodies with neon strips adorning her body and running through her hair, but yes, that was her face. In an instant all his feelings came back as if they had simply been hiding out of sight ready to pounce.
He couldn't stop himself. He pushed his ghost forwards, running towards her before pulling her body into an embrace, feeling the static buzz of electric charge through his visor as he pressed the lips of his ghost to hers.
Tavisi jerked sideways, safety protocols engaged as she disappeared from his grasp and appeared a few feet away.
“Who-” she started, before registering who he was. To his unfathomable relief her face spread into a smile of purest joy.
“Roman,” she said, walking towards him. They embraced again, and everything else was forgotten even with the minute force feedback accommodated by his gloves. His past memories and fantasies had blurred in his mind to such an extent that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from hugging her as if she were a lover, even though they had never so much as kissed, or even hinted at their desires. He had known she felt the same way, somehow.
“I'm so sorry for leaving ParCorp,” said Roman, feeling tears well up inside his visor. He didn't want to remove it though, he didn't want to lose a second of this time.
“Roman, where are you? What happened?” she asked, her voice different somehow, an accent that was at once alien to her and familiar. His senses started to buzz, details swimming around in the back of his mind.
“I've taken some strange turns, become someone I despise. I don't want to think about it, I just want to leave it behind. Where are you?” he asked. She left his arms but they still held hands, just fingertips touching but conveying so much.
“I moved on from the lab after you left. It’s complicated.”
“I need to see you,” said Roman, his heart pushing the words from him as if he was being forced to breathe them o
ut to survive. He wanted nothing more. “Are you still in Techosaka? If so, where can we meet?”
“I don't know, I have things I need to find.”
Her face only exhibited emotion – as all ghosts did – around the eyes, where they pressed into the contact of the visor, but even with so little expression available to Tavisi he could see her pain as she struggled with something. Finally she sighed, her eyes twinkling (or was it his imagination)?
“I am, I am in Techosaka. I came back recently. Meet me at the park, in the Shinto Dome at eight tonight?”
The Shinto Dome was one of the last public green spaces left, a monument to the spirits of nature that had been eroded and forgotten. A fitting place to meet for two souls of the past.
“I’ll be there, but I’m different, a different face,” said Roman. Tavisi’s eyes narrowed, confusion dappling her brow.
“Me t-”
The shock as the visor was ripped from his face sent him reeling backwards, star-bursts tumbling and exploding in front of his eyes. He screamed out in pain at the sudden sensory drop as inrushing reality sought to smother him.
“Get up, now.” Heavy hands grabbed his shoulders. His instincts took over and he slipped out of his attacker’s fingers, rolling off the bed and onto the floor before somehow managing to spring upright, his head spinning.
Seita frowned at him, rubbing the fingers that had been twisted as Roman had squirmed out of his grasp.
“If you’re quite done, we have to go,” said Seita. “Now.”
“Why? What?” mumbled Roman, still trying to adjust from the sudden injection of the physical world.
The Real Thing Page 11