What Have We Done: A Cyberpunk Action Thriller on the edge of LitRPG (When Tomorrow Calls Book 3)

by JT Lawrence

  When he arrives at the market it’s buzzing with vendors shouting and shoppers haggling. A mime dressed as a golden statue blows a kiss to a baby in a bubble-pram, and the baby starts to cry. Buskers in bowler hats sing a hundred-year-old song. Mally pushes his way through the crowd that smells of sherry popgrains and roasted nuts, body odour and barbecue sauce. Strawberry XugarSpray. He’s fifty metres away from Vega now, and some of the market-goers step out of his way as he hyperventilates into his mask, sweating and bleeding, muttering to himself. It’s a good tactic to part the crowds.

  There’s a booth at the outskirts of the Asian section called Hot Tokyo. It’s a brightly lit mini-mart for the regular home staples not supplied by the fresh produce market: alt-dairy milks and cheeses, coconut water, hotwipes, detergents. His dash tells him Vega’s in there.

  “Vega!” Mally shouts as he stumbles through the wide entrance. The short woman at the till puts her hands up in fright, as if she’s expecting to be robbed. Her eyes are magnified by the thick lenses in her old-tech frames.

  “Vega!” Mally shouts at her, and the shop owner reverses into the shelves of blunt-vapes, snaffeine, and caramel condoms a decade past their sell-by date. Some of the products clatter to the ground. He shows her Vega’s avatar, the ruby Alpha Lyrae star, and her eyes grow wider still. She shows him the panic button on the counter and speaks in Xiang. Mally’s mandible insta-translates to English: “The man he took her,” she says. “Called the cops. Called the cops.”

  “Which man?” he shouts, resisting the urge to shake the woman. Vega’s location is moving slowly away from him. She babbles and shows him her old-school security screen, rewinds it two minutes by swiping a stubby finger, and Mally watches with horror as a man with a mohawk winds his arm back and punches Vega as hard as he can, smashing her cheek in and almost breaking her neck. There are other men surrounding the two, and Mally thinks they’ll step in to help her but instead they laugh and cheer soundlessly.

  “No go there. Wait for cops! No go there, he kill you!”

  Hot saliva floods Mally’s mouth, as if he’s about to be sick, but he doesn’t have time for that. The man staggers towards Vega and trails his hand over her hip, moves his crotch towards her in clumsy humping jerks while the others laugh. She is frozen; she doesn’t have protocol for that. She tries to step away from the man, but slips on some spilled liquid on the floor where her groceries have been smashed. The man lunges at her.

  “Where?” Mally shouts, but the woman shakes her head. She won’t tell him, doesn’t want him endangering his life for a robot. She doesn’t understand. He scrubs through to the end of the attack where he sees the other men leave the grocery store, and the mohawk head-butts Vega then drags her by the hair out the back door. Mally tears his eyes away from the screen, looking for the door.

  He races towards it, through it, and lands up in a crowded kitchen, then a steaming laundry room, then a black back alley, where the man has Vega’s body spreadeagled over a dumpster, her skirt pushed up, her panties torn and hanging off a broken ankle.

  “Stop!” Mally says, and the mohawk looks up at him with sour evil in his eyes. Muscles flexed, glaring at him as if he can’t believe a kid is going to waste his time.

  “Leave her alone,” says Mally.

  Vega’s body is a mannequin.

  The man takes his hand off Vega’s knee and walks a few steps towards Mally. “Get outta here, boy. Mind your own business.”

  “I’m not leaving without her,” says Mally. “And, anyway, the cops are coming.”

  The man laughs, then mocks Mally. “Ooh! The cops are coming! The cops are coming!”

  “They’re on their way,” says Mally. “The shop owner called them five minutes ago.”

  “You think I give a fuck about pigs?” He hawks and spits onto the littered ground. “You think the pigs care about what we do to fucking skins?”

  Mally swallows hard.

  The police force has had a fair amount of trouble with PR lately, with human cops abusing the new robo recruits.

  It’s to be expected, the Minister of Security said, we presumed there would be a certain amount of resistance. Teething problems. Adjustment issues.

  Teething problems. Tell that to the recruit who had his head cut off with a bandsaw by his law enforcement partner.

  “It’s illegal, what you’re doing. She’s—” He hates to say the words, but they’re true. “She’s government property.” He gulps the rising acid in his throat. “She’s a 7thGen. You’re d-damaging government property. And there’s video evidence of you doing it.”

  The mohawk ambles back to Vega, a greasy stride of alpha male, ready to assert his power. He has a swastika scalp tat. He puts his hand back on her knee, starts to move it up her inner thigh, the thigh Mally knows so well. Vega’s body shudders. The air is thick, foetid; Mally feels choked with haze and nerves.

  The man unhooks the notch on his pants. He winds his arms around Vega’s calves and pulls her body towards himself. “You ready for me, robo-whore?” He slaps her caved-in cheek. “I’m going to fuck you till you bleed.”

  Something inside Mally explodes. Fresh adrenaline flushes through his heart and erupts in every cell of his body. What is it about creeps? What is it about these fucking toxic bastards that compels them to thrust poison into beauty? Why do they have to stain and maim? The fury fills his body, makes his bones vibrate. He unclips the Vektor from his utility belt and holds it up to the man with shaking arms.

  “Whoa, cowboy!” he says, putting up his hands. “Where’d you get that?”

  Now he’s paying attention.

  Now who’s in charge, thinks Mally, but then there’s a short melody of metallic clicks as the man returns Mally’s Vektor’s aim with his own, bigger weapons which he draws from behind him, one in each hand.

  Where are the cops? Where are the fucking cops?

  The mohawk advances. His comparative bulk makes Mally feel young, weak, takes him back to the childhood nightmare that still haunts him.

  Vega’s body jerks again.

  He’s close now, just a few metres away. Which bullet will reach him first? Panic evaporates what’s left of Mally’s thoughts. He pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. His brain is as blank as the weapon.

  “I almost feel sorry for you,” says the man. “You don’t even know how to fire a gun.”

  Mally tries the trigger again. Nothing.

  “You don’t even know that Vektors can only be fired by their owners,” says the man, “which, judging by your position, you are very clearly not.”

  Mally tries again, tries to force the thing to fire, but it remains stubbornly mute. The realisation slams into him. There’s a biometric fingerprint pad on the trigger, of course, and no one but Seth can fire it.

  “This is getting more and more interesting,” says the mohawk. “A boy, with a stolen gun, rat-running the city streets to protect androids. I’m intrigued. I’m almost tempted to keep you alive—”

  Finally, finally, the siren of a police drone wails overhead.

  “—but, unfortunately for you, we’ve run out of time.”

  He raises his semi-automatic and aims it at Mally’s forehead. His lips shrink as he looks through the weapon’s sight and a deafening shot explodes the air.

  Chapter 25

  We're Not Safe Anymore

  Mally thinks he’s been shot. Thinks he can’t feel the pain because of the shock, because of the blinding, eardrum-popping blast that’s just happened in front of his eyes. He looks down at his chest, blinking away the bombshell, expecting to find a hole where his heart used to be, but his trembling fingers can’t find any damage. If there’s no damage, why can’t he breathe? The police siren grows louder. Then he sees that the mohawk is sprawled on the ground, and the back half of his skull is missing. Mally can’t understand what is happening until he sees Vega, who is now sitting up, her roscoe smoking.

  “Vega!” Mally darts over to her. It feels like running on air. Hi
s instinct is to ask if she’s okay, but her face is conked in and her arm looks dislocated. Her ankle is definitely broken. He pulls her skirt down, unloops the shredded panties carefully from her feet and drops them into the dumpster, and helps her down from the garbage. She packs her radial gun back into the top of her arm.

  “Come,” Mally says gently. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

  She makes an odd sound—a machine sound he’s never heard from her before. A computer shutting down.

  “Stay with me,” he says, easing her forward. Vega stumbles as she tries to walk on her fractured bones. He’ll take her home, to Arronax; Arro will know how to fix her. The two of them limp back through the laundry and the kitchen, then through the convenience store. The shop owner is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably trying to flag down the drone. Those police drones are notoriously bad at following their heat seekers. The floor is still a battleground of dropped groceries.

  Vega sees the spilt food and says, “I was gathering supplies.”

  Mally looks at the floor, confused. Dented tins of chickpeas, a box of protein cereal, an up-ended tub of soyghurt, a broken pink jar. Why would she need food?

  “For your family,” she says. “Something’s changed. Something’s happening. We’re not safe anymore.”

  Chapter 26

  Sinner Please

  12 YEARS PREVIOUSLY

  ICE

  Johannesburg, 2024

  This time they’re letting me use the mental gymnastics, too, thinks Zack, as he wakes up groggy and realises he’s lying down inside the Orb. He feels the tightness of the band around his temple; his fingers trace the skin-warmed metal. It seems to be a regular jack-in cable, or, at least, the new, non-invasive, wireless version of the old port and cord. They’ve decided I can keep my brain, after all.

  Zack wonders how to select the japuzzle of his choice. He can’t see a sidebar. Maybe it’s because he’s still half asleep. That tranquilizer hit him hard.

  He senses movement in the room and then strong fingers lock his hands in place on either side of him. Click, click. The band flashes from opaque to transparent and Zack sees it’s Bernard looming over him—who else would it be?—and she’s got something in her hands. A black lozenge. Some kind of XDrive.

  Bernard leans across him, yoghurt breath, and plugs it into the band squeezing his temple. She’s sweating.

  “What the …” he begins, but Bernard shoves a rubber ball gag in his mouth.

  “Shut up, Prisoner.”

  Zack’s memories are like electric currents. Pictures in his head come alive and zap him with needle pricks and hot shocks, and they build until the whole band starts to burn him.

  He groans.

  Silver, Mally, Seth, Kate. The quills. The drawing of the lotus on the wall. The picture of Kate is the brightest. Not the haunted woman with mascara spilled down her cheeks he met in the bathroom of the hospital but the real Kate who devours him with her oceanic eyes, her skin like glowsilk.

  “Don’t fail me,” she’s saying.

  I won’t.

  “It’s the whole reason for your existence.”

  I know.

  “Save her.”

  Zack tries to hold on to the picture but it burns up like a polaroid on fire. The memories sweep out of his head with a final burst of bright white and then there is peace and darkness. Someone approaches, whistling a gospel tune. Zack knows the song. Has heard it every day since he’s been here.

  Sinner Please.

  Bernard whips the drive out of the band and slips it surreptitiously into her pocket.

  “All set?” asks Lovemore as he enters the room.

  “Affirmative.” Her breathing is heavy.

  Lovemore comes into view; he doesn’t make eye contact.

  “What are you going to do?” asks Zack, but his words leave his mouth as an unintelligible mumble.

  Lovemore checks Zack’s cuffs, then flicks a switch on the side of the Orb.

  The currents fire up again but this time they’re not small shocks, they’re lightning bolts. There’s a searing inside his skull: his brain in a hot pan.

  Zack screams and bites down on the gag in his mouth. His whole body seizes.

  He feels the blankness coming for him, rolling at him like a storm, ready to wipe out every part of who he is and what he was put here to do, and he knows there is no way he can stop it.

  Part 2

  Chapter 27

  Blood and a Brutal Past

  TWELVE YEARS LATER

  Seth’s Apartment

  Johannesburg, 2036

  “I’m going to find her,” says Kate, her anxiety and anger billowing together, neon yellow and green, to create an urgent need to move.

  Keke’s eyes bulge. “You can’t. It’s already getting crazy out there. The Blanket’s not going to keep this under wraps for much longer. I’m already getting alerts on my tickertape. Creeps are catching on.”

  “It’s way past Silver’s curfew now. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

  It’s not just an expression. Kate can literally feel a sick burning in her stomach. She knows this sensation: One of her kids is in danger. No second-guessing this time. No blaming it on PTSD-flavoured paranoia. Just trusting her instinct, and taking action.

  “I need to find her.”

  “You go out there, you’ll get caught in the full-blown panic.”

  “At least I’ll be able to look after her.”

  “The thing about Silver,” says Seth, “is that she can look after herself.”

  Kate can’t believe he’s being so blasé about it.

  “Her martial arts in the games she plays do not count in the real world, Seth.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” he says.

  Kate sees, in her mind’s eye, the picture of Silver at four years old, bow and diamond-tipped arrow in hand as the lightning highlights her hair.

  “That was different. She knew who the enemy was. She was armed.”

  “All I’m saying is, if someone has a chance of surviving this, it’s her.”

  “You’re saying we should just abandon her to the wild city? Expect her to find her own way home? She doesn’t know what’s happening! A fucking waitbot could kill her! A traffic light! She doesn’t know!”

  “I’m not saying we should abandon her. I’m saying that if things are escalating out there then it’ll take longer than usual to get home.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. She never misses her curfew. She’s three hours late!”

  “You’re just going to go around in circles,” says Arronax, looking up from her SnapTile.

  “Well, that’s helpful,” snarks Keke. “We do hope we’re not boring you.”

  Arronax ignores Keke’s barbed tone. “All I’m saying is, if anyone’s going to go out, they’d better stop standing around and talking about it.”

  “You think she should go?” says Seth.

  “She’s going, regardless of what I happen to think. All I’m saying is, the sooner the better.”

  Kate runs to her room, grabs her ancient revolver. She hasn’t opened the secret shoebox for more than ten years, hasn’t held the gun, never mind fired it, so she hopes it’s still in working order. She takes out the leather thigh holster too, hard with age and neglect, and pulls it over her jeans. Kate jams the old-school revolver into its nook and then snicks closed the click-stud. How many boxes of ammo? She only has two. They’ll have to do.

  “I’m coming with you,” says Seth, zipping up his hoodie.

  Of course he’s coming with her. They are joined in a way that other twins will never glimpse. They’re two halves of the same person, really. Always have been. United by blood and a brutal past.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Keke runs into the room, almost smashing into them. “Mally,” she says. “Mally’s gone.”

  Seth feels for his Vektor, then spins around to look at the table where he left it. “And he’s taken my gun.”
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  Chapter 28

  Forehead to Nape

  White Mezzanine, 2036

  Silver wakes in a startling white room with a headache as bright as the walls. She rubs her wrists where the leather cuffs were, and there’s no trace on her pale skin of being previously tied down. She’s wearing a starched cotton shift and is naked underneath. Her mouth is dry, dry, dry, and her head is banging with a post-surgery spike hangover. Silver gets off the wheeled stretcher and finds a long mirror on the otherwise blank wall. She pulls off the spearmint gown and inspects her body. All her hair is still there, apart from the band that was shaved off from forehead to nape. The rest of her small body seems unharmed, her face clear and pale without her usual foundation powder and kohl makeup. She runs her hands over her ivory skin: her goose-pimpled stomach, her bony shoulders, her sub-rosa tattoo. Her fingers play on her ribs. When did she get so skinny?

  Silver takes a breath then feels, gingerly, for the wound she knows is on the back of her head. When she finds it, her hand recoils at the puckered dressing. She guesses it’s a platelet plaster, already mostly dissolved.

  There’s a simple closet in the room, camouflaged, white against white. Inside are her clothes and her gas-mask, that look filthy against the white walls. She dresses, drawing comfort from their familiar weft and warp. Her mandible is missing. She can’t remember ever having been disconnected for this long. How long had she been unconscious? She feels sick when she thinks of how worried Kate must be. Wishes there was a way to tell her mom that she’s okay.