by James Axler
Thanks to DePaul, it would soon be clean, all its crime eliminated forever. Man would be grateful, if he was allowed to survive.... But that was impossible; letting anyone live risked a new outbreak of crime, a new blight to purge. Soon he would eradicate the deviance of mankind, wiping the whole world clean of crime until only he remained—the one honest man on a planet of corruption and immorality.
Behind his inhuman mask, DePaul smiled. It was a cold smile, somehow more inhuman than the mask he wore.
Until tomorrow, he thought. Until tomorrow.
Chapter 26
Phillips sat with Kane and Brigid as they worked over a map of Cobaltville, level by level. They were in a back room of the refuge, hidden deep within the heart of the Tartarus Pits.
The refuge had been cleaned, but it didn’t feel clean. It felt as if years of sickness and sweat and depression had oozed into the walls and taken root there, sapping the will to live from every person who entered its miserable surrounds.
The walls were painted a soft, light brown—a color that had probably been called treacle or muffin or something like that, but now just looked as if someone had failed to fully remove feces from a white wall. The cupboards and fittings were cracked, with worked-in dirt that could never be removed, their plastic coverings yellowed from age. Sunlight didn’t get down to the Tartarus Pits much, and if it had, then the place would doubtless be faded from that, too, Kane mused sourly.
Although it was still night, there were people here already: two volunteers of Phillips’s acquaintance, plus three sick locals, including a kid not yet four years old, who were sleeping in the back room while their child fought a fever that had turned her skin an angry red.
“Something going around,” Phillips had said when Kane asked. “We’re immunized against these things, living in the levels the way we do, but the people down here are still susceptible. The kids especially.”
Kane nodded. Ville dwellers were given a cocktail of immunization drugs in light of the mess that man had made of the environment with the nukecaust, and magistrates were especially immunized because they spent more time outside the walls than any other locals.
“We figure this guy’s bringing in a weaponized infection to the ville,” Kane explained.
Phillips shook his head in lament. “Why here?” he asked.
“We think he’s got a grudge against Cobaltville,” Kane said. “When we found him he was piloting a Cobaltville Magistrate’s SandCat.”
“They’re not easy to get hold of,” Phillips said, “and that’s an understatement.”
Brigid pushed a stray lock of hair from her face as she spoke. “We think he may be a magistrate,” she explained.
“Or an ex-mag,” Kane added.
“There’s some evidence for this, but we’re still piecing things together,” she continued. “He’s meticulous, wears mag armor—albeit heavily adapted—and Kane and Grant said he fights like a mag.”
“Magistrate moves,” Kane elaborated, “hence magistrate training.”
Phillips looked from one to the other, his brow furrowed. “Where is Grant, anyway? Don’t you guys usually work together?”
“Grant got hit with a faceful of virus,” Kane said grimly.
“Damn,” Phillips spit. “Where is he now? Does he need help?”
Kane held up a pacifying hand. “We’ve got it covered. Let’s just concentrate on finding this nutball before all hell breaks loose.”
Phillips nodded in understanding. “So where do you plan to start? Cobaltville’s a large place.”
“It is,” Kane agreed, “but you have a network of medical people you could speak to, right?”
Phillips looked wary. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“If we can track down the early symptoms, we may find this mook before he causes too much damage,” Kane explained.
“I’ll put the alert out,” Phillips told the Cerberus warriors, “but if this virus is as infectious as you’ve suggested, I don’t see it doing much good. Once it’s out there, the best we could hope to do is contain it.”
Brigid sighed and turned to Kane. “Colin has a point,” she said. “If we don’t find this guy swiftly, then we may be too late to stop whatever it is he’s planning to unleash.”
Kane bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. “We’re wanted fugitives here, Baptiste,” he said. “We may have blindsided those mags on the gate, but that luck won’t hold. If we go walking boldly around the ville, someone will recognize us, and before we know it we’ll have more trouble than we can handle.”
Brigid pushed herself up from her chair and strode across the room. “Then we’d better move quickly,” she said, “and not get spotted.”
Kane was shaking his head in a definite negative. “No, we’d just be asking for trouble,” he stated.
Brigid glared at him. “Aren’t you usually the impetuous one, throwing caution to the winds and going in with guns blazing?”
“I want to do this right,” he replied. “What we do here could be Grant’s best chance.”
It was the first time Kane had shown he thought that Grant was in trouble, and Brigid was taken aback by it, even though she had been thinking it herself.
“Then we’ll stay stealthy,” she announced, “but we need to get moving on this, Kane. Sitting here and waiting for our guy to show is the same as not doing anything, and I don’t think that’s an option.”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “Then what do you suggest?”
Brigid looked around the room, searching for inspiration. There were warning posters about cleanliness and the spread of disease, wall-mounted visual guides that displayed the symptoms of a variety of common infections, advice on birth control. Finally, her gaze settled on Phillips. “Colin, you have access to all levels in your capacity as physician, don’t you?”
“Not Alpha,” he replied, “but my pass lets me go everywhere else if I’m needed.”
“Then we’re going to need to borrow your pass,” Brigid told him.
Phillips reached into the pocket of his jacket, which hung over the back of his chair, and pulled out his coded pass. “It’s yours,” he said, handing it across to her. The card had an intelligent computer chip in it that allowed Phillips to enter any level, even restricted areas via the network of elevators that ran through Cobaltville.
Brigid took the pass and fixed Phillips with a serious look. “You are to report this stolen in thirty-six hours,” she said.
“Is that long enough?” he asked.
“It will have to be,” she told him.
* * *
KANE AND BRIGID hurried through the overcrowded Tartarus Pits, heading for the exit elevator, armed with the pass. They had ruled out the Tartarus Pits as the site of the first outbreak, not through any snobbery, but simply because a man seeking revenge was unlikely to take it out on the lowest level of humanity. Colin Phillips would remain down here to check for any signs of infection—and Kane and Brigid hoped that would be enough.
While they would have to remain out of sight of mag patrols, Phillips’s pass allowed them to use the quickest routes up through the ville, many of which were kept hidden from the main walkways—which was something that worked to their advantage.
It was six in the morning, but even this early the place was bustling with activity, street vendors and food stalls plying their wares, others offering dubious services, of dubious legality.
Kane was used to moving through the busy streets, and he remained watchful, well aware that pickpockets operated at all hours of the day and night. He reminded Brigid to remain alert, though he knew she could handle herself.
They made their way toward one of the secure elevators that fed up into the towered structure of Cobaltville itself. As they crossed a street, Kane spotted the dark-clad figures of two magistra
tes on patrol. Even with their presence, the pits were a hive of illegal activity; people were just a little more subtle about it while they were around.
Kane brushed a hand through his hair, masking his face as the Mags turned toward him. He reached for Brigid and drew her close. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
She fell into his arms and kissed him avidly as the magistrates strode past.
As they kissed, Kane watched the patrolmen through narrowed eyes, checked until he was certain they were far enough away that they weren’t coming back.
“That was close,” he said, unclenching from the embrace.
Brigid raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get used to it, buster.”
They hurried on, making their way past the street market towards the sealed elevator.
Brigid wrinkled her nose as they passed a food stall, the owners of which were busy cutting hunks of flesh from a cooked dog.
Kane saw her reaction and smiled. “Not hungry, Baptiste?” he teased.
She made a face. “Maybe not ever again,” she replied.
Before long, they reached the pedway that led to one of the elevators that ascended up to the towers. The elevator was of robust construction, surrounded by a metal cage, its bars thick to prevent unauthorised access. A keypad and a card reader were located at the door to the cage, requiring a security pass to enter.
Two figures lurked in the shadows close to the cage, watching as they approached. Kane saw them, made a swift hand gesture to Brigid to warn her that there may be trouble. People wanted access to the upper levels, he knew, and they weren’t above killing someone to gain that access, even if they could be certain that they would be met by magistrates at the other side.
Brigid pulled Phillips’s security pass from her pocket while Kane waited on guard behind her. For added security, the card required a code to be entered into the touchpad once it had been swiped, and Phillips had divulged this information to Brigid before she and Kane had left the refuge.
In the shadows, the two figures shifted, coming alert as they watched Brigid feed the code to the card reader. Then they stepped out into the light, marching swiftly toward Kane and Brigid as the cage doors squeaked open.
Despite the presence of nearby mags, the two hoodlums were fearless as they approached. They were dressed in dirty clothes. The one on the left wore a hood that hid his face, while the one on the right had a kerchief over his mouth to disguise him. They both pulled knives from under their jackets as they strode purposefully, angrily, toward the Cerberus warriors.
“Trouble every day,” Kane muttered as the two figures produced their weapons.
Chapter 27
“Company,” Kane whispered to Brigid as the cage door slid back on automated runners.
The thug in the hood strode toward Kane, the knife blade thrust out before him, a sneer on his lips beneath the shadow of his head covering. “Give us the key, burger brain.”
Kane remained calm. His immediate reaction should be to pull his sin eater, surprising these two would-be muggers and ending their short, unpleasant career right here. But he remembered the mag patrol they had passed just a street away, knew he couldn’t draw attention. So shooting them was out.
The first thug waved the knife before Kane’s face, while his partner reached for Brigid’s elbow to pull her back from the opening door, his own knife ready in his other hand.
She flinched, swinging her elbow up and back as the mugger snagged it, pulling out of his grip and elbowing him high in the chest. The man grunted in pain and stumbled back, but recovered in a flash, reaching for her long, trailing hair and swinging the knife toward her.
Brigid dropped, letting all her muscles go loose and falling straight to the deck, surprising her attacker. Overbalanced, he stumbled, and then went down as she executed a leg sweep that kicked his feet out from under him.
* * *
KANE, MEANWHILE, WAS DEALING with his own attacker with silent efficiency. He reached forward as the thug thrust the blade at him, blocking the attack with his forearm before stepping into the sweep of the knife arm and pulling himself close to his foe.
Now they were next to one another, and very near.
Kane rammed his hand into his attacker’s throat, using the side of it like a blade. The thug gasped in pain, unable to make a sound.
Still holding the man’s arm, Kane pulled hard, wrenching it from its socket. The knife clattered to the ground as the thug let go, sinking to his knees in silent agony.
Tears streamed down his face as he knelt there, reaching hopelessly for the knife where it had fallen. Kane could not have that; he swept his leg up and back, kicking the thug hard across his jaw before catching him in the back of his head with his heel as he fell. The man slumped face-first to the ground, disarmed and unconscious.
* * *
BRIGID’S ATTACKER HAD slammed hard against the ground, but he recovered quickly, scrambling toward his prey, the knife still clutched in his hand.
Now standing, Brigid glared at him as he pushed himself to his feet with the knife outstretched before him. “You sure you want to do this?” she asked, a grim expression on her face.
The thug seemed to think about it for a moment, then his eyes darted to where his partner had just been disarmed and rendered unconscious by Kane, and he clearly thought better of it.
Brigid laughed as the would-be mugger dropped his knife, turned and ran. “Hah, guess they weren’t expecting victims who fought back,” she said as Kane recovered from his own brief battle.
“Oh, they expect it, Baptiste,” he told her. “That’s why they come armed. There just ain’t many other options down here in the pits.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. “You forget how cruel life is down here.”
“You weren’t supposed to know,” Kane said. “You were trained as an archivist for the Historical Division on Beta Level. No one thought to prepare you to deal with the low-level violence and corruption that was going on way beneath your feet, because nobody ever expected you to come down here.”
Brigid looked sideways at him as they entered the cage that led to the elevator. “Are you...do you miss this, Kane?” she asked, as the security door closed and locked on its automated circuit.
“Who, me?” he asked innocently. Before him, the elevator door was pulling open on its runners. “What makes you think I’d miss somewhere like this?”
“I don’t know,” Brigid said, stepping into the elevator. “You just seem to revel in being here.”
“A man finds what pleasure he can in his work,” Kane told her as the door slid closed and the elevator began its ascent into the towers.
“Maybe that’s the problem with our rogue magistrate,” Brigid mused. “Maybe he enjoys it too much.”
The strong preyed on the weak, and the magistrates could only scratch the surface of all that went on.
* * *
THE ELEVATOR DOOR opened on the lowest level of the Administrative Monolith. Epsilon Level was where all manufacturing took place. Kane exited first, wary for signs of trouble.
The elevator was located in a quiet corridor, which in turn opened into a wider passageway that ran the length of the tower they had entered. The passageway was something like a road, only it carried solely pedestrian traffic, with a wall of windows that looked out on the golden towers of Cobaltville, caught in the morning light as the rising sun nudged over the horizon. It was busy even at this hour, the regimented citizens trudging home from a night shift, the morning shift hurrying to work to keep the presses rolling, fulfill the product quotas for the barony.
There were at least a hundred of them, probably closer to double that, all trudging the long corridors to work.
The workers were dressed in uniforms of muted colors, mostly indigo, with a few dark green jumpsuits among the crowds.
They looked uniform, too—men with the same haircut, short back and sides, all the same body type, all within the same window of ages, twenty-five to forty-five. There were women, too, each with the same body type, slim and underfed, stoop-shouldered from their labors, many with hair trimmed short like the men, while the others had pinned their long hair back in tight buns. Some workers carried small bags that contained their lunches, but they seemed, by and large, the same person over and over and over again.
Some chatted, some even laughed, but most simply trudged the long highway-like corridor to their destination, for another day laboring in the manufactories of Epsilon.
Kane watched them with pity, knowing full well that he had seen them before, had witnessed the shift change on Epsilon Level back when he had been a magistrate, patrolling the towers. He had remembered them differently, but they looked tired to him now, living lives beaten down by the baronial rule. Was this what he had been an instrument for, his fitting each individual into a role and a task that would overwhelm and ultimately destroy any individuality he or she had left?
Kane had not viewed it this way before, but now he understood what the ville system was all about: it trained every person for their role, not just magistrates, but all of them, each man, woman, child fulfilling a designated part of the plan, where losing their individuality was the price of a safer world.
Kane and Brigid watched the faces as they passed, alert for signs of sickness. It would not be hard to spot; the black tears and drool would mark any victim immediately.
They looked normal; tired, emotionally empty, but normal. Where they were pale it was from exhaustion, from never venturing out into the sun, away from the protective embrace of the ville. They were beaten-down people in a system that was designed to keep people down. Kane had seen the wider world beyond, but he knew that the system repeated again and again, from location to location, throughout history. It was the same pattern that the Annunaki had established when they had first come to Earth in prehistory, turning the indigenous humans into slaves who toiled for their adoration and glory. Kane hated it, that system, as he hurried with Brigid along the wide thoroughfare, checking faces, moving against the tide of people conditioned to follow the baron’s rules.