Resonant Son

by J. N. Chaney

  I needed to hide, fast. I knew this building pretty well. Or at least I knew this hallway. The truth was, my memory was suffering a bit. Probably all the scotch.

  I opted not to hide in the surveillance room, as it seemed the obvious choice. There was a storage closet coming up on the left just past the admin office and before the lounge. It was nondescript and presented a much less-appealing scenario for hide-and-seek than the more elaborate rooms with their computers, desks, and cabinets. With any luck, my pursuer would find the other rooms more intriguing.

  I pulled the closet open and slipped inside, bumping into a shelf of cleaning agents. I steadied a large bottle as I closed the door with my weapon’s barrel.

  The lobby door slammed shut down the hallway. I took deep breaths and willed my heart rate to slow. Controlling adrenaline was a discipline I’d been forced to master years ago. Twitchy trigger fingers never did any cop a service.

  Next came the corridor’s security door, which the assailant opened and shut as easily as I had. Footsteps sounded on the polished floor as he came down the hall and stepped into the surveillance room.

  I held my pistol to my chest. Sixty seconds went by before the man stepped back into the hall and continued walking toward me. Another few paces and he entered the admin office.

  He moved some squeaky desk chairs and shoved a cabinet over. He even opened a few closet doors… which meant he was being thorough. Damn.

  It took him much less time to clear the admin room, and he was back in the hallway headed toward the lounge in under thirty seconds. As the assailant’s footsteps slowed, I stepped away from the door and pressed my weapon out in front of me. More than likely, he’d be anticipating an assault like mine, so this would come down to who fired more accurately under pressure. If I was a betting man—and I was—I’d put some credits on him… but I’d put more on me.

  I could see the guy’s work boots between the door’s slats. That was an odd match for a business suit. But then again, he had shown up for a hostile takeover, not after-hours cocktails. I aimed my pistol at the imaginary place where I thought his head was. With any luck, I’d get a single round off and then look for a place to make a stand as the gunfire would draw the rest of the perps.

  But the closet door never opened.

  “No, nothing yet,” the man said. There was a pause. I could hear him breathing. Then he said, “Right now?” Another pause. “Roger that. On my way.”

  Had he really just been called back? Gods, that was close. Too close.

  I let out a long breath as I heard the security door slam shut followed by the lobby door. I waited a full ten seconds before emerging from my hide. It had been a long time since I’d had this kind of adrenaline rush. It felt good. Reminded me of the old days.

  “Keep it together, Reed,” I said, admonishing myself. “Think.”

  I crept toward the surveillance room, hoping to gather more intel on who these guys were and what they were up to. Since Oubrick—whoever he was—didn’t seem surprised in the least when Deveneau rattled off his list of vault-related security measures, either Oubrick wasn’t after the vault, which didn’t seem likely since it was the target to hit if you were here to do something nefarious, or…

  Oubrick already knew about the vault’s defenses.

  I stepped into the surveillance room, eager to monitor the building’s security cameras. The only problem was that all the cameras were dead. The entire wall of screens was nothing but static. Had the software engineers really made that a feature of the lockdown protocol too? No way, I thought. Let’s just turn off everything useful. Nah, this must’ve been something new the enemy cooked up. I guessed the only computer terminal that had access to any part of the building now was the one in the lobby. Essentially, that was the new master control.

  “What are you gonna do now, Reed?” I asked myself, pacing the room. “Come on, pal. Think.” Wasn’t talking to yourself a sign of mental instability? Possibly. But I was the best company I had at the moment, so… bring on the crazy.

  The vault was located on sub-floor twenty-seven, that is, twenty-seven decks below Sellion City’s main platform. While the topside of the Oragga building housed most of the entry- and mid-level staff, it was the sub-platform building that held the senior staff and all major acquisitions.

  The reasons for Mr. Oragga’s upside-down tower were many. For one, it was impressive. What else did a man with more money than the gods do with the credit chits he found between his couch cushions? Second, would-be criminals could only approach the lower building by small starships or shuttles.

  Third, assuming assailants could defy gravity, they’d have an even harder time dodging blaster fire from the defense network of quad cannons—a feature that was impossible to install on the platform’s top side. Too much red tape. But below the deck? No one cared what happened down there.

  All this meant the sub-complex was the perfect place for Mr. Oragga to stow his trillions and oversee his various businesses. Plus, his office, they said, was on the thirtieth floor and had quite the view.

  While I didn’t frequent the vault floor, I did know that several of the floors directly above it were still unfinished. That was when an idea hit me. It wasn’t much, but it was better than standing around here waiting to get shot. “Looks like we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way,” I said.

  I crossed over to a bank of filing cabinets where dead pads were archived. Dead pads were offline data pads that stored information its owners wanted to stay in one place. Like high-end building schematics. I scanned the categories and found sub-floors twenty-six and twenty-seven, pulling open their respective drawers. The wide metal trays slid out, not more than five centimeters deep. In them were several sheets of plastic vellum, each with different sections of the two sub-floor plans.

  I flipped through twenty-seven’s first until I found the section with the vault’s vestibule on it. I gave it a quick once-over, memorizing as much as I could, then switched to floor twenty-six. Again, I flipped through the vellum until I found the corresponding sheet that lay directly above the vault’s vestibule.

  As I suspected, there was an air vent that ran along the vestibule’s spine. With any luck, I’d be able to gain access to that vent from floor twenty-six and get a visual on the perps. Assuming they were after the vault, I might even be able to formulate a plan. If not, then…

  Plan B.

  Of course, I had no idea what plan B was, as I’d barely had time to formulate plan A. But, sometimes, the best plans came together on the fly. Today was just going to have to be one of those days. And if it wasn’t? Well, I wouldn’t live long enough to pout about it. Even the worst situations have an upside. You just have to know how to look at them.

  As I stepped back into the hallway, I heard a sound to my left. I brought my pistol up and trained it on the light leaking out of the lounge’s doorway. Had I missed another enforcer? I crept along the opposite wall, hoping to cut off the angle and get the jump on whoever was inside the room—if that was where they were.

  The sound came again. It definitely came from the lounge. It sounded like someone had skidded a piece of furniture across the floor. My hands gripped my pistol more firmly as I prepared to fire. I saw the staff fridge come into view, then one of the old ratty couches, the far wall’s cabinets and coffee maker, and then…

  A woman in a tight black dress crawled out of a cupboard on her hands and knees. Godsdammit, what was she doing here?

  I holstered my pistol and stepped into the room. “Let me help you, ma’am.” I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when she looked up and let out a small yelp.

  “Gods, you scared me!” she exclaimed, then placed a hand to her heart. She was trembling, a thin sheen of sweat apparent on her shoulders and chest.

  “Here,” I said, and offered a hand. The other I placed under her arm, helping her to stand. Her body was fit and lean, like she worked out regularly. Of course, she’d have to if she was able to w
ear those shoes, I thought, looking at the pair of stiletto heels whose straps ran through her fingers. Her midnight-black hair was loose around her face, but as she pulled it back, I could see she had striking brown eyes and delicate nose and lips. Dang, of all the ladies to crawl out of the lounge cupboard…

  “Are they gone?” she asked, searching my face with interest.

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “We’re all going die, aren’t we… oh, gods!”

  “Whoa, lady, calm down.”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “Listen, just calm—” Her lower lip was trembling and I could see tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to cry…” But my words seemed to have zero effect on the waterworks that started up. The next thing I knew, I reached out and pulled her toward me with one arm. She buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed.

  I’d never been very good about this kind of thing with Heather. She had more damn emotions than I knew what to do with. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, always resulting in some display of tears. I’d learned to let her cry it out, and eventually, she was fine. It was just really awkward in the meantime. Like it was right now.

  Normally, having a beauty queen cling to you and cry into your shoulder was the kind of story that got you a free round from the boys at the bar. Plus, her hair smelled so damn good. But this was hardly the time for… for whatever fantasies were playing out inside my head. I needed to calm this lady down and figure out how to get her to safety, fast.

  “Listen, what’s your name?” I asked.

  “Rachel?”

  “Are you asking me if your name is Rachel?” I smiled.

  She laughed a little and smeared her mascara as she wiped tears away. “No,” she said, sniffing. “My name is Rachel. Rachel Fontaine.”

  “Okay, Rachel. My name’s Flint.”

  She backed out my arm a little and offered me her hand. “Nice to meet you, Flint.”

  “How in the world did you get back here anyway?”

  “I was coming down the service corridor, back down there—” she pointed— “when I heard shooting, and then the alarms went off, and then I heard screaming, and then I saw a guy standing at the lobby doorway with a gun, so I—wait, was that you?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t the one shooting.” My mind flashed back to Polski and Hoss being gunned down. Those bastards were going to pay for that.

  “Anyway, I got turned around, and then I panicked, and then I ran in here looking for a place to hide, and then I… I… I don’t want to die, Flint.” More tears started to flow and she pressed herself into my chest. The poor lady was a wreck—a really hot wreck—but a wreck nonetheless. And if she didn’t quiet down, she was gonna get us both killed.

  “Easy, easy,” I said, squeezing her arm with my hand and pulling her back up. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? But you have to keep your voice down.”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip.

  “I’m gonna get you out of here,” I said. “But for now, we’ve got to find you a place to hide.”

  “Okay,” she said tentatively. “But can’t I just go out one of the side emergency exits?”

  I shook my head. “They’ve locked the building down.”

  “They have? Who?”

  “The guys in the lobby.” That was when I realized that Rachel hadn’t seen what I had. She hadn’t seen all her co-workers spill into the lobby at gunpoint, she hadn’t witnessed the execution of the salesman. And based on how she was handling the current state of things, I thought it best to keep her in the dark. “I think they’re here to rob a safe or something, but security is taking care of it.”

  Rachel looked at my badge. “But you’re security.”

  “Like I said, I’m taking care of it.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” she asked, pulling close to me again. Damn, was there a memo that had gone out in the wake of Heather’s divorce filing saying that I was back on the market or something? If only I was so lucky.

  “What floor do you work on?” I asked.

  “Five,” she said. “Accounts receivable.”

  “And you feel like you know that floor well? The layout, I mean?”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip again.

  “Good. I want you to think of a good hiding place. A supply closet or a secure office or something. Can you think of something?”

  She nodded again. “Mr. Reynolds’ office is always locked, but I know his passcode.”

  I didn’t even want to know why she knew Reynolds’ passcode, but at a time like this, I was glad she did. “Good,” I said. “I want you to use the service stairwell to get up to the fifth floor.”

  “Not the elevators?”

  “No, not the elevators.” Did she even watch action holos? “Never the elevators.”

  “Okay.”

  “Once you’re up there, find some water, get a drink, and then be sure to bring some with you. You might be in that office a while.”

  “How long is a while?” she asked.

  I hesitated. “Half an hour?” I lied.

  “Alright,” she replied. “I can do all that.”

  “Good. And then you don’t come out for anyone,” I added. “Not unless they say they’re with the fire department or the police, you got that?”

  She nodded again. “But can’t bad guys impersonate the cops?”

  Fair enough. “Does Mr. Reynolds’ office have a window?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Big ones that look down to the front plaza. We always have a beautiful view of the city from his couch.”

  His couch?

  “Fantastic,” I said, probably a little too aggressively. “You’ll know it’s the fire department because you’ll see fire trucks. How’s that?”

  “That makes sense,” she said, pushing some strands of hair behind her ear. “But aren’t you going to come check in on me?”

  I let out a low chuckle, as if to say, If you only knew how badly I want to. Instead, I said, “I might be busy in other parts of the building. But I will if I can.”

  She hesitated a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. But I knew the answer.

  “I’m scared,” she said. “Are you?”

  “Nah,” I said, waving her off. “Like I said, give me about half an hour.” But based on the look in her eyes, I could tell I was doing a terrible job at—what did Heather call it? Active listening and empathetic verbal communication or something? “But you know what I am afraid of?”

  “What’s that?” she asked, looking as if my answer might cheer her up.

  “Heights.”

  She jerked away for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Heights? But you… you work—”

  “In the tallest building in the city, and I live on a floating platform above a gas giant. I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “But that’s pretty bad, though, you know?”

  “It is,” I replied with no attempt to ignore the irony. “It’s pitiful, actually.”

  Rachel’s eyes seemed to brighten at my confession. She wiped the remaining tears away and straightened up. Feeling her body’s warmth pull away reminded me just how long it had been since I’d felt a woman that close. Heather and I had… well, it had been a while. Longer than I cared to admit.

  Who knew? Maybe I’d ask Rachel out for drinks when this was all over. Didn’t they say that people who lived through a shared crisis together were more likely to fall in love or something? Or was that just in the holos?

  “Shouldn’t I be going now?” Rachel asked.

  Her words snapped me out of my daydream. I cleared my throat. “Yeah. You ready?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Okay. Stay low and stay behind me, copy?”

  She nodded.

  I unholstered my pistol and turned back for the lounge’s doorway. I peered around the corner and saw that the hall was empty. Then I looked back at Rachel, and said, “Here we go.” She
came up behind me and clutched my arm with both hands. “I’m gonna need you to let go,” I said, somewhat reluctantly.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Not a problem, Rachel Fontaine. Gods, I hoped she’d say yes to drinks.

  4

  The service stairwell was halfway down the service corridor that ran through the building’s center. From there, I could send Rachel on her way up to the fifth floor while I descended into the sub-building. Assuming the corridor was being monitored, however, meant we could only use it when the terrorist in the lobby wasn’t looking. So making sure he was clear of his terminal was the first order of business—assuming the security cameras were still operational.

  I held my weapon in low ready position, creeping down the security hallway toward the lobby with Rachel tagging close behind me. We passed back through the unlocked security door and into the junction with the service hallway—the lobby door straight ahead.

  “Stay here,” I whispered, telling Rachel to hide around the corner. Then I moved ahead and leaned against the door frame. I took a slow breath, readying myself, and pressed the lobby door open enough to get a view of the security desk. To my surprise, it was unattended. The thugs were busy pacing the lobby perimeter and talking with one another.

  The hostages, for their part, were keeping to themselves, talking to one another in low whispers. They looked shell-shocked. Red puffy eyes, running makeup, shirt buttons undone, and ties loosened. The term “graveyard shift” was fitting; we weren’t fifteen minutes into this thing and already they looked like zombies. As much as I wanted to race in and help them, however, doing so would be suicide. If I really wanted to help them, I had to discover what these perps were up to and find a way to call for backup.

  I eased the door closed and then moved back toward Rachel, who stood at the service corridor’ entrance. A quick push on one of the double door’s crash bars and we were in a wide hallway bathed in more red light. The space smelled of cleaning solutions and damp concrete. Maintenance handcarts, laundry bins, and rolling computer stations were scattered along the walls, hastily abandoned by their operators. I tapped on the closest computer, but it was offline like the others.