Resonant Son

by J. N. Chaney

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” Erikson roared from somewhere behind me. It sounded like he was trying to reload his weapon, which only intensified my drive to get to my pistol. He must have found another magazine on the floor. I rolled out of the plastic sheet and crawled toward the window, now just four meters away.

  It sounded like Erikson was still fumbling with his weapon. But then he started to curse at it. Maybe all his clubbing had damaged the receiver or something. In any case, I didn’t have time to look back. My focus was on my sidearm. I reached for it and wrapped my bloody hand around the handle.

  As I rolled over, I saw Erikson bounding toward me on his good leg, his bad leg barely able to support his weight. The limb looked like it would give out at any second. The guy was a beast! He growled as he came, blood squirting between his teeth.

  I raised my pistol while on my back, aimed center mass, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked twice, filling the floor with bright light. The rounds struck Erikson in the chest—I couldn’t miss at this distance. He stumbled and fell toward me. I tried to roll out of the way, but he was coming too fast.

  His body landed on me hard, causing my head to smack against the floor. Motes of light floated in my vision as I tried to see past the raging pain in my head, hoping Erikson was dead. Despite my latest hits against his body, however, the asshole was still alive and still fighting.

  He pushed himself off my chest, pulled his fist back, and drove it toward my face. I rolled sideways, causing his hand to strike the ground. Something split in his knuckles and he swore as he tried to pin me in place with his other hand.

  “Hold still!” he roared, blood splattering my face. I had to get out from under him, but his legs were straddling me. I thought to fire at him again but realized I’d dropped my weapon, probably when he fell on me.

  I drove my knee into his groin as hard as I could. I felt something give. Erikson gasped and fell sideways, holding his genitals. I managed to slide free when I noticed a bundle of data wires pouring from the ceiling to my left. I grabbed a few strands and yanked them free of the bundle, heading toward Erikson. He was on all fours now, recovering from the blow I’d delivered.

  In a quick motion, driven by pure adrenaline, I looped the wires around his neck three times and then pulled. Erikson gasped, clutching at his neck, but I was pulling too tightly to allow his fingers any room. He must have figured as much, because a second later, he gave up on trying to relieve the pressure around his neck and started kicking at my calves. One boot struck the place where I’d cut myself on the duct.

  A surge of pain raced up the back of my leg, and my hands lost some of their grip on the cables. The man noticed and stood, attempting to grab me by the throat. Instead of standing, however, I tightened my grip on the wires and dropped to the floor, acting like dead weight at the opposite end of a noose.

  Erikson fought against the sudden jerk. He grabbed the cables and tried to haul me off the ground. But the damage I’d inflicted on his body was taking its toll. Instead, the man fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. I rolled away, fearing he might strike me again. I made to stand but noticed the man struggling for air.

  Whatever sudden force I’d just applied to the wires, they remained bound against themselves, holding their constricting squeeze. Erikson clawed at them, willing them free. But it was no use. His head was turning deep red, then purple. The veins in his neck enlarged as his body fought to pump more blood and oxygen to his brain. He coughed, blood spraying the floor.

  I saw my pistol a few meters away and thought of ending Erikson’s life quickly. But then I considered the fact that I only had a few rounds left and eleven more criminals to stop. So I let the cables do their work and watched Erikson’s life slip away. He slumped to the ground, bleeding from several places beneath his armor. A red puddle developed under his chest as his legs and arms twitched. Then his eyes went cold, staring at me from the ground.

  Only after I checked for his pulse did I feel my adrenaline rush begin to ebb. That was when I became aware of my own injuries and felt cold.

  My head bled from two different places, throbbing like the morning after the worst hangover I’d ever endured. My arms and legs ached, my torso was bruised and tender. My calf was still bleeding too. I noticed a small pool of blood forming beneath my heel. Maybe that was what I’d been slipping on. I needed to tend to the wounds, and fast. If not, I might as well leave a calling card in every hallway I walked down with big arrows pointing toward my bloodless corpse.

  I searched Erikson’s body for anything else of value and remembered the in-ear comms the hit team was using. Sure enough, the comm was still in Erikson’s ear. I removed it, wiped it against my shirt, and then stuffed it in my left ear as I still hadn’t removed my security comm from my right one.

  I also found Erikson’s assault rifle. As I’d suspected, the weapon had been damaged during the fight, rendering it inoperable without serious care from a gunsmith. Which still left me with my pistol. I checked and saw that I only had five rounds remaining.

  I hoped to find some form of identification on Erikson’s body, but he was clean. The team was professional. And if they all fought this hard, I had a long night ahead of me. That, or a very short shift. I needed something to help move the odds in my favor.

  “Erikson, report,” came a stern voice in my left ear.

  I blinked, considering what to do. I’d seen plenty of movies where people impersonated the victim and avoided a wave of reinforcements. But that was the movies. Successfully mimicking a total stranger’s timbre and accent was next to impossible.

  Those same movies also showed the hero engage in witty banter with the antagonist. But I was neither an action hero nor witty. So I said what I thought was best…

  Absolutely nothing. As far as I was concerned, the less the enemy knew about me the better.

  “Erikson, come in,” the voice said again. “What’s going on up there?”

  I considered turning the comm off, but that defeated the purpose of having ears on the enemy. So I let Oubrick call his thug in vain, until he finally said, “Steranko, Mier, you’re off lobby guard. I want you pulling recon on sub-floor twenty-six. We have a suspect on the loose and Erikson has failed to report in. Eyes open, weapons hot.”

  “Copy, sir,” said another voice.

  “Report back in five minutes.”

  “Understood.”

  I stood there for a second, considering my options. I desperately needed my shoes, still underneath the floor by the ventilation duct. But getting them would take precious time, and I really didn’t think I had the strength to crawl back under there again. My data pad was there too, but it was worthless until the lockdown was lifted, so it was less of a priority.

  Right now, I needed to dress my injuries and get clear of the next two thugs headed my way. I figured I had less than two minutes, which was not enough time for either action. Even if I got myself taken care of and was able to stow myself long enough to evade the search party, I was going to need…

  “I’m gonna need weapons,” I said. “Lots of weapons.”

  “Might I suggest Mr. Oragga’s private collection in his office, sir?” a man asked.

  I jolted at the sound. Since the man’s voice came from both ears, I knew it wasn’t either comm. Someone was on the floor with me.

  I instinctively ducked, my head on a swivel, looking for the speaker. But the room was empty save for Erikson’s corpse.

  “Come out!” I said, raising my pistol. “Come on, let’s see you!” I was in no shape to fight, let alone give orders.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir,” said the man. He sounded uptight and proper, like some high-end butler. The prick was playing me. I spun around, scanning the exterior windows with my sight picture.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “The full answer is far too technical. However, given what I perceive are your immediate needs, the salient answer is, I’m in your
head, sir.”

  “In my head?” I touched the wound at my temple. Maybe I’d been hit harder than I realized. Now a strange voice was talking to me. Great, just great, I thought. I’m finally going insane.

  “To be precise, I am speaking to you through your comms.”

  “My comms?”

  “The two in-ear devices located—”

  “I know what they are,” I replied, suddenly aware that the voice was indeed coming from both miniature speakers. “But… how are you speaking through both? They’re encrypted.”

  “That is correct, sir. However, my system resources allow me to—”

  “Your system resources? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Officer Reed, given the fact that the two perpetrators dispatched to investigate your location are now fifty-eight seconds away from your exact position, might I suggest we discuss the nature of my existence at a later time and get you to safety?”

  “That sounds just peachy,” I said. “What’d you have in mind?”

  6

  “Dump the bucket in front of the elevator doors, sir,” said the voice in my comms.

  “This is going to make them slip or something?” I asked, dumping the mop water across the threshold.

  “No, sir. It is going to help disguise your bloody footprints as you exit through the service stairwell.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Thank you. Now turn left, sir,” said the voice.

  I did so, slipping into the service stairwell just as the elevator doors chimed open and two perps stepped onto the floor. I heard their boots splash through the mop water as they moved forward. I didn’t wait around to see what they did next—I needed to get to Oragga’s office and get patched up.

  “Where to? …whatever your name is,” I said.

  “Proceed down three floors to sub-floor thirty.”

  “And those thugs?”

  There was a momentary pause then, “It looks as if the two perpetrators in question are examining Erikson’s corpse and surveying the fight theatre for clues as to your identity and possible whereabouts.”

  “The fight theatre?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term. My wet hands slipped down the railing as I struggled to keep my feet under me.

  “The engagement area,” the man amended.

  “I figured as much,” I said with a groan. “Just felt you were being kinda fancy there.”

  “My apologies, sir.”

  All this chit chat was taking my mind off the pain in my body, but it was also causing me to miss steps, so I didn’t bother with any more questions. Instead, I just told the man, “Listen, I’m not sure how you’re seeing everything you’re seeing right now—” Gods knew I couldn’t get the surveillance cameras to work myself— “but if you could keep me on the line and tell me when I get to Oragga’s office, I’d be grateful.”

  “Absolutely, sir. I will remain on the line as long as the batteries in both your comms hold out.”

  “Great. And I’ll stay focused on not falling down the godsdamned stairs.”

  I pressed on, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as pain shot from head to toe. The steps kept coming and I kept descending them, trying to put as much distance between me and Oubrick’s death squad as possible.

  The guy on the other end of the line was true to his word, staying quiet and allowing me to focus on not breaking my neck. It felt like several minutes passed before I finally arrived at the thirtieth floor placard, touching it like I had the twenty-sixth… for good luck or something. Like that had really helped. Then again, I wasn’t dead. Yet.

  “Well done, sir,” said the man.

  “Thanks,” I replied, wheezing. “What’s next?”

  “Proceed through the service door and turn left. The hallway terminates in a set of double doors.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, pushing open the door and turning to the left. The hallway was filled with the same red lights and yellow floor markers as the rest of the building. I passed several side doors, each with high-end placards designating their functions or occupants. But at the end of the hall, just like the guy said, was a set of double doors. They weren’t the normal kind you pulled or pushed—these looked like they retracted into the wall. And from the looks of it, opening them was going to be a lot harder than it looked.

  “Seems like we got a problem here, Mr. Invisible,” I said, limping to a halt just in front of the sliding doors. “I got a keypad, what looks to be a retinal scanner, and maybe a hand scanner. Serious security, if you ask me.”

  “This is the entrance to Mr. Oragga’s personal assistant’s assistant,” replied my unknown beneficiary. “But not to worry. I will have the doors opened for you… now.”

  I stared in amazement as the two doors slid apart, inviting me into a low-lit corridor that opened to a small room. I hesitated, unsure if it was safe. In the holo films I’d grown up with, people died all the time by walking prematurely into hallways that looked too inviting. Poison-tipped darts, force fields, automated blaster cannons, you name it.

  “Is there a problem, sir?” the man asked.

  “It’s safe, right?” I asked.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Just checking.” I stepped from the red light in the hallway behind me into the corridor ahead. I’d taken two steps forward when the doors swished closed behind me and mag-locked with a gentle click.

  The short hallway opened into a waiting room with a mahogany desk on the far side. Dark wooden carvings of nature scenes wrapped all three walls, overlooking two leather couches, one on each side.

  “Please proceed to the doors behind the desk, sir,” the man said.

  “The doors behind the desk?” I asked. “I don’t see—”

  Just then, the wall spread apart, revealing yet another hallway, this one made entirely of glossy white surfaces that looked to be made of glass. White lights illuminated the corridor so much that I had to shield my eyes until they adjusted. As I moved around the desk, I suddenly became self-conscious of the bloody footprints I was about to leave in this pristine environment.

  “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  “Very well. Proceed.”

  What the hell was I doing anyway? Following some uptight butler’s tips to break into the CEO’s private office? I couldn’t help but think I was being set up. As in, “let’s frame the unsuspecting security guard by placing him in the CEO’s office so we can get away with the credits unseen.” I didn’t like following instructions from someone I didn’t know. But, so far, this guy’s help had been accurate—he probably even saved my life back there. I wouldn’t have thought to cover my tracks with the mop water. That was smart thinking.

  The white hallway led into another waiting room similar to the first, only everything was bright white. A white desk, white lights, and instead of couches, there was only one white chair for a guest to sit. I brushed my fingers along the chair’s back. Guess not too many people made it past the first assistant.

  “What’s next?” I asked my unseen helper.

  “One moment, please.”

  “Sure.” It was not like I had anywhere else to go.

  “Thank you for your patience, sir,” the man said at last. “This last door is particularly difficult to manage, even for me.”

  “Because I have such a clear understanding of just who you are.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sarcasm. What cave were you raised in?”

  “I was not raised in a cave, sir.”

  “Coulda fooled me.”

  “I was not trying to fool anyone.”

  “Just tell me where to go next.” I forced the words out through gritted teeth, already tiring of the unseen man’s antics.

  “Of course, sir. Please proceed through the doors ahead.”

  No sooner had he spoken than the entire wall behind the desk just vanished. I didn’t know how or why—it just vanished. One second it was a
solid white wall, the next it was gone, revealing a black hallway as wide as the room.

  Now this was the kind of hallway you got killed in. Step on the wrong square, move too quickly, walk in a way that doesn’t match the scanners and zap—you’re electrified or shot.

  “You sure this is safe?” I asked. I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of apprehension in my gut.

  “Quite safe, sir. I have personally ensured all security systems are offline, allowing you to conduct yourself safely to the opposite end of the corridor.”

  I took a deep breath, aware that I was growing weaker by the second. “Peachy.” I moved behind the white desk and tentatively placed my foot on the black surface.

  Nothing happened.

  So I placed my second foot down. Again, nothing happened.

  “Your pace is rather slow, sir. Are you finally succumbing to your injuries? Because my sensors still indicated that you—”

  “Your sensors?” I asked. “You’ve got sensors? What are you, a computer or something?”

  “No, sir. I am not a computer.”

  “Good, because that would have really freaked me out.”

  “I am an artificial intelligence.”

  The hell? “An artificial intelligence?”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “I shall. But first, I suggest that you proceed to Mr. Oragga’s office, where I might be able to suggest medical care options and equip you with weapons suitable to your anticipated tasks.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I replied. “But I still need to know about you being an AI.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  I’d seen—met—whatever, another AI once before. It was in the Sellion City Police Department’s headquarters. They’d named him some long string of letters and numbers. He was tasked with crunching really hard equations and logic problems in the department’s “think tank,” they called it. All above my pay grade. But they’d given us a tour when I’d first been assigned to the precinct. A few of us were able to ask it questions. I’d been impressed.