by Eric Wood
They reached the sub-labs and paused outside the door. Abigail nodded and threw the door open, rushing in looking for targets, Roach right on her heels.
The room was empty save for one gaunt-looking man in a set of plain linens strapped to a table. As they entered, he raised his head to look at them. He smiled.
"Roach," he said. "Hello again. I see you've brought a friend."
Abigail rolled her eyes. "You'd better be able to walk."
The elevator came to a stop, and a happy chime sounded from just above the doors. Sam gripped his pistol tighter, not sure what to expect when the doors opened.
What he didn't expect to see was a group of men and women sitting around a long, shiny wooden table, all of them peering at him like they had been waiting there just for him. A number of the nearer people were soldiers, each pointing a rifle casually at him.
At the far end of the table sat a large, mustached man Sam recognized from the photos Elena had shown him.
Lawbringer Roosevelt.
"Sam!" Roosevelt boomed, raising his hands and smiling a blindingly white smile. "Come on in. Sit down. We've been expecting you."
20
The few remaining members of Deacon's War Band, which was now his War Band, had swelled to nearly a hundred Ravagers by the time they approached the King's Domain. Solomon had amassed a considerable force, but what he needed was an army. The Ravager King's army would do nicely.
After a brief, tense negotiation, Solomon, Deacon, and six of Solomon's handpicked 'guards' were allowed entry into the King's makeshift fortress. It had been an Old World junkyard, the kind with a scrapping shop at its front and rows upon rows of junked, compacted cars in a field behind. The Ravagers had dragged and piled destroyed vehicles to form a wide, high perimeter, and spent who knows how long decorating the new walls in their typical, bloody style. Inside were the classic Ravager design touches Solomon had come to expect: bonfires, metal cages, crude mechanical workstations and cruder ramshackle dwellings. In many ways, it was like the basin stronghold he had directed Deacon to construct, though this place was rougher and far, far larger.
They had been granted an audience with the Ravager King, one that Solomon planned on being extremely brief.
They were led through the camp to a smaller set of walls festooned with hundreds of blackened, cracked skulls. A black-and-blood-red banner hung above this makeshift keep's gate, the colors of the so-called Ravager King. After being relieved of their weapons — to his Ravagers' considerable consternation — they were allowed inside to the king's throne room.
"War Leader Deacon," the king boomed from his raised metal throne. "I can only assume you have come here to renew your pledge of fealty to your King?"
The Ravager King was about what Solomon expected the ruler of this mass of semi-human psychopaths to be. He was nearly seven feet tall, probably over four hundred pounds of heavy, slab-like muscle. He had long, greasy hair, and a granite face that bore countless scars from years of conflict. Solomon guessed he was one of the original Ravagers, possibly even one of Jed's secret test subjects. He hefted a parking-meter-sized mace in his hands — Solomon wondered if he always carried the thing, or if he knew what was coming for him. He might think he knows, Solomon thought, chuckling inwardly, but it’s going to be so much worse.
"Not fealty," Deacon said, repeating their well-rehearsed lines perfectly. "Not exactly."
Enough of this, Solomon thought. If he left the Ravager King and his not-quite Ravager surrogate to banter, he would be here all day listening to juvenile insults being slung back and forth. Better to get to it directly. He stepped forward.
"Ravager King," he said, making sure his voice carried out to the furthest of the assembled Ravagers.
"What gives you the right to address me, little man?" boomed the Ravager King, leaning forward with a mocking smile.
"No one gives me the right to do anything," Solomon said. He took a step toward the throne, smiling in satisfaction as several of the King's guards came forward threateningly. "What rights I have, I take. Which, of course, is why we are here. I know you expected a challenge from my creature Deacon, but I'm afraid in that regard you will have to be disappointed."
"I intend on killing something today," the King said, standing up as Solomon took another step toward him. "Maybe that something should be you."
"You will have your chance," Solomon said. "Because I am here to kill you and to take your army for my own. I believe these challenges are resolved with single combat, no?"
The King stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, and then he doubled over in laughter. The rest of his assembled Ravagers joined with him, temporarily creating a brutal, booming cacophony. Solomon continued to watch the Ravager King, the same slight smile playing on his lips.
"What makes you think I would possibly accept the challenge of a tiny, pathetic Uninfected?" the Ravager King asked, patting the head of his colossal mace against one palm. "Such things are beneath a King."
Solomon shrugged. "If you're afraid, we can resolve this in a...messier manner. Either way, this ends in your death."
The King turned red with rage. "I will kill you right where you stand, you puny Uninfected."
"See, that is where you are mistaken, soon-to-be-dead king," Solomon said. He unfolded his arms from behind his back, extending the fingers of the hand on which he had let his nails grow into small claws. He reached up and ran his sharpened nails across his own cheek, cutting deep gouges into them. The blood serum he had taken before entering the camp still ran thick within his veins: no sooner had the cuts begun to bleed than they sealed shut without scarring.
The Ravager King was enormous, and obviously an experienced fighter. The battle would be difficult. Solomon thought it might take him upwards of a full minute to dispatch the King. He watched with satisfaction as the King's face took on a look it had likely not worn in years.
The King's face held fear.
PART THREE
THE DEAL
21
Before
"Combining the strains is madness, you have to know that," Solomon said, watching as director Jed Walker typed furiously into the splicer’s control terminal, the genomes on the screen dancing wildly, melding together.
"Genius often looks like madness to the unimaginative," Dr. Walker answered, continuing to type. "I've had a breakthrough; a flash of inspiration. An epiphany, if you will. Project Zeus is perfect in every way but one: it doesn't properly take hold in the subject's chromosomes. But Project Pandora, that agent binds to neural tissue exceptionally well. If I combine the two, I can brute force the Zeus agent into the cell nucleus. It will work, I'm certain of it."
"Project Pandora is a biological weapon, for god's sake," Solomon said. "Even if it wasn't a completely crazy idea, it would take months of testing to get it right. Years maybe. And Pandora is fungal, don't forget. It never reacts with viral agents the same way twice. Face it, Jed, it's over. We need to turn over all of our research to the MP's tomorrow."
"All the more reason to work harder today," Dr. Walker replied. "Time is of the essence."
"Dammit Jed, none if this is going to bring your son back. He died, and I'm sorry for that, but it…it doesn't mean you have to destroy the entire world!"
"One thing has nothing to do with the other, Solomon.”
Jed had lost it, and if no one else was going to do it, it fell to Dr. Solomon to stop him. He laid a hand on top of Jed's furiously typing fingers. "Dr. Walker, I'm sorry, but I can't let you do this. The risks are...they're just unacceptable."
Walker straightened and turned to face him. "Very well, Dr. Solomon. I'm sure you didn't come to this decision lightly. There's nothing I can do to convince you?"
Solomon shook his head. "I'm sorry Jed, but no, no there is not."
22
“Have a seat Sam. We have a lot to talk about.”
One open chair. As if they were waiting for me, Sam thought. Or maybe they were waiting for Elena, an
d they’re simply settling for me.
He thought again about the horrified expression that had been on Elena’s face at the moment she realized she was being left behind. Sam didn’t particularly like Elena, but he found himself tremendously worried about her all of a sudden. He worried about Abigail as well, but he imagined he would somehow know if something had befallen her. It didn’t make sense, he knew, but he believed it.
Hell, Vincente’s voice whispered, none of this makes sense.
Sam briefly considered trying to close the elevator doors and make a break for it. Even if he was able to get the doors closed, the only thing waiting at the bottom would be another group of Roosevelt’s soldiers. No, he was caught, and his only move was to play this out to its conclusion.
Sam very slowly took his gun by its barrel and approached the table. “That’s good,” Roosevelt said, “very smart, Sam. Now we can talk now like civilized men.”
Sam sat down, setting his pistol on the tabletop; the weapon was promptly taken by one of the soldiers. “I’ve just got to say it, guys,” Sam began, ignoring his pounding heart, “this is really not what I was expecting to find here.” He managed a weak chuckle, which was greeted by silence from the rest of the room.
Finally, Roosevelt spoke. “No, I suspect not. I can assume what you expected to find was this.”
He took a small object out from his jacket pocket and held it up for Sam to see. For a brief moment, Sam imagined that he held the drive that Deacon had taken from Vincente, the one he had been chasing after all this time. But on closer inspection, he saw that was not the case. No, what Roosevelt held was a thin, semi-translucent blue disc. The disc Ki had sent Sam to steal.
“I’d have to get a closer look at it,” Sam said. “But yeah, sure. I imagine that’s the one.”
Roosevelt locked eyes with him for a few moments, seemingly considering Sam’s answer. “There’s no need to look closer. If our illustrious Madame Ki sent you here to rob me, your target could only be this.”
“Well, I’m glad I could clear that up,” Sam said. He pushed himself away from the table and began to stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve still got a number of errands to run, so I’ll just be on my—”
“Sit back down,” Roosevelt said, his smile disappearing. “We still have things to discuss.”
Sam sat back down, wincing. “Right,” he said. He leaned forward onto the table and tried to relax.
He took in the rest of the room for the first time. To Roosevelt’s immediate right were three hard looking people — two men and one woman — dressed in matching blue uniforms that were similar, though less ornate, than the Lawbringer’s own. Each wore the expression of a hardened, humorless old soldier, and Sam could guess that they were probably Roosevelt’s head Lieutenants. Oddly enough, the next one over was a short, skinny boy who looked barely into his teens. He had a working tablet computer that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Colony, save for the myriad ancient scratches clouding its screen.
On the opposite side of the table was a pair of what looked to be administrators, and to Roosevelt’s immediate left, someone whose presence here worried Sam almost more than that of the Lawbringer. Someone whose outfit looked very familiar.
It was a man of the Company.
“Despite what you may think, young Mr. Brennan, I would like this meeting to conclude without you coming to any harm,” Roosevelt said. “Whether you go from here to my front door or to my cells is entirely up to you.”
The table watched Roosevelt as he spoke. When he finished, all the heads seem to swing toward Sam in one motion Sam would have thought it funny if he wasn’t so scared. “Ummm…yeah, I think I know which choice I would vote for,” Sam said.
“Excellent,” Roosevelt said. “You came for this drive, sent by my rival Madame Ki. She has spent over a decade trying to get her hands on it, and I have spent just as long keeping it from her grasp. Today, however, I am inclined to give it to you.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what Roosevelt was trying to do. “I assume there is some sort of catch,” Sam said.
Roosevelt shook his head. “Not for you, Sam. Quite to the contrary; I’d like to make you an offer. One I believe you will find very favorable indeed.”
“Well, no offense,” Sam said, “but a favorable offer was what brought me here today.”
Roosevelt shook his head, clicking his tongue at Sam disapprovingly. “You will want to hear me out, Sam. Do not forget: exit or cells.”
“Of course,” Sam said. “Where are my manners? Continue.”
Roosevelt’s face flushed red, but he kept his self-satisfied smile as he held out the disc. “This device, you see, is fact not the one Ki desires, but a copy. A fake.” He wiggled his eyebrows at this, somehow managing to look even more impressed with himself than before, something Sam would not have thought possible. “You will take this disc back to our oh-so-clever Ki, my dear Sam, and you will tell her nothing of this conversation. When she tries to read the codes on it, the program will instead copy all of her network’s data and send it over to me. Isn’t that right, Marcus?”
The younger, dark skinned boy with the tablet nodded at that, then returned his attention to said tablet. Sam couldn’t get a read on the kid; couldn’t make out if he was averting his eyes down out of nerves or simply boredom with this entire meeting.
Sam had more immediate problems, however. For instance: how to not only get out of this room alive and unshackled, but how to avoid having this play out against him once Ki examined the data on the disc. You’ve got to be smarter than this, Sammy, Vincente’s voice scolded him. You’ve got to think further ahead. He was a step behind everyone here, and he needed to catch up. He’d have to start taking risks.
Here goes. He rubbed his chin, making a show of his thinking. “So I take this disc and march it in to Ki’s. I assume you won’t be following me there with a gun at my back—that would kind of spoil the ruse. What’s to stop me from just telling Ki everything once I’m on my own? Seems safer than trying to tell her I knew nothing about why her computers are melting down once she plugs that thing in. The way I see it, Rosey, you need to make this whole thing worth my while.”
“Make it worth your…” Roosevelt began, growling the words through clenched jaws as his cheeks went crimson. The knuckles on the hand gripping the blue disc turned white and Sam thought he could hear the plastic began to crack..
The closest Company operative, the one with the scarred face, put a hand on Roosevelt’s other arm, then gestured for him to calm. Roosevelt nodded to him and did, barely, setting the code disc down on the tabletop and taking a slow, calming breath. He looked at Sam and forced his face back to a neutral expression, with what looked to be considerable effort. “Fine. Very Well. Of course we’d be happy to pay. 10,000 dollars worth of barter credits for doing what I ask, and 10,000 more for the Old World data drive that you took off the Ravager that you’ve been do doggedly chasing. You do still have the thing, do you not?”
Sam tried to hide the surprise from his expression as he processed Roosevelt’s words. He’d been about to ask Roosevelt for the drive as his payment. If the drive wasn’t here, where was it? And how did these people even know about the drive?
So much for getting ahead of things here, huh kid? Vincente’s voice chided him.
Across the table, the Company agent was again whispering intently in the Lawbringer’s ear. Whatever was being said, Roosevelt didn’t seem to like it. He nodded gruffly and waved the agent off.
“What do you say, Sam? Twenty thousand dollars will go a long way in this town. I’ll even help you and your partner with a temporary place to stay, until with your new riches you can by your own place, in my district, of course.”
“Of course,” Sam said, his throat suddenly very dry. “I can, um, get you what you’re asking for.” Abigail had better have gotten to Roach, he thought, because that Ravager was now the only one in the world who still knew where the drive was. Ass
uming she had hidden it, and not simply lost it.
A big if, Vincente added.
Sam couldn’t think about that right now. “I agree,” he said, forcing some confidence he certainly didn’t feel into his voice. “Your terms are acceptable.” He had a new idea, and quickly added, “But I’ll need to speak with the Ravager myself, before I leave.” If Abigail hadn’t been able to get to Roach, then this might be his only chance to find that damned drive.
“Ravager, Here?” Roosevelt said, his rage now replaced with poorly feigned ignorance. “We don’t have the abomination. We found it, certainly, but then we did what we always do with the infected. We killed and buried the thing. Bring the monster here? No, of course not, why would we possibly—”
The Company operative leaned over and began to whisper into Roosevelt’s ear. Roosevelt clammed up and began listening, nodding along.
Sam tried to keep his expression impassive while his thoughts raced. Was Roach dead? Was Ki’s information wrong? This whole plan was turning into a disaster.
Don’t trust them, Sam, Vincente said, as if on cue. If the Company is involved, nothing is what it seems.
No kidding, he thought.
Roosevelt waved off the Company man and abruptly stood, staring fiercely at Sam. “Deal or jail cell? No more talk.”
Whatever the Company agent had whispered, it had completely changed the room’s atmosphere; enough to throw Sam for a loop.
He worried again about Abigail as he considered Roosevelt’s words. He was suddenly gripped with the icy certainly that something had gone wrong; that something terrible had happened to her. As quickly as the thoughts surfaced, they were gone. Roosevelt was once again lying, Sam realized. The man had the worst poker face Sam had ever seen.
Sam composed himself and smiled brightly. “I’ll need that payment up front,” he said. “Otherwise, how will I know you’ll deliver?”