Black Marble (Darkside Dreams - Series 1 Book 3)

by A. King Bradley

  Crap, I think as the killer sends me sailing through the air with one powerful heave.

  OUSP security guards flood into the room with their weapons drawn just as I crash into a wall on the far side of the room. I scramble to my feet and turn to look at them.

  “What are you standing there for?! Get him!” I yell, but the answer to my question is revealed when I turn back to the assassin only to realize that he has vanished.

  CHAPTER 15

  ◆◆◆

  What do you do when you enter a room and find a dead politician and a living Oligarchy resident? Well, you throw the latter's sorry ass into a holding cell and wait for him to crack. So, that's where I am right now. A holding cell in an OUSP jail. Everything's clean in here. Everything smells nice. Almost too nice to be honest.

  I'm miserable in part because I hate not being able to move around as I see fit but mostly because I’m this close to solving the case and these bastards won’t get the hell out of my way. Looks like my misery is about to get a whole lot worse, because the door has just opened, and a familiar toothpick-chewing bastard has stepped inside.

  “Nice to see you again,” the stocky Commander says smugly, walking over to the table in the center of my cell and sitting across from me. He flops an omni down and a hologram comes out of it. It's the party member who's employed me, the guy named Foley.

  “Roman,” Foley says, shaking his head slowly. “These are not the results I've been hoping for. Another party member is dead. And now I hear you were at the scene, and still managed to accomplish nothing?”

  “I am this close to solving this case,” I retort. “I just need more time. More time to sort a few things out.”

  “You’ve given us nothing, Ibarra! What do you mean you’re close to solving this thing? What kind of game are you playing here?” the Commander snaps.

  “Dammit! This is pointless, okay! I don’t have time to give you a goddamn play by play!” I shoot back.

  The Commander is obviously just as pissed as I am. He leans across the table, spit flying. “You've already spent all the expense money I've given you, Ibarra. And then some! And you have squat to show for it! This has been a complete waste of time, energy, and money. A complete waste!”

  “Bullshit,” I tell him.

  “Bullshit?” he asks. “We hire you, give you over a million credits, and so far, the best lead we have is from an anonymous tip.”

  That perks my ear. “What tip?” I ask skeptically.

  “We were tipped off that some droids were involved in these hits,” he says, sighing heavily. Some of the red drains from his face. “Vangelina Natali’s tech from what we can tell. We've demanded that the Oligarchy turn her over to us, or we'll have no choice but to declare war. They've been given twelve hours to comply.”

  “How long ago was this?” I ask.

  “Just before we arrived here,” Foley says. “About twenty minutes ago.”

  “You're making a huge mistake. Playing right into the hands of whoever's actually responsible,” I warn.

  “We already know who’s responsible. Vangelina Natali,” the Commander says flatly.

  “That’s what they want you to think,” I caution. “But I know otherwise. I just need a little more time to get proof!”

  “You’re a person of interest in the death of a party member, Mr. Ibarra,” the Commander scoffs. “I’m afraid your detective work has been placed on hold for the moment.”

  “Is this some kind of joke?” I grumble. “You know I had nothing to do with Sevetti’s death! I was trying to save him!”

  Foley gives me a sad, tired look. I'm still not sure whether he's a synth or not. Maybe it doesn't matter.

  “Roman,” the ranking party member says. “I had such high hopes for you. I am… sad this didn’t work out.”

  “I'm not,” the Commander groans. After that he grabs his omni and walks out. The door shuts automatically behind him.

  I wait a moment, then stand and go to the door. I try to open it, and of course its locked. Can't blame me for trying.

  I turn my back to my holding cell’s lone camera and consider my next move. After a moment I take a deep breath and shove my index finger down my throat forcing myself to fall to my knees and vomit. Within seconds I discretely pick the earpiece that I had swallowed out of my puke, wipe it off, and then shove it into my ear. The OUSP goons that arrested me confiscated my omni but luckily, I was able to swallow my earpiece without them noticing.

  “What do we do now?” I ask. Hoping Ana could somehow hear me.

  “Well,” Ana says within my earpiece, sounding oddly cheerful, “now that we're inside the OUSP data sphere, I can try a few tricks I've been thinking about. It might take a little while, though. You might want to get comfortable.”

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “You’re omni’s in an evidence locker pretty close by. I’m fine for now.”

  “Can they hear us?”

  “No, I’ve taken care of the surveillance for now.”

  I go back to the table and sit down, forcing myself to breathe calmly. My internal clock is ticking away. I'm dreadfully aware of each passing second. War, getting closer and closer. The OUSP has a massive military but the Oligarchy has weapons that can tear the planet apart. My world is about to be destroyed. All the people I know could go up in a cloud of smoke. The only comfort I have right now is that Ana is still here tinkering away inside the OUSP prison’s data base. Figuring out a way to break me out of this joint.

  Twenty minutes later, I hear footsteps in the hall. A man appears at my door with guards in tow. By his lapel, I can tell he's a ranking party member. And by the look of his boyish face, it's safe to assume he's also a synth.

  “Release this man at once,” he says, speaking in a strange, tight-lipped voice. He steps aside and a guard, confused but obedient, unlocks the door of my holding cell.

  I stand up and walk out, staring at the party member. He hands me my omni and stares right back, with unseeing eyes. A synth, for sure. Traditional cyber brain, not air-gapped. Accessible from what’s left of the data sphere. I realize what's happening. Ana has somehow taken over his body. I’m thoroughly impressed at her quick thinking but who knows how long she can stay in control? She hands me my coat and my side arm and within seconds I turn around and exit the jail as fast as possible.

  “What the hell was that?!” I say, once we're out in the open air and I'm confident her trick worked.

  “Technopathy… I guess,” Ana replies. “Apparently, I am a… technopath,” she continues, obviously as shocked as I am.

  “How did you do it?” I ask while checking my coat pockets and placing my gear back in its regular order.

  “I’ve been seeing the connections in the sphere for a while now,” she admits. “Since we discovered that some synths were still around. I’ve wondered if I could tap into them, but I didn’t have a real reason to try until now.”

  “Does this have something to do with what we talked about on the island?” I ask her. “About you feeling... different?”

  “Maybe. But let's not worry about that now. I think we can both agree that we have far bigger problems.”

  “You can say that again,” I agree, as the thought of impending war makes my stomach turn.

  CHAPTER 16

  ◆◆◆

  I'm still in OUSP territory. Stuck. I kind of doubt my guest of honor status is still in effect, and I don't want to risk walking up to an exit checkpoint to find out. I'll probably get thrown back into jail. In a more highly secured room, this time.

  The shit’s getting closer to the fan by the second and I can’t help but feel like I’m the only one who can stop it. In the distance, I can already hear the sirens. I can see the warships gathering in an area towards the border, hovering in the air like giant metallic birds.

  If I want to get out of here, I'll need some help from the outside. As soon as possible. Preferably before the nukes start flying.

  “Call Abdo
,” I tell Ana.

  She does so, and my old friend is quick to answer the call. My omni is in my pocket, so I can't see the hologram. But I can hear his voice in my earpiece.

  “Roman?” he says. “Is everything alright?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I'm in a jam, Abdo. Big time. Things are about to get really bad for everyone, and I need your help getting out of the OUSP territory so I can stop it.”

  He lets out a worried moan. “Roman...”

  “I know, I know. It’s a hell of an ask, but I don’t have a choice, Abdo. You’re the only one with enough juice to get me out of here. They’re holding me as a person of interest in the death of one of their party members. You know I’m as good as dead if I stay here.”

  A moment of silence. Another sigh.

  “Okay,” he says. “I have a guy over there who owes me a favor. I'll send you his address, and I'll call him up as soon as I'm off with you. He'll get you across the border.”

  Not long after getting off the call with him, as I'm walking toward the address he gave, I hear distant explosions. Some sort of skirmish has already broken out. Probably a preemptive defensive strike by the Oligarchy. Whatever it is, it means that the full twelve-hour window will not be used. The only question now is how long will it be until the really big guns start going boom?

  And also, how long before the Collective decides to step in?

  CHAPTER 17

  ◆◆◆

  Getting through the border isn't too tricky. It turns out the guy Abdo did a favor for is a kind of diplomat. Crosses the border all the time, trying to smooth over relations between the two factions. Naturally, he would be going over to attempt to stop the imminent war. It's the perfect cover. All I have to do is cram myself painfully into the cargo bay of his gyrocopter and try not to make any sounds of discomfort.

  When we land, I'm just about dead from breathing in fumes and my shoulders are screaming. But my first sight and smell of the Oligarchy fills me with joy, brings me back to life. Abdo's friend pulls me out of the cargo bay and tells me to hurry up and get lost before I get him into trouble.

  ◆◆◆

  The streets of the Oligarchy are strangely empty. And the mountains where the Oligarchs themselves live are on full alert, buzzing with air traffic and sirens and weird spotlights. By now, Plunkett will have locked himself in some deep bunker with a ten-year supply of food.

  I reach the building where Abdo resides, climb the steps, and barge into his office without announcing myself. He's there, sitting at his desk behind a cup of coffee. He looks sober, expressionless. There's a gun on the table in front of him, pointing toward the door, but his hand isn't anywhere near it.

  I fling myself into the chair, letting out a long groan of exhaustion.

  “I never thought I'd get out of there,” I say. “Thanks again, Abdo. Have I ever said how much I appreciate you?”

  Abdo nods slowly. “If I had one credit for every time you guys appreciate me, I’d have retired a long time ago,” he groans.

  “Are you keeping up with the commotion out there?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I am,” Abdo says flatly. “Looks like you were right about the war.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Abdo. I can still stop it, but I’m going to need your help.”

  “What can I do?” Abdo asks.

  “Well,” I say, leaning forward and looking sternly into his eyes. “You can start by telling me who you're working for.”

  His eyes go narrow, his lips curl in the beginning of a snarl. “What do you mean? I'm self-employed, Roman, you know that.”

  “You’re Cronus, Abdo,” I say as I stand and glare down at him. “And you’ve probably been organizing hit jobs behind the scenes the same way you organize the work for your private eye network. You hide it well, but I can tell you’ve had more money coming in than you let on.”

  Abdo gives a forced look of confusion, then slowly, hesitantly shakes his head in a feeble attempt to deny my accusations.

  “I know your top hit squad is made up of androids. Stolen from Vangelina,” I say. “But Vangelina never coded a persona for killing. In fact, she strictly forbids it. So, I had to figure out where these personas were coming from. Who was building them. Or rather, who was taking them. Because they had to be human personas. The simple ones Vangelina uses wouldn't cut it. I had an inkling that this main assassin guy was a bit of a kindred spirit. Same body type as me. Same gait. Same tactics. It didn’t make sense at first, but once I found out that androids were pulling the hits, I realized the truth. Still, as always, I needed proof, and I got that today when I fought the assassin. Same fighting style as me. Same methods I would use. So similar, in fact, that I was able to predict almost everything he did in our fight. It's me, isn't it Abdo? You used my back up persona and turned him into a goddamn assassin, didn’t you? The same one I stored alongside Ana's, all those years ago.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roman.”

  “Dammit, Abdo, I already confirmed that someone took my persona out of storage and the only other person who had access to it was you!”

  Abdo eyes the weapon on the desk in front of him, but he smartly doesn’t make a play for it.

  “All the big cases you kept spoon feeding me— all the vacations to your little island. Those were just to get me out of town, weren’t they? Keep me out of the way so I wouldn’t run into that imposter you have running around out there.”

  “Roman, I—”

  “Why’d you do it, Abdo?!” I firmly demand, making it clear that I won’t put up with any more worthless denials.

  “Because I’m tired, Roman. Tired of the rat race. Tired of all of it. This was it. A job that would set me up for the rest of my life. Make it so that I could retire… for real this time.”

  “But why’d you drag me into it? Why did you use my persona?!”

  “Because you were the best man for the job, Roman,” Abdo admits. “I knew I needed you, but I also knew I couldn’t count on you to help me. Not with this. And without you as an option… the only other option… was you. My employer didn't know who the synths were at first. Didn't have any names. But we knew some of them were still around. And we knew you would be able to find them. And that you did. Got me an entire list.”

  “That explains the detective work, but what about the hits. How the hell did you convince him to become an assassin?”

  A look of shame washes over Abdo’s face.

  “Tell me you didn’t use Ana?” I grumble.

  “It was the only way, Roman. The only way I could push him over that edge,” Abdo admits. “I didn’t make a copy of her though. All I did was tell you... the other you... that she was murdered by the synths. Which is true, by the way.”

  I shake my head. “Goddamn you, Abdo.”

  My hand is on my weapon. Without thinking, I pull it out and let it hang at my side.

  “After everything I’ve done for you, you’re pissed at me? You have the nerve to actually pull a gun on me?!” Abdo scoffs. “How dare you, Roman. How many times have I stuck my neck out for you?! How many times have I literally saved your life when you needed me, including today?!”

  “And you think that gives you the right, Abdo?!” I bark. “To use my persona for this shit?! And to manipulate him using Ana’s death?!”

  “You see this, Roman? You are making my point! Just look at you. Look at how pissed you are at me because of one perceived mistake. After everything I’ve done for you… I was completely justified in doing what I did because I knew you wouldn’t have helped me. Even if I had asked,” Abdo grumbles, reaching up to wipe away tears of anger and sorrow from his eyes. “Why did I do it—are you fucking kidding me? I did it because I’m tired of dealing with people like you. So called friends who only come knocking when they need something. Only ever offering ‘hey, I’ll make it up to you’s’ in return whenever the favor is done. I’m fucking sick of it and I wanted a way out. That’s why I did it.”

  “Does
he know?” I ask. “The other Roman. Does he know he's a copy?”

  Abdo shakes his head. “I took some liberties with the memories before I integrated your persona into the android’s body. He has no recollection of storing a persona himself. No remembrance of most of his life leading up to the pact you made with Ana. She’s all he really remembers. And as far as he knows, he's the real Roman Ibarra. He believes he was in a coma after being attacked by the synths, the same attack that killed Ana. The coma, of course, being responsible for his memory loss.”

  “He has to know his body’s not human,” I say.

  “He does. I told him he’s a cyborg. Told him I had to transfer him in order to save him after the supposed attack.”

  “Had it all planned out, huh?” I ask sarcastically, fighting back an almost overwhelming urge to smack my old friend across the face.

  The room and the rest of the building fall into dead silence, so it's easy to hear the sound of a door opening on a lower level. Footsteps, coming up the stairs.

  “Is that him?” I ask.

  “Most likely,” Abdo solemnly confirms. “This won't end well, if he comes in here and sees you with that weapon. And that face.”

  I reach behind me and lock the door.

  A moment later, the handle jiggles and then the copy knocks a few times.

  “Abdo?” I hear my own voice call out, which sends a sudden chill down my spine. “We need to talk.”

  I stare at Abdo. Abdo stares back at me. Then he calls out, “Just a moment, Roman. I'll be right out.”

  Then he nods at me. I start to stand, with the intention of hiding myself in a side room while Abdo deals with my counterpart.

  But I have a sudden premonition. A certainty. I know what the copy is about to do, because it's the same thing that I would do if I was in his position. I turn quickly toward the door, dropping my weapon and reaching into my pocket for my omni instead.