Alita

by Pat Cadigan

  “Anyway, two of the cabal are picking asparagus,” Vector said. “And waiting to have their lumbar regions replaced while they contemplate the folly of their misdeeds. I thought this would make their cronies do likewise.” For a long moment Vector stared down at his glass. Hugo hoped he wasn’t supposed to contemplate the folly of his own misdeeds. He was tired of thinking about all the ways he’d screwed up.

  “I was wrong,” Vector said after a bit. “I’m not wrong often and I don’t like it. But when I am, I have to take action. I may not want to, but it’s my responsibility. People in Iron City have been let down too many times. Their leader can’t be one more big disappointment.” He looked at Hugo with an expression so serious it was frightening. “You see what I mean, don’t you?”

  Hugo nodded, trying to look like he knew something. “If there’s something I can do to help, sir, just ask.”

  “Good to know I can count on you, kid.” Vector’s heartfelt tone only increased Hugo’s anxiety. People always sounded like that right before they threw you under a bus for your own good. Whoever had talked his father into his first cyborg replacement had probably sounded like that.

  “Our northland friends have regrouped, even though there are only four of them now. Five, if you count the cyber-surgeon.”

  Hugo was confused for a moment. “You mean the one that built the TR—”

  Vector put up a hand and Hugo promptly shut up. “A designer with a lot of potential but no judgment whatsoever. Speed doesn’t mean much if a person can’t stand up to the aggression and, ah, physical demands that make Motorball what it is.”

  “I agree completely,” Hugo said.

  Vector looked at him with a faintly surprised expression and Hugo realised that hadn’t been a cue to speak. Mortified, he dropped his gaze to his nearly empty bottle.

  “The northland cabal’s learned nothing,” Vector continued after a moment. “I thought their pet cyber-surgeon would have taken her act on the road, off to the Badlands. Instead, she’s hiding out in somebody’s cellar, working on their new project. Unfortunately—for them—I know what that is.” Vector put down his glass and held out his arm so Hugo could see the pictures on his phone screen.

  Hugo wasn’t sure what he was looking at as Vector scrolled through the photos, whether these were real, or extremely detailed artist’s concepts. Vector kept scrolling, and eventually Hugo saw these were photographs of an actual cyborg, with on-board attachments coming out of his forearms and biceps and even his thighs. This cyborg didn’t swap out tools—it carried extra limbs with whatever gear was required. One foldaway arm-within-an-arm was equipped like a standard all-purpose toolkit.

  “You see the problem, don’t you, Hugo.”

  It wasn’t a question, but this time Vector wanted a response. “Well, yeah,” Hugo said, wondering how to bluff. “All that stuff—”

  “Is too damned much. Exactly! Got it in one!” Vector gave him an attaboy-punch on the arm that almost knocked him over. “It’s far too much for the average person.” He sat back and turned off the phone display. “Our hapless northland friends have no idea what life is like for the average person in the Iron City workforce. They never considered what this would cost. Nobody could afford a body this elaborate.”

  Hugo took a moment to let out a relieved breath while Vector poured himself a refill. “Or maybe they thought a TR like this shouldn’t cost any more than a standard TR,” he said, returning the decanter to the holder next to his seat. “But it would put vendors out of business in a week. Vendors aren’t deckmen, they’re people. With families, mouths to feed, employees to pay. Who also have families and mouths to feed. You see where I’m going?”

  Hugo nodded, hoping he did.

  “And that’s leaving aside the fact that it’s also beyond the average person’s biology.” Vector showed him the phone screen again. “All those things—it would take a brain twice the size of normal to coordinate all those extras!”

  Or a super-chip, Hugo thought. A super-chip would speed up a brain so it could handle all that and more.

  Vector was looking at him expectantly. “Yeah, that’s bad,” Hugo said, trying to think fast. “I dunno what to do. Maybe warn people that this is a super-expensive TR that could kill them?”

  “How?” Vector asked, as if he really thought Hugo could tell him. “I could release a statement, but would anyone read it? Have my Tuner read it in the stadium before every Motorball Game? She’s prettier than I am, some people might pay attention instead of just chucking bottles and cans at her.” Vector gave a short humourless laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not serious.” Now he sighed. “I’m telling you, Hugo, I see a future where the streets are littered with the bodies of people whose heads have exploded.”

  Hugo didn’t think that sounded terribly plausible. If people couldn’t afford the souped-up TR in the first place, their heads were in no danger of exploding. But it was Vector’s world; Hugo was just living in it.

  “I want to do whatever I can to help,” Hugo said finally. “But I don’t know what that is.”

  “I do,” Vector said promptly, giving him a big smile. “This cyborg is already running around loose, a living advertisement for our northland friends. We need to get him off the street before things get out of hand. And there’s only one crew I know of that’s good enough to take him down.”

  “You got it,” Hugo said.

  “Hold out your phone,” Vector ordered him. He obeyed and Vector tapped it with his own. “There. Now you’ve got photos and a list of his hangouts. I’ve also included a map of northland, in case it comes to that. You needn’t worry about, ah, turf. I’ve put it out that if you’re in northland, you’re on a job from me. You shouldn’t have any trouble, but if you do, tell me and I’ll fix it. I couldn’t offer you this same protection in south-town, as you weren’t there on my business.”

  Hugo felt heat rush into his face. Was there ever a time when he wouldn’t be reminded about that?

  Vector gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “But all that’s in the past, okay, kid? Just do this job right and it’s all good. Because we don’t have much info on the target, I’ll give you a week to deliver.”

  “Maybe if you hear more about him, you can text me—” Hugo started.

  “Are you nuts?” Vector snapped, making him jump. “We can’t communicate while you’re on a job. Anyone finds out I’m giving you special treatment, I’ll have every goddam snowflake in town after me, wanting special this and special that.” He looked furious a moment longer, then relented. “If I find out anything useful, I’ll get a message to you. But you don’t call me. Clear?”

  Hugo nodded. Vector’s glass was empty again and Hugo could tell he wanted another refill. But he wouldn’t let himself have it until Hugo left, because he was tipsy, Hugo realised. One more and he’d be drunk, and Vector couldn’t be drunk in front of people like Hugo.

  Vector nudged him. “Any questions?”

  “No, sir,” Hugo said. “I got everything I need.”

  “Great!” Vector said. “So go out there and do what you do. Make me proud, kid. You got five days.”

  Hugo almost opened his mouth to tell Vector he had originally said a week and then decided he’d better get the hell out before Vector cut it to three days.

  * * *

  The moment the door shut behind the kid, Vector reached for the decanter.

  “Rear view,” he said as he poured, and a small flatscreen folded down from the limo ceiling. It lit up to show the street behind him. Hugo was running away like a good little jacker, not looking back or stopping to talk to anyone. Vector considered having someone check on the kid, just to make sure he was behaving himself, then decided he didn’t need to spend the money. He could tell Hugo wanted to please him. Maybe it was some kind of father thing. The kid was an orphan, after all.

  * * *

  “That is a big guy,” Koyomi said. She sat between Hugo and Tanji in their usual spot in the CAFÉ café. Hugo had t
apped the info Vector had given him to both her and Tanji’s phones, and she was studying the screen with a nervous expression.

  “The last guy was just as big,” Hugo said.

  “No, this guy’s bigger,” Koyomi insisted.

  “He isn’t any bigger than the biggest guy we ever took down,” Hugo said and looked at Tanji to back him up.

  Tanji, however, looked as apprehensive as Koyomi. “She’s right, Hugo. That’s like a tank, heavy all the way through. Thick.”

  “Lots of mass,” Koyomi put in helpfully.

  “Yeah, that,” Tanji said. “After he’s down, we’d have a lotta trouble moving him.”

  “That’s what the truck is for.” Hugo was starting to get impatient. “Remember the truck? With the winch in the back? If you’re feeling puny, have another coffee. We got time. It’s still early.”

  Koyomi slid off her stool. “Anybody want anything? I’m not treating,” she added as Tanji opened his mouth.

  “No, thanks,” Tanji said, looking slightly disappointed.

  Hugo waited till Koyomi was at the counter before he turned to Tanji and said, “Man, you’re such a boob sometimes.”

  “I’ll tell my shrink,” Tanji replied. “But she’s right. This is a big job. As much as I like splitting three ways, I think we need two more on this. Dif and Louie—they’ve both got muscle.”

  “Dif?” Hugo made a sceptical face.

  “Dif’s kind of a lump,” Koyomi said, materialising between them. She was holding a cup of something hot crowned with a small peak of ersatz whipped cream.

  “He’s solid,” Tanji corrected her.

  Koyomi gave a short laugh. “You practically have to tell him to put one foot in front of the other to get him to walk.”

  “Then he can drive the truck,” Tanji said.

  “Does he know how to drive anything?” Hugo asked.

  “He can learn by doing,” Tanji replied.

  “No, we stick to the plan,” Hugo said. “Vector gave me five days to bring this guy in. We can do it in one night.”

  “Five days is time enough to make a new plan,” Koyomi said. She had licked off most of the whipped cream; what remained gave her a white moustache as she drank.

  Hugo shook his head emphatically. “Originally he gave me a week. Two seconds later, he says five days. I was afraid if I hung around any longer, he’d say he wanted it yesterday and why was I late again.”

  “He might say that anyway when we show up tonight,” Tanji said.

  “If he says tomorrow he wanted it yesterday, that’ll mean he wanted it today,” Koyomi said.

  “Just what is it you’re trying to say?” Tanji asked her.

  “I guess that’s why we ought to get him today. And I’m not trying to say it, I said it.” Koyomi frowned. “Sometimes I really don’t know about you two.”

  * * *

  It seemed to Hugo as they left the café that the streets were emptying more quickly than usual. He looked up; clouds were rolling in, promising rain as they obscured Zalem’s ever-present disk.

  “Hey—” He elbowed Tanji. “Is it supposed to rain tonight?”

  Tanji grimaced and pointed at the sky. “Looks like it’s gonna, whether it’s supposed to or not.”

  Hugo frowned. Rain made the streets slippery for gyros. They’d done a lot of jobs in the rain but he was tempted to call the whole thing off and do it tomorrow. Of course, it might rain even harder then, so what the hell. Doc Ido had called Iron City’s climate “tropical”—good for growing orchids and rainforests in the wild, and mould and mildew in town. Hugo had offered to take him out to the Badlands so he could see a rainforest in person but the doc said he was too busy. It was too bad because that wasn’t the only thing he wanted Ido to see.

  Tanji gave him a shove. “I said, do you wanna check the Widow Shins bar first?”

  Hugo stared at him blankly.

  “Earth to Hugo, where the hell did you go?” Tanji asked, annoyed.

  “I’m right here,” Hugo said defensively.

  “You better be,” said Tanji, glaring at him. “This is your show.”

  “You just worry about checking Widow Shins,” Hugo told him.

  “Hey!” Koyomi snapped her fingers between their faces. “Guys! I don’t know what’s your damage but shake it off. This is a job, not a telenovela!”

  “You still watch those?” Tanji said scornfully.

  “Only for pointers on how to handle you two,” Koyomi said. “Widow Shins is that way.” She pointed at a place where the main road curved away from the flyover remnants, and she moved towards Tanji’s gyro. “Hey, can I drive?”

  “The truck is that way,” Hugo said, pointing in the opposite direction, towards the cathedral ruins. “I’ll go pick it up and meet you guys at Widow Shins.”

  “I’ll drop Koyomi at Widow Shins and stake out his other bar,” Tanji said, climbing on his gyro and starting it up. “If he shows up, I’ll text you. And you: don’t ask stupid questions,” he added to Koyomi as she climbed on behind him and put her arms around his waist.

  * * *

  Hugo rode to the abandoned warehouse’s loading dock, pulled the tarp off the truck and put his gyro in the back. No one ever came down here—no one who would care what was under a very grungy-looking tarp, anyway. But just in case, he’d switched around some of the wiring under the dash, making it impossible to hot-wire normally. He got the idea from listening to Ido tell one of his patients how he was re-wiring his legs.

  Driving the truck past the cathedral reminded him that he hadn’t climbed up to the platform around the spire for a while. It was the only spire completely intact and the platform was solid. It was probably the highest point in Iron City, higher even than Vector’s Factory penthouse, which was supposed to have killer views from every window.

  Hugo doubted any of them were really as good as the one from the spire platform. But then those were probably views of Iron City. He only wanted to look at Zalem, seeing the setting sun hit the skyscrapers at the edge of the disk, making the glass flash like it had burst into flames—and the light lingered on the buildings even after it was dark in Iron City. Zalem was up so high, sunsets happened a lot later for them.

  When this job was over, he’d get back up the cathedral spire. Until he had a million credits in his lockbox, that was as good as it would get for him.

  * * *

  Hugo backed the truck into an alley three blocks from Widow Shins and rode his gyro to the bar. He’d never been to this particular bar, but then he seldom went to bars—booze cost money he had a better use for. The place was a dive, which meant it wasn’t as clean as a joint, but it didn’t have as many brawls as a hell-hole.

  No one gave him a second look as he went in and made his way to a table in a far corner. There was a glass on it half full of something slightly darker than the coke Vector had given him. Hugo moved it closer to himself so he’d look like a paying customer and noticed there was a layer of something in the bottom that looked like mud. It figured, he thought; when you ordered something on the rocks, you had to specify still water. Otherwise you got industrial tap, with real rocks frozen in it.

  The table gave him a good view of the rest of the bar, which was full but not overly crowded. Hugo looked around and didn’t see Koyomi. Irritated, he phoned her.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Across the street watching the front door,” she said. “I don’t have to be in the bar to watch for the target.”

  “Why?” Hugo said impatiently.

  “If you’d ever been a pretty young girl alone in a bar, you wouldn’t have to ask,” she snapped.

  Hugo felt like an idiot. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would bother you.”

  “Seriously?” Koyomi squeaked with disbelief. “Half of them are creeps whose wives don’t understand them, half are northland creeps whose husbands ignore them, and you don’t wanna know what the rest of them want. Don’t expect me to come back in just because you’re th
ere now.”

  “No, it’s okay. Call me if you see him. Or I’ll call you.” Hugo hung up as a waitress came towards him. She was holding a dozen dirty glasses in an enhanced cyber-hand and a small order tablet in the other; she looked so exhausted Hugo felt tired just looking at her.

  “Another?” she asked him in a flat, nasal voice.

  “Still workin’ on this one, thanks,” Hugo said.

  “You been nursin’ that for so long, I swear you look younger.” She looked at the glass. “Dontcha like it? That’s Iron City Black Tar.”

  Hugo squirmed a little. “It looks like it.”

  The waitress leaned over and stirred it with the pinky of her normal hand. The dark swirl in the glass looked even more like mud. “There,” she said. “Now you can’t see it. Outta sight, outta mind. Down the hatch. You’re welcome.”

  Hugo pushed the glass farther away as she stumped off. His phone said it was after two A.M. He should probably wait till two-thirty before giving up, but what the hell. He got up to leave, thinking the guy might have gone to the other bar. Once he got outside he’d call Tanji and, if the cyborg was still a no-show, they’d call it a night. Vector should have given them more information, he thought, making his way through the room towards the door.

  He opened the door and immediately bounced off something solid and unyielding. He staggered back a few steps, trying to regain his balance. But something shoved him hard in the centre of his chest and he flew backwards several feet, going down hard on his tailbone. The room erupted in screams of laughter, as if this was the most hilarious thing the happy clientele of Widow Shins had seen lately, or ever.

  “Young people today!” boomed a jolly male voice. “They just can’t stand up to a drink.”

  More laughter. Wincing with pain, Hugo started to push himself to his feet. He was on one knee when he looked up at the man standing over him and nearly fell over again.

  “Hey, little fella!” The cyborg looked exactly like his photos. He bent over with his hands on his knees, grinning hugely. “If you can’t hold your liquor, you oughta watch where you’re going!”