Agent G: Assassin

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Does this thing have any weapons?” Claire asked.

  “How the hell should I know?” I snapped back, holding myself against the sides of the carriage to avoid bouncing around.

  “You’re the spy!” Claire shouted.

  “Real spies don’t have gadget cars!”

  “Well, clearly that’s not the case!”

  The second pair of rockets fired at us, only to strike a nearby catwalk and cause an explosion of flame and wreckage. The AR-29 zipped down after us, attempting to chase us despite our only advantage being maneuverability. Claire tapped away at numerous on-screen commands while trying to fly as the computer screen said, “Please enter the password for authorizing onboard weapons.”

  “Oh, come the fuck on!” Claire shouted.

  Seeing the helicopter about to lock onto us, I pushed the wheel to one side and got us out of the next stream of chain-gun fire.

  “Don’t interfere!” Claire said. “I’ve got this.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really!”

  I got an idea. “Open the sunroof!”

  “What?”

  “Do it!” I said, crawling in the back and grabbing my sniper rifle.

  “Please tell me you didn’t see something like this coming!”

  “Do you want to drive or shoot?”

  “Can you drive a sky car?”

  “Kinda?”

  “Then you shoot!”

  We were coming to the end of the industrial district even as we maneuvered even lower through the maze of buildings, pipes, steel, and machinery around us. The helicopter couldn’t follow us through it but continued to fire from above. Unfortunately, the path we were on took us right into a residential district of New Chicago, and if we let the fight reach there, then who knew how many innocent people would be caught in the crossfire. I wasn’t going to let myself become A, even if it meant my or Claire’s survival.

  Maybe.

  I picked up the Sidewinder-7 from its case in the back seat and hastily loaded it as the back window shattered from a stray chain-gun round. I gave a swift look over to Claire and saw that it had passed between us and gone through the front windshield, which would have shocked even the most seasoned combat pilots. Somehow, Claire managed to maintain control over the vehicle.

  “So much for bulletproof windows,” I muttered. “We need to get up level with it!”

  “I’d ask if you’re insane, but that goes without question. You better get this right, or we’re both dead.”

  “I couldn’t ask for finer company.”

  “That’s not reassuring!”

  The Zero-7 aircar lifted into the air right as it was about to dip down and get us, and the factories we were passing disappeared, replaced with a mile-long graveyard and park. Claire brought the car level with the helicopter. I didn’t bother with the sunroof and mounted the Sidewinder-7 sniper rifle on the broken glass of our rear window.

  “Bye,” I said, aiming not with the scope but my enhanced cybernetic vision and shooting both helicopter pilots before putting a round through the dashboard computer. Deprived of all navigation, the helicopter spun out of control and landed in an artificial lake approximately two hundred feet below.

  I looked over at Claire. “I think they’re dead.”

  Claire cast a glance back at me, disapproval in her eyes. “Really? I never would have guessed. Who the fuck were those guys?”

  “They weren’t A’s people,” I said, shaking my head. “I can tell you that.”

  “Why is that?” Claire said. “Are you wanted by other people who want to kill you with a military helicopter?”

  “Are you?” I asked.

  “Point taken,” Claire said, directing the car from the crime scene as fast as she could. The Chicago police had mostly been replaced with Atlas Security personnel, but they maintained a small regular force that I didn’t exactly want to deal with right now. I was really regretting approving a donation of five hundred flying cars last year.

  “Those were members of the Blackbriar PMC,” Delphi said, her voice speaking from the car’s CPU. “They are a much, much smaller unit of mercenaries than Atlas Security Services and mostly made up of dishonorably discharged United States soldiers or those deemed unfit for service.”

  “Never heard of ’em,” I said, disgusted. “Sound like a bunch of winners.”

  “They offered me a job years ago,” Claire said, grimacing. “They’re mostly used by Karma Corp to guard their black research facilities and prisons. They were, at least, until Atlas Security got their contract.”

  I looked at her. “I didn’t know about anything regarding human experimentation or kidnapping at the time. I wouldn’t let them be involved.”

  “I did,” Claire said, looking disgusted. “I have to deal with hundreds of deaths every year which might have been prevented if I’d exposed them.”

  “You did what you had to,” I said, lying. “I know you would have stopped it if you could have. We tried to put an end to their experiments in Mississippi, and they covered them up.”

  “You’re just saying that because we screw.”

  I was just saying that because I loved her. “Whatever the case, it seems Blackbriar has an issue with us both.”

  Claire took the Zero-7 down lower and slowed us down after we passed over the Chicago Crisis Remembrance Park. “Either way, that means we have even more reason to get this damn information out of my head.”

  “Are you still comfortable with us visiting your home?” I asked Delphi. “I’d rather not have a small army of mercs show up as we’re trying to persuade BlackCat1 to help us.”

  “She’s unlikely to stay much longer,” Delphi said, frowning. “My guests are a jaded and cynical lot who are always interested in the most innovative of sensations. My liquid memory injections have not been quite the showstopper I’d hoped them to be, so we’re stuck with ordinary drugs and sex.”

  Claire stared at the computer. “Did I hear that right?”

  “The lifestyles of the rich and robotic,” I said, shrugging. “I told you liquid memories were a bad idea.”

  “Details, details,” Delphi said. “Either way, I suggest you ditch the car and change clothes before you arrive. I’ll send someone to pick you up and take you here. It’s the most minor thing we can do, but hopefully, it will throw them off the scent.”

  “Make sure he brings a wet towel for both of us to wrap around our heads. It’ll muffle the signal,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Claire said.

  “Not a fan of classic Arnie, are you?” I asked.

  “Clearly, our definition of classic Arnie differs,” Claire said.

  “I doubt either of you have a tracking device on you,” Delphi said. “Otherwise, I would have access to it. I keep track of roughly one hundred three thousand, two hundred eleven citizens in the world this way. The important ones.”

  “That’s…unsettling,” Claire said. “But thanks, I guess.”

  “Good luck,” Delphi said, ending our connection.

  “Does your mom always stalk you this way?” Claire asked.

  “She’s not my mom,” I said. “Despite what she thinks. And yes. At least until I figure out how to throw her off the track.”

  Claire slowly settled the Zero-7 down on a road as she took note of the location which Delphi provided us to meet her contact. The bottom streets of New Chicago were filled with the homeless, citizens sporting guns, and endless rows of pawn shops mixed with porn studios. It bothered me to no end that this was one of the few cities really thriving in America today.

  “Case?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Just so we’re clear, we just took down an attack helicopter in a high-speed chase, right?”

  “I believe we did, yes.”

  “We shouldn’t keep secrets from one another anymore if this is going to be our life.”

  “Probably not,” I said, wondering if that was a proposal.

  Claire stopped us at a
red light. “I dye my hair.”

  “I know.”

  She swatted me on the shoulder.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was roughly an hour later when Claire and I arrived at Delphi’s penthouse, the elevator doors opening on a bizarre bacchanalia that assaulted the senses and intrigued the mind. The lights were dimmed low. A disco-ball effect of rainbow lights swirled around as a curious beat of techno mixed with classical played. The central chamber was three stories tall with ornate gold elevators and escalators leading up and down between many balconies full of guests from across the world.

  Painted performers with holographic tattoos across their nude bodies contorted across poles and in aquarium-like cages around the room. The air smelled like a mix of Lethe and vitamin-enriched oxygen that caused everything to have a heightened, otherworldly feel. Art was spread through the place, along with alcoves for meetings, sex, and experimental drug or dream-walking VR use.

  The people present were a mixture of stars, artists, politicians, and inventors who had all fallen under Delphi’s sway during the past decade. I recognized Edward Mull of New Electric Industries, Catalina Byrne of International News Tonight, arms dealer Edward Pickman, and at least three indie musicians. Delphi had forced me to listen to their demos, and they would almost certainly dominate the charts next month. Most of the subjects were wearing masks. These did little to disguise their identities to someone who had enhanced vision, but the subterfuge added to the illicit thrill of the place.

  “So, we’re visiting the dance club version of Eyes Wide Shut,” Claire said, her arm wrapped around mine. She was dressed in a gold mask to go with a spectacular slitted red dress that seemed like it had been custom made for her. The fact that it had required less than five minutes to get on and wasn’t accompanied by any makeup or hair styling seemed to make it simply avant-garde rather than inappropriate. I also liked that Claire had refused to change her shoes, so instead of the heels Delphi provided, she was wearing combat boots.

  “Delphi spent most of her life as a formless collection of data floating in the International Refugee Society’s data servers,” I said. “I think she’s just been making up for lost time by trying to experience as much of human life as possible.”

  I was wearing a jet-black version of my earlier suit, modified with ceramics and carbon-Kevlar for maximum protection and including several places to store my weapons. Claire had been jealous, to say the least, but I suspected Delphi trusted me more not to shoot up her party.

  “If said human life is coke, hookers, and blowing millions on fun, then yes. I suppose that she is definitely experiencing a lot of it.” Claire said grabbed a bottle of champagne from a buff waiter wearing only strategically placed feathers to go with his bird mask. “If I get roofied, I want you to know I’m shooting up the place.”

  “You insult me,” Delphi said over our cyberlinks. “The security of my guests is always a primary concern at my parties. Everything that happens to them falls under the province of being safe and consensual. I also have handpicked the Atlas Security personnel who attend this location as well as spared no expense on electronic countermeasures.”

  “We just got attacked by a stealth helicopter, Delphi,” Claire said, sipping her drink. “What have you got against that?”

  “Four SAM platforms,” Delphi said. “As well as several autotargeting drones with micro-missile equipped—”

  “Never mind,” Claire said. “I don’t even want to know how you can afford all that.”

  “Delphi owns New Chicago,” I said, only slightly exaggerating. “She big shorted the rise of Black Technology and the Crisis to be the woman to start rebuilding this city into her own personal Dubai. It’s the second arcology she owns after Los Angeles. The others are owned by the other AI.”

  “It’s taking you a while,” Claire said, keeping her voice low. “Lots and lots of citizens are still living in camps.”

  “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Delphi said.

  “No, it was built by slaves,” Claire said.

  “Who did a very good job,” Delphi said. “This city and the various arcologies are going to redeem humanity from its self-destructive, short-sighted ways. They will be monuments to futurism and controlled by individuals who know exactly what is needed to make sure they remain sustainable, ever-growing centers of commerce. If that requires temporary suffering, then that is no worse than it was before.”

  “Listen, you digital Marie Antoinette. If you think people are just going to sit around while you tell the starving masses to eat cake, you’ve got—”

  I cleared my throat. “Maybe it would be better if you just told us where BlackCat1 is.”

  “Are you sure?” Delphi said. “I’m just about to do my nude serpent dance. It’s why many of the guests are staying.”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I am quite sure.”

  “BlackCat1 is on the third floor in the thirteenth booth,” Delphi said. “You’ll recognize her by her white hair.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “You’d think she’d have black hair.”

  “She’s also not a cat,” Delphi said, showing a hint of annoyance in her otherwise pitch-perfect voice. “Good luck dealing with her. She is not very amenable to working with corporates.”

  “I’m used to dealing with that kind of attitude,” I said.

  “She’s also not easily bribed,” Delphi said.

  Claire narrowed her eyes. “I have the feeling I’ve been insulted.”

  “You should trust your feelings,” Delphi said. “Feel free to get some cake on your way out.”

  Delphi cut her connection to us.

  “Prickly for a machine, isn’t she?” Claire said, shaking her head.

  I looked around the party and saw Edward Mull explaining his plans for asteroid mining to Catalina Byrne while a surprisingly buff woman painted like an American flag massaged his shoulders. “Delphi takes her parties very seriously. They’re not just places for her to experience humanity, but ways of networking and patronizing the next steps in human development. People who have ideas that would never be able to be heard elsewhere get a forum with her as well as her associates. That Chinese billionaire over there, Chen Yun Lee? He’s already wasted eight hundred million dollars on nanotherapy, and Delphi has directed him to genetic replacement mods instead. It’s already started curing countless conditions. Billy Tang over there is the guy who has made 3D printed cybernetics ubiquitous across the globe.”

  “You ever been to one of these parties?”

  “Plenty.”

  “You ever re-invent the wheel while getting a blowjob?”

  I paused, unsure how to answer. “I can honestly say I have not.”

  “Me either,” Claire said. “I imagine it would be distracting. This may surprise you, but I’ve been to parties like this myself. Gone are the days when you could just hang around the snooty rich people and beg for money. Everything is dialed up a hundred times on the edginess now. No one is content with the way things used to be after watching millions die on their television and being forced to shut their doors if they had food until the world sorted itself out. One of those gatherings had everyone paired up with someone who’d traded in their old body for a Shell shaped like a favorite celebrity.”

  “Monstrous,” I said.

  “Not even close,” Claire said, a look of disgust on her face. “At least compared to the real-life monsters I’ve dealt with. It was just disgusting and sleazy. It also worked, as Marissa got all the support she needed for a set of free schools for kids who wouldn’t otherwise eat, let alone get an education.”

  “HOPE has done a lot of good,” I said, wondering why I was defending them, of all people.

  “And yet it still feels like a drop in the bucket. I remember one asshole at that party who said it was bad how much damage had been done to the world but that it was ultimately for the best because the volcanic eruptions induced global cooling as well as reduced the surplus population of the Ea
rth to something more manageable.”

  “I would have shot the guy.”

  “I just punched him,” Claire said, smiling. “Cost a pretty penny, but I hope it taught him a lesson about speaking ill of the dead.”

  “Probably not,” I said, walking through the party and stealing someone else’s drink to look like I fit in. I wasn’t a big champagne person. Actually, I wasn’t a big drinker in general. Blame it on the artificial liver, which made my ability to get drunk roughly equivalent to that of a high-end water purifier.

  “So, what are we going to offer this BlackCat1 in exchange for helping us?” Claire asked.

  “Cash, presumably,” I said. “Either that or corporate data.”

  “Do we have any corporate data?” Claire said.

  I shrugged. “I can make up whatever I need.”

  “Must be nice,” Claire said.

  “You never are going to forgive me for being part of Atlas, are you?”

  “It’s not so much forgive as I don’t understand why you want to work for them. It’s not for the money, and you know what the Big 200 does to the people. We’ve seen worse than Karma Corp. Whole towns demolished, and the population turned out in the name of greed and progress.”

  I set down my champagne glass on the side of the spiraling escalator leading up to the second and third floors of the penthouse. “Do you really think the government does a better job than industry?”

  “Damn straight I do. As bad as the United States was sometimes, they at least are nominally supposed to serve the people.”

  I thought about how to answer. “For me, I decided to serve Atlas Security because I wanted to make a difference in the world. I’m not a class warrior, associating with HOPE or not. When I was part of the Society, I’d routinely journey down to South America, the Middle East, and Africa to deal with revolutionaries who were bothering the local corporate-sponsored government. I saw things that were all too like the aftermath of the Crisis. Mass executions, slavery, rape gangs, and people behaving like animals because they couldn’t say whether they would have another meal unless they took it. Usually, there was armed militia or private army involved. Many times, they’d blame the corporations for what was going wrong. One contract was a Brazilian business mogul whose wife was kidnapped, then executed, despite his paying the ransom. He wanted me to track down every single member of the gang involved and kill them all. There were about eighteen of them. Took me a day and a half. The youngest of them was sixteen, and the oldest was barely twenty. Their previous leader had been killed the month before, and they just wanted quick cash, so they seized the opportunity. The whole rhetoric about striking back at the exploitative oligarchy of their nation was just a smokescreen.”