“Tonight I'm here to make you a promise,” she continues, high on confidence and melodrama. “The Dynasty will last forever!”
I kneel down on one leg, pressing my shoulder into the stock to keep the rifle steady. The targeting module displays a zoomed-in projection of the Empress' face. Nine hundred and eighty metres to the target according to the range finder. My calculations were almost spot on. I adjust my aim until the crosshair centres on her mouth. That's her weak spot. I take a deep breath, and remain perfectly still.
“Look around. What do you see?” The Empress waits for the crowd to obey her. “I see the foundation. The blossoming seed of an empire that will never--”
I squeeze the rifle's trigger housing. Magnetic force propels the needle through the window, leaving a neat hole in the glass. A split second later the Empress' head jerks back, and a contained explosion blows the mask from her face. Bone fragments and pieces of brain tissue fly into stunned onlookers. Blood sprays up from her severed neck, showering the dais.
“Fall,” I say, completing her sentence.
Right on cue the Empress' headless body topples forward. It lands with a loud, metallic clang that echoes through the air. What's left of the flaming cape blows toward the palace. People scream. Police troopers struggle to contain the mass exodus from the Mall.
I'm rooted to the spot. A single tear runs down my left cheek. I'm not usually emotional, but I can't keep it bottled in any more. The weight of what I've done hits home.
She's dead. I just murdered my sister in cold blood.
Chapter Two: The Woman in Black
The attack comes without warning. Splinters fly as the suite door caves inward, ripped from its hinges. A riot trooper – a heavyset tank of a guy with broad shoulders – drops a hydraulic battering ram, steps menacingly across the threshold, and draws his webgun.
Instincts take over. I discard the empty rifle and dive under the bed. Interlaced steel wires drop on all three outfacing sides, crackling with live electricity. I look for an escape route. There isn't one. The gaps in the webbing are so narrow I couldn't stick my little finger through without getting a nasty shock. The kind that knocks a person out cold.
More boots on the ground. Three extra troopers join the first. From the shape of their legs I guess two are male, one female.
“Nowhere to run now, Mousey,” their leader says. I was right. She's a woman.
Going by her insult she hates children. Okay, then. Time to make Kitty eat her words. That's probably not her real name, but it seems appropriate.
The web is slightly above ground on my left side. A tiny opening, but one I can use. I roll onto my back, and bend my knees so they flatten against my body. I press down with my hands, feeling the tension release as I execute a powerful, two-footed kick. The bed frame lifts, dragging the webbing up with it. I slide quickly through the widened gap, careful to stay low. My nose comes within a centimetre of touching a charged wire, but I pass safely under. I'm on my feet before the guards react.
I close my eyes and freeze time. Einstein can rest easy. I'm not breaking the laws of physics, only bending them. What I actually do is recall a memory from a split second ago, but I've always thought of it as freezing time.
I study the paused image. Big Guy is still by the door. He's not an immediate threat since his webgun needs reloading. Kitty is a couple of metres away, reaching for a sidearm. The other two troopers are on the opposite side of the bed, electrified batons in hand. Orders must be to capture me alive, but it seems Kitty has her own agenda. That makes her the priority. So how do I tame her?
I profile my opponent, hoping to find a weakness. Kitty enjoys gloating, obviously. I'm a foot shorter and she's in excellent shape. She'd fancy herself in a fight. That's my angle. I open my eyes.
“Careful, Kitty,” I challenge, staring into her helmet visor. “Wouldn't want to miss out on the reward.”
Utopia Technologies gives its troopers bonuses for live captures. Considering I top the Dynasty's most wanted list, that's a lot of money to blow away. Unfortunately for me, Kitty's either filthy rich or trigger happy. She aims her pistol between my eyes, undeterred.
“Stop!” shouts Big Guy. “Our orders--”
“Screw orders!” Kitty yells, taking a step closer. “This worthless tramp just killed the Empress. That gets her a one way ticket to hell.”
Multiple spotlights shine on us. Neither me nor Kitty turn to look. The whirr of rotor blades tell us camera drones are watching through the window. We're the live story on the nightly news feed.
Kitty rips her helmet off. She brushes her spiky, pink hair back behind her ears. My would-be executioner's a wild-eyed punk with liquorice black lipstick and crucifix earrings.
“The whole world's watching us,” she gloats. “They'll all remember the woman who avenged their saviour. I'll be a hero.” Kitty's bathing in the spotlight, already dreaming of the celebrity interviews and press conferences.
I decide to play on her ego. “What they'll all remember...” I mimic her voice for impact. “...is a scared kitten who needed a gun to beat a fourteen year old girl.”
“I don't need a gun!” To emphasise the point, Kitty hurls it at my head. A telegraphed move I dodge with ease.
I expect Kitty to pounce, but she stands there grinning. She unhooks a shiny black, palm length rod from her belt. I realise what it is when a thick, two metre cable extends from the handle. A police issue stunwhip, a fishing rod for catching people. Kitty flips the power switch. The wire buzzes, turning from cold grey to hot white. The other three troopers are well out of range, but they back off regardless. Kitty's a wild one, and they know it.
I watch closely, ready to move. Kitty's opening attack is a chest-high sideways swipe. I bend my upper body backwards. The cable whooshes over me, slicing clean through the stem of a potted plant. The unbalanced vase topples and rolls off the bedside table. Kitty lashes down. I twist aside. She's fast with the whip, and there's no way to get close without leaving myself exposed. I need a way to turn the tables.
That gives me an idea. I duck under a high swipe, and grab the table by its nearest leg. The wooden surface is my shield. I use it to block three incoming attacks. Kitty snarls in fury. She kicks high, pushing the table – and me – against the wall. I'm pinned in place, my body imprisoned between its legs. The upper right strut creaks as Kitty pushes her boot in harder. I can't break loose, and sliding out would take too long. Kitty extends her arm back, letting the stunwhip straighten. She turns her head, posing for the cameras.
While Kitty's busy glorifying herself, I shoulder charge the weak strut. It breaks in two with a wood splitting crack. The legless corner slams into the wall. Kitty's boot slips across the slanted surface. She lashes out in desperation. I catch the falling table leg, and use it to block the whip cable. The wire spins round three times and catches on the splintered end. Kitty pulls with both hands. It's hard to hold on. My fingers slip along the wood.
“It's useless,” Kitty taunts. “Quit struggling.”
The stunwhip fades to grey, its power cell exhausted through overuse.
“It could do with a recharge,” I quip, and toss the table leg at the still-live webbing.
Electricity conducts along the whip cable, back to the power source. The handle explodes, blasting Kitty off her feet. She lands awkwardly by the window, scorched glove dented by shrapnel. Kitty's alive but in no state to fight on. I step over the broken table, manoeuvring round the bed.
The two baton guys rush me. I use my boot to hook what's left of the stunwhip – a lukewarm, metre-long cable – and toss it into my right hand. I freeze time, note the closest man has one foot off the ground, and resume. I lasso his other ankle. He's caught off-balance, and a forceful tug is all it takes to trip him.
The other man swings his prod at my face. I use my left forearm to block. My jacket sleeve insulates me from the electric charge, but doesn't do much to soften the bruising blow. My aching arm slips. The trooper presses home
his advantage, moving the baton closer to my face.
He's at full stretch, an invitation to attack. I swing my leg up high, and let gravity take hold. My boot heel comes down hard on the man's elbow. I hear a telltale snap, quickly followed by a high-pitched, pained yelp from behind the helmet visor. The trooper drops his baton, retreating to nurse his broken arm.
“You little--” he starts.
A side kick to his stomach shuts him up. The first trooper gets back on his feet, and unwraps the whip cable from his ankle. He comes from my right while Big Guy flanks me to the left. I snatch the moaning trooper's baton, ready for the next attack.
“Stand your ground!” the Empress shouts.
I freeze time. That was definitely my sister's voice, but I watched her die. It must be a trick.
I rewind to the moment I shot her, and watch events unfold in slow motion: squeezing the trigger, the explosion, the Empress' golden mask flying through a shower of brain tissue. Her head is completely gone. Nobody could survive that, not even with nano healing. Unless it was a stand-in. It wouldn't be the first time I've fallen for that ruse. I search my memories, hoping to find confirmation, but there's no point in time when I can see her face clearly. This question can only be answered in the present.
I open my eyes to see the Empress walk into the hotel room. She looks identical to the woman I shot - black armoured body, red cape - but it could be anyone underneath the mask.
“Who was she?” I ask. No further elaboration is required. We both know who I'm referring to.
“One of my doubles. Everyone wants to be me, little sister.”
Now I know it's her. There's a unique, condescending tone to that catchphrase. A mixture of superiority, contempt, and annoyance that no actress could copy convincingly.
The mood outside changes. Screams give way to applause. People resume the drone-like chanting of Lin Song's name. More armed security troops take up positions by the door. The walking wounded – Kitty, broken arm guy – fall in behind their leader. Every spotlight and camera lens focuses on the Empress. I back away from her, guarding my chest with the baton. There's about a metre left between me and the window.
I thrust the baton at the Empress' exposed jaw. With super-fast reflexes, she grabs the rod. Her armoured glove absorbs the electric charge. A deep blue glow spreads along her arm, becoming brighter as the energy builds up. I grip the baton with both hands, but it won't even turn, let alone shift. My sister's hold is unbreakable.
She strikes my face with her other palm. A directed electrical pulse flashes from her fingertips. The shock sends me reeling. I thump into the window so hard cracks appear round the bullet hole. My vision blurs. I feel dizzy, ears humming. When I regain my senses, I realise the Empress is speaking.
“...me...this prodstick?” Sounds like a question, but I missed most of it.
The Empress holds the baton horizontal, raises her knee, and presses the two together. The rod creaks, twisting into a curved L-shape as she pushes the ends down. The cover splits open, exposed circuitry bursting into flame. It's a show of strength for the cameras, another reminder I'm hopelessly outmatched.
“Better find a new weapon,” the Empress says as the blue glow fades. “I recommend something with more penetration.” She glances at the sniper rifle. Useless now, since I only had the single round. And my sister knows it.
“You intercepted the package,” I deduce. My vision's starting to clear. I need to buy time, keep her talking. “You knew I'd come here. Why deliver the rifle?”
“Thought I'd celebrate my victory with a bang. And my actress' demands were becoming excessive. Pretending to be the most powerful woman in the world went right to her head. She started to think she was invincible. But that only applies to me.”
I force myself up, determined to fight on.
“Always the spoilsport,” the Empress comments with a hint of frustration. “I'll just have to teach you to be a good girl!”
She hurls the baton at the window. The bent metal crashes through the glass, barely slowing down. The hole it leaves is about a metre wide, the edges razor sharp. A nasty looking shard juts up slightly left of centre, a hazard I'll need to be wary of in the upcoming battle.
The Empress rips off her cape, throwing it on the floor behind her. “It's time to show these people perfection,” she says.
She lifts up her skull mask, letting golden blonde hair fall on her shoulders. My sister's skin is waxy smooth, her ocean blue eyes deceptively soft. Early twenties in appearance, but she's almost as old as I am. A gold, square link necklace glints around her neck. Before the Empress repainted the chain a more earthly colour, it was purple-blue, just like the octahedral crystal at the centre. The close resemblance to the fifth Dynasty symbol is no coincidence.
I hear gasps of astonishment from the crowd. This is the first time their ruler has shown her face in public. Are they shocked by her beauty? That she's a white woman? So young looking? I don't really care.
“Before me stands a traitor!” the Empress orates, arms held out wide as she talks to the cameras.
Her guard is down. I jump kick, going for her unprotected face. In mid-move - and a few hundredths of a second - the armour reshapes across her necklace and head, forming a close-fitting shell that captures her facial features. My foot glances harmlessly off black metal. The Empress grabs my ankle and twists. I feel a sharp, sudden pain, and crash to the floor crippled. My sister stands over me, looking down through glowing, amber-coloured lenses that shield her eyes.
“This child claims to fight for peace,” the Empress says, once again revealing her face. “But she persists even after the world has been united. Brave, and stupid.”
I chop her ankle, but it's as futile as striking a metal statue. The Empress retaliates with a head stomp. I cough up a broken tooth. The bitter taste of blood makes me feel sick.
“She cannot win.” My sister addresses the crowd, but I know the remark's meant for me. “Being the silly child she is, she doesn't learn. Surely it makes sense to stop fighting one another.”
My ankle snaps back into position. The pain subsides as nanobots in my bloodstream repair the broken bone. But I'm still weak. I stand on my good leg, battling through the agony. The Empress kicks me down. I get back up, refusing to quit.
“Yes, why don't we stop?” I shout, voice laced with sarcasm. “Let's all give up now. Let's pledge our loyalty to this tyrant. I'm sure she'll treat us fairly.”
I spit at my sister's face. Her armour automatically extends to protect her. The saliva strikes her 'eye', and immediately vaporises to steam. Enraged, the Empress kicks my kneecap – a bone-crunching blow that leaves me unable to stand. She kneels over my prone body, and follows up with a series of punches. When she's through battering me, I'm barely conscious. The Empress doesn't retract her face shield, preferring to remain in combat mode. She can stay covered for hours, limited only by her oxygen supply.
For the first time tonight the crowd is silent. With her body fully sealed in black metal, the Empress resembles a living statue. I recall the evening we unearthed the spacecraft in the Sahara Desert. That was before even the Second World War, when alien technology seemed like magic. Now we know differently, but the revellers are as awestruck as I was then.
“Those not willing to respect peace," the Empress declares through her suit's voice box, "will learn to respect me!”
There's a murmur of disquiet that ends abruptly. The few doubters were most likely detained by security troopers. Calling the actions of a tiny minority a rebellion is a stretch, but at least there's some fight left in the world.
“This girl is not the only traitor here,” says the Empress. “The most dangerous enemy is one who pretends to be an ally, someone you put your trust in only to be let down.”
Her gaze falls on Kitty, the pink haired trooper I'd almost forgotten was in the room.
“I...I didn't do anything,” Kitty stammers. Her face is a mask of terror.
“You disobeye
d my instructions,” the Empress accuses her. “I asked this girl be kept alive. You tried to shoot her, then after she talked you out of it, you let her get the better of you with everyone watching. You made my peacekeeping force look incompetent to a global audience. Now we have to show the people that such lax behaviour isn't typical, that you're a patriot willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good.”
It doesn't take Kitty long to translate the Empress' fancy speech into “I'm going to kill you now.” She panics, turning to flee. Big guy and the two other troopers block her path, quick to side with their leader.
Kitty pauses. Two seconds is enough for the Empress to run up, grab her by the hair, and lift her off the ground with one hand. My sister's a powerful woman, and could probably have done that without strength boosting armour.
“Wait!” Kitty pleads.
The Empress ignores her, holding out her free hand to Big Guy. “Sawknife,” she requests.
That's a new design, a blade capable of cutting through most known materials. The trooper hands it over. Kitty punches and kicks at the Empress. I know how hopeless that feels. One fierce slap to the face is enough to make Kitty desist.
The Empress switches on the knife. It vibrates, tiny blades spinning along invisible rails. The saws slice through Kitty's body armour in seconds. The Empress strips away the hanging metal pieces, then moves onto Kitty's trousers and shirt. I'm powerless to help her. It takes all my energy just to stay awake. How long before I heal from my beating? Minutes? Hours?
“Stop!” Kitty begs. “Please.”
She's been totally stripped of her dignity, naked except for underwear and boots. Her body is tattooed with religious symbols from multiple faiths: crucifixes, stars of David, Yin and Yang symbols. If Kitty believes in all that mumbo-jumbo, now would be a good time to pray.
The Empress switches off the sawknife, and throws it back to Big Guy. She lifts Kitty in both arms, carrying her towards me. The punk woman's a sorry sight. Completely dejected, resigned to her fate.
2045: The Year of Defeat Page 2
