Neural Web
Page 12
“I’m still mostly an emulation of a bunch of brain regions,” he says. “Since the biological brain needs sleep, I’m afraid to just give it up without due diligence. No one’s figured out what sleep is for: consolidation of memory, practicing scenarios for the future, or other, sometimes contradictory theories. For now, I’m experimenting with allowing parts of me to sleep while other parts of me remain conscious—a little bit like dolphins, although unlike the dolphins’ tactic of sleeping half a brain at a time, I’m trying to figure out a more distributed configuration.”
“Okay,” I say. “Sounds interesting, but I’m here for a reason. Have you heard from Ada?”
“I was fully asleep for the last real-world hour or two. I wanted to record everything that was happening with every part of my being. But before that, Ada was sleeping, along with everyone else. I checked because I wanted to share my Curaçao findings, along with research on the other bombers—but alas, you guys didn’t wake up even for that. I must say, this first night as a spirit inside the machine was pretty boring overall, and I foresee myself making lots of new friends around the world if you guys keep on sleeping regularly like this.”
“This is odd,” I say. “By all rights, Ada’s plane should’ve landed already. I was expecting it at 7:30 a.m. or thereabouts.”
“Perhaps no one woke you up because severe weather delayed the flight?” Mitya says and then frowns. “I can’t reach the pilot or any of the crew. That really is odd.”
My breathing speeds up in the real world, where I’m still only in the process of putting a foot through my right pant leg. I telepathically ping Ada again, and then do the same with Joe.
Nothing.
Desperate, I try getting in touch with Muhomor and get an auto-reply that he’s sleeping. This isn’t surprising, as Muhomor’s earlier nickname was Upir—Russian for vampire, because he strongly prefers night to day. I debate getting in touch with Mom, but she might have a heart attack if I tell her my current situation, so I abandon that idea.
After a slight hesitation, I write a Zik message to Alan, certain that he of all people would be wide awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The kid is like that Energizer Bunny from the commercials. He gets up at 7 a.m. even if he goes to bed after midnight.
As milliseconds pass without an answer, my real-world heartbeat picks up. “I’m going to focus on what’s happening in real time, so I won’t be fun to talk to. Can I ask you to check into their location on this level?”
“Of course,” Mitya says. “Here are the views into everyone’s rooms through the security cameras our bodyguard set up. I’ll proceed by locating the plane, and then—”
I stop paying attention because I’m taking in everyone in their rooms, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. Muhomor and Mom are sleeping, as I thought, as are prisoner-guest Tatum, Gogi, Dominic, and most of the guards. Alan, however, isn’t in his room or anyone else’s. There’s no camera in anyone’s bathroom (a camera in the bedroom is bad enough, even for an underground post-apocalyptic bunker), so I can’t check to see if he’s merely brushing his teeth—though if he’s awake, why would he ignore my messages?
I fully ignore VR and pour all my prodigious attention into the act of putting on pants while hopping toward the door. I’m pulling my zipper up as I dash toward Alan’s room, passing a snoring Jacob on the way. He’s napping on guard duty, but I’ll leave it to Joe to reprimand his man—assuming I can find Joe.
In person, Alan’s suite is only slightly smaller than the one designated for me and Ada. The bed is still empty, and I run up to it to feel for warmth. He must’ve left the bed a while ago, because the silk sheets (his favorite material) are cold to the touch. I check the bathroom and don’t find him there, either.
I grab Alan’s tooth-rinsing glass and fill it up with chilly water, then retrace my steps back to the lounge chair where Jacob is still sleeping on the job.
“Jacob.”
Unsurprisingly, he keeps on snoring. In case he is stupid enough to run the Do Not Disturb app on duty, I toss the contents of my glass into his face and follow it up with a bitch slap.
I must hand it to Jacob’s training. He’s on his feet instantly with a gun to my head. Irritated, I prepare to disarm him, but before I get the chance, his eyes widen in recognition and he lowers his weapon.
“What the hell?” he asks as he rubs his cheek and looks down at his wet shirt. “What’s gotten into you?”
My worry transforms into sudden fury. “Where is he?” A speck of my spittle lands on Jacob’s nose. “Where is my son?”
“Alan?” He blinks. “He’s with Joe. You should know that.”
“Where is Joe?” My hands clench into fists.
“He went to pick up your wife.” All remnants of sleep are gone from his face, replaced by an expression of deep concern.
“Joe took Alan with him?”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t seem odd to you that Joe took Alan but not me?”
“Well.” Jacob looks panicked now. I guess Joe being his boss means he didn’t question what happened, but now that I’ve forced him to think about it, he sees that he’s failed in his guard duty. “I didn’t think—”
“I can’t reach any of them.” I’m shouting, so I lower my voice. “I can’t reach Joe, Ada, or Alan.”
The blood leaves Jacob’s face, and his eyes widen to the size of quarters.
“Behind you.” Mitya’s private telepathic Zik message comes imbued with the urgency flags set to maximum. “Jacob isn’t reacting to your words.”
Mitya’s right; Jacob is staring at something behind me. I turn my whole body instead of just my head so that whatever the threat is, I’m facing it head on. At the same time, I use Muhomor’s app to locate the melon-scented security camera.
Gogi is standing there with a gun. His face lacks his usual good humor.
“Wait,” I order telepathically, but it’s too late.
Gogi presses the trigger.
A red stain spreads on Jacob’s chest right below the water spot I caused earlier. Jacob’s expression is a mixture of horror and confusion as he drops to the ground. Like me, he can’t believe he just got shot by a fellow guard—and not just any guard, but Gogi, Joe’s second-in-command.
I see new movement from the corner of my eye, but all my attention is on Gogi’s gun, because he turns and aims at my frantically beating heart.
Chapter Nineteen
It’s almost cruel how many thoughts I can have before Gogi presses the trigger. Hell, I might have enough time to write a farewell letter to everyone I ever cared about in the time before the bullet reaches my head.
When Gogi shot Jacob, I didn’t know what to think. Granted, I had momentarily felt like killing the guy myself when I learned he didn’t stop Joe from taking Alan and leaving without me. But I would never act on such an impulse. Joe might’ve shot Jacob for this, but not Gogi—or at least, that’s what I thought.
Now that Gogi is aiming at me, only one answer seems logical, but that answer makes zero sense.
Gogi is a traitor.
As difficult as it is to believe, the enemy has somehow recruited Gogi and either blackmailed or bribed him to kill me.
Another idea develops, but before I can consciously register it, I see something wonderful. Using his exoskeleton legs to move unlike any mortal man, Muhomor is already behind Gogi. He may have refused to learn martial arts all these years, but his metal-reinforced leg is able to kick away the gun, sending it flying under the nearby lounge chair.
Gogi’s hand should be in excruciating pain, but the big man’s face shows nothing.
“Jacob saved my life,” Muhomor says through gritted teeth as he throws a punch at Gogi’s face. “You—”
Though Muhomor hits his target, his unrehearsed punch doesn’t stop Gogi’s fist from slamming into his pale jaw in return like a baseball bat into a softball. Muhomor’s outraged expression instantly slackens, and he slumps to the floor, clearly out.
“He’s your friend,” Mitya comments privately, as though he’s read my mind. “Of course this will be hard.”
“I’m more worried about damaging his neck,” I think back at Mitya. “I need him to be able to talk later.”
Gogi takes advantage of my delay by throwing a punch at my shoulder. I twist away and counter with a kick, but I don’t use the opportunity to break his leg. Something in his movements doesn’t fully make sense. I file the oddity away to analyze when I’m not fighting for my life.
Despite all my training, I’m not prepared for what I encounter in this fight. I’ve always relied on disabling my opponent, typically by causing severe harm very quickly. But I can’t bring myself to do that to Gogi. I’m not sure if it’s because of the love for life I’ve caught from Ada during that Joining or the fact that Gogi has been like family for years. Whatever the reason, I’m pulling my punches, blocking his hits and countering with a force no stronger than I’d use during sparring.
In contrast, Gogi’s attacks are all real, all aiming to leave me disabled. This is somehow more painful than his intent to shoot me earlier, because there’s something more premeditated about fighting someone hand to hand. I can see that if I don’t overcome my reluctance, he’ll win this fight. Belatedly, I recall that I now have access to Battle Mode and enable it, but I’m wary of turning on the Emotion Dampener because I might then kill Gogi in the most brutal way imaginable.
“Gogi,” I say out loud and via a telepathic message. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it.”
He doesn’t stop. His emotionless eyes don’t even register comprehension.
Battle Mode highlights my possibilities. I choose an opening that will result in a painful but hopefully not-too-damaging kick in the family jewels. I’ve already begun to execute the maneuver when I realize my mistake: I’ve fallen for a feint. Gogi grabs my foot, and we tumble to the ground.
Battle Mode shows me how to position my body midflight to make sure I don’t break my spine. My heart pounds against my chest a couple of times before I smack onto the bunker floor. Despite all my training and Battle Mode, I’m still no match for Gogi when it comes to wrestling. I’d be in trouble even without the handicap of my hesitation to hurt a friend.
Out of utter desperation, half based on my own intuition and half on Battle Mode, I slither out of his grasp like a Vaseline-covered eel. To my surprise, I manage to grab his ankle in a lock.
This is when it hits me: the guy hurt his ankle yesterday and could barely stand, yet he’s showing no sign of pain during our fight. How much is it costing him to do this? And how much pain am I causing now by continuing the lock?
Gogi behaves as though he wouldn’t care if I sawed his ankle off completely. Either he faked his injury earlier, or he’s on some major painkillers right now. Then he does something he’s never done during training: a very unprofessional, fish-like spiral. We end up rolling on the floor, each trying to get leverage on the other.
Before I even realize what’s happened, Gogi’s knee connects with my groin, and he headbutts me in the face. His nose cracks, but I’m momentarily stunned. When my world stops spinning, he has me on my back, his knees on my biceps and his hands around my throat.
I wriggle underneath and try to kick him without any luck.
Because of my enhanced bones, I don’t fear my neck breaking, and with Respirocytes, it’s much harder to choke me than a regular person. To make me run out of oxygen, Gogi will have to block my airflow for many minutes—but if I can’t escape this hold, that shouldn’t be a problem.
Battle Mode doesn’t highlight any useful maneuvers, and my body’s fight-or-flight response doesn’t seem to have gotten the Respirocytes memo. I gasp frantically, my heart rate skyrocketing and my vision narrowing to a tunnel. I don’t know how long this choking torture lasts, but I can feel myself beginning to weaken. I assume my oxygen supply is dwindling, even with its fancy red-blood-cell-carrying technology.
“Somebody help,” I scream in the VR room and send Zik messages to my whole contact list with the exception of Mom. “Gogi is choking me!”
My last hope is that Gogi’s hands will cramp from all this intense squeezing, but it doesn’t take long to realize he cares as little about the pain in his hands as his bleeding nose and his alleged ankle injury.
In the end, I realize that Respirocytes make dying of suffocation a more horrible experience because the process is so much slower. I begin to fade in and out. During a moment of clarity, I realize I’m no longer kicking with my legs, so I try to use the last of my strength to thrash about. The last-ditch attempt doesn’t help, and I’m left with dazedly staring into the empty eyes of the former friend who’s methodically taking away my life.
If I die, Mitya might eventually be able to bring a computer substrate version of me back, the way he did for himself. This thought only scares me more, since I can’t picture what such an existence would be like. Besides, I can’t die without knowing what’s happened to Ada and Alan—especially since I now fear the worst. And a digital resurrection would only happen if our adversaries don’t destroy our whole company and the data servers, something no longer safe to assume now that they’ve somehow managed the impossible: turning Gogi against me.
Unable to fight anymore, my body slackens, and the darkness of unconsciousness closes in.
Chapter Twenty
There’s a flurry of movement behind Gogi, though it might simply be the final firing of my oxygen-starved neurons.
Gogi’s hands fight to stay on my neck, but a force pulls him back so hard that his nails rip away chunks of my skin. I gasp for air as Dominic’s bionic arm lifts Gogi into the air before tossing him aside like a racquetball.
Gogi slams into the wall, slides down, and to my amazement, tries to get up again. Dominic lunges for him.
Using the action of standing up as his cover, Gogi reaches into his boot.
“Dominic, knife!” I yell out loud as well as telepathically.
Gogi has always bragged about the many times that military-issue knife saved his life in the Georgian special forces. He’ll be lethal with it even after that devastating smack against the wall. I struggle to crawl in the hope of helping Dominic as best as I can. My legs feel as if they’ve turned to hair gel and my arms are heavy, but I manage a wobbly few inches toward the couch where I last saw Gogi’s gun.
Through the camera view, I see either anger or faith driving Dominic onward. If he heard my shout about the knife, he doesn’t seem to care. Before Gogi gets a chance to fully stand, Dominic’s artificial arm clamps on his hand like a vise.
Still frantically gasping for air, I reach the couch and fumble underneath it for the gun.
Gogi’s knife gleams in the bunker’s artificial light. He’s grasping the hilt with his free left hand. Dominic sees the threat and tries to pull the man away from his own body, but he’s too late.
The knife swings toward his face.
It lodges where Dominic’s right eye would be, in the scar tissue that’s a reminder of that horrific explosion. If he still had that eye, he would’ve lost it now without a doubt. He yelps in pain, and given how tough the big man is, I understand just how much harm Gogi just managed to inflict.
My fingers finally brush across the cold barrel of the gun. It takes me less than a second to pull the weapon out. I roll into a shooting position, heart pounding, and as soon as I see a clear shot, I aim at Gogi.
Even after this betrayal, I’m loath to shoot the person I thought for so many years was my friend.
Gogi rips the knife from Dominic’s eye socket. He’s about to stab him again.
Hesitation gone, I shoot Gogi’s knife-wielding arm.
I haven’t had time to enable the aim-assist app, but my time at the gun range p
ays off yet again. Gogi’s palm blossoms with red, and the knife clanks against the floor, the handle cleaved in half by my bullet.
Dominic grunts and, with almost no effort, bends Gogi’s right arm at an impossible angle. There’s a crack of breaking bone.
Gogi doesn’t even blink. He’s still trying to get at Dominic despite both injuries. Fortunately, there’s a limit to how much the body can do with a broken arm, even if the mind is willing it.
Dominic pulls Gogi’s head into his bionic grasp, and I know he has enough power in his artificial limb to decapitate him. To my relief, he crashes his opponent’s head against the wall instead. Since Gogi’s skull doesn’t explode into bits, it’s safe to assume Dominic was tempering his strength. Nevertheless, Gogi slides to the floor, the cumulative damage enough to finally knock him out.
By the time I’m on my feet, Gogi’s hands and feet are in handcuffs that Dominic produces from somewhere. The restraints come just in time, because Gogi comes to and begins thrashing against the cuffs.
“Monster,” Gogi bellows when he sees that no matter what he does, he can no longer move. His voice doesn’t sound like his usual voice; there’s a flute-like quality to it. His efforts become eerily frantic, and I can only imagine the horrific pain in his broken, damaged arms.
Dominic produces a syringe from the same mysterious hiding spot as the cuffs and stabs Gogi in the neck with the thin needle. Gogi instantly goes limp, though as his eyes close, he says in the same odd voice, “If you don’t do as you’re told, Ada and Alan will die. You must—”
I don’t hear what he says next, because he slumps into a drugged netherworld.
“Wait.” Rubbing my aching throat, I start toward the unconscious man. “He said something about Ada and Alan. They’re missing. I need to know what he knows.”
“What’s wrong with Alan and Ada?” Fury makes Dominic’s avatar as frightening as his damaged body. Though he doesn’t like me to, I switch from looking at his avatar to the burned flesh in the real world. His eye socket is bleeding despite the surrounding scar tissue, making it look as if he’s shedding macabre tears of blood.