Under the Skyway (Skyway Series Book 1)

by James K. Douglas

  “Fancy,” I said.

  “You can pretty much buy these at any store along the Skyway.” She gestured with the device as she spoke. “About two years ago, a group of teenagers thought it would be great prank to drop a few stink bombs in one of the side corridors. It would have been a funny little joke, if not for the recycled air system the entire Skyway uses.” She sighed at the memory. “It was awful. The smell went away in a couple of days, but for about six months after, everyone was carrying one of these. A lot of people still do.”

  I slipped the folded mask into a jacket pocket and buttoned it closed. “Does this mean we’re ready to go?”

  “One more thing,” she said squatting low to withdraw something from the bottom of the locker.

  What she pulled out was a small, circular black bag. At first, I thought it may have been a purse, that she may have thought lip balm would be a good idea with all the wind we were about to encounter. She pulled the zipper running along the outer rim of the bag and extended it to its full length. What was a purse had become a narrow duffle bag. A wide zipper ran the length of it.

  “When we find the prototype,’ she said, opening the bag, “there’s a good chance they’ll have already disposed of the case, and even if they haven’t, there’s a chance that it’ll be too damaged to use, or that they’ve put a tracker on it just in case we do come after it.”

  “That’s good thinking.”

  She took the cake box from where I had set it on top of the locker and placed it inside the bag. “But in the meantime…”

  She zipped the bag, careful not to damage the box, and squeezed a small, green tab attached to the bottom of the zipper. I could hear the faint sound of a motor as the bag appeared to inflate slightly. I held my breath, hoping that it didn’t crush the box, forcing the lid open.

  “Adaptive packing,” she said. “For carrying sensitive tech. The fibers expand, filling the empty space without putting any pressure on the contents.” She picked the bag up by its shoulder strap and handed it to me. “I suppose it means we’re about as ready as we can be.”

  It was true. We were as ready as we could be, and yet I was beginning to feel the veins in my neck throb. Reassurance wasn’t something I was used to asking for.

  “Are we going to survive this?” I blurted out.

  She clicked her locker shut. “They have access to military grade weapons, armor, and bionics, and they’re trained to use them. On top of that, they wildly outnumber us. But we have a good plan and the element of surprise.” She turned and met my eyes, looking much calmer than I felt. “I can’t promise you anything, but I know this is the right thing to do, and we’re doing it the smartest way possible.”

  “Jennifer, I’d like you to know that I’ll do my best in there. I’ll make sure you make it home.”

  She gave my arm a small, understanding squeeze. “I’ve got your back, too, Jackson. In and out, quick as we can, and we’ll both do our best to make sure everyone goes home.”

  Chapter 18

  When the elevator door opened on the ninety-fifth floor, I hadn’t been prepared for what I saw. It was commonly understood that most executives kept at least one small jet standing by in an upper floor garage, but sitting across from Mr. Wright’s very nice Dassault Falcon was the most expensive car I had ever seen.

  Hot rod red from bumper to bumper, it was designed to catch the eye. Smooth curves inspired by mid-nineteen-forties roadsters gave the two-seater a classic look, broken only by the four cowled fans the vehicle had instead of tires. Jennifer pressed a button on a small remote, opening the gull wing doors.

  “You have a flying car,” I said, more doubtful sounding than I had intended.

  “Mr. Wright has a flying car,” Jennifer responded. “It’s a prototype drone car.” She typed a code into the touchpad, popping the seal on the doors. “Designed by the D’Kamen Corporation, it was intended to be marketed to the wealthiest of the wealthy, the elites.” She took the black bag from me and lifted the door, nodding for me to enter.

  “Tired of dealing with the crowds down on the Skyway?” she continued. “Buy yourself a D’Kamen Coupe, and never have lay eyes on a commoner again.” I situated myself in the hand crafted leather seats as she climbed in the other side. “Of course, the whole company went under when the CEO slammed into the side of his own building.” She situated the bag between her legs and closed her door. “According to rumor, he had been actively ignoring reports from his engineers about the computer miscalculating altitude when the battery got below thirty percent.”

  “And we’re going to trust our lives to this thing?”

  She tapped a button that lowered my door, the pressure seal hissing as it locked in place. “As a prototype, it has no registration and no GPS tracker. On the books, it’s classified as a mechanical sculpture. Its profile is too small for most scanners, so we’ll basically be invisible.”

  “I suppose as long as it has a full charge, it’s the best option.”

  By the time I was buckled in, she had the digital display up on the windshield and was mapping our route. At the bottom center of the screen, a small image of a full battery helped to calm my nerves.

  “If you need to make one last bathroom run,” she said, “now would be the time to go.”

  “I’m good,” I responded. “Maybe a little hungry.”

  “We’ll eat when we get back.”

  With that, she tapped the button to confirm the route. As the drone car’s fans got up to speed, hydraulic arms lifted an entire wall of the garage deck outward and up, letting little droplets of misting rain wet the edge of the concrete floor. The tail end of the vehicle lifted and we began to move forward. With two hands on the dashboard, I braced myself as we accelerated toward the open wall and the thousand foot drop beyond.

  Beyond the solid floor of the AlterBionics garage, we dropped twenty feet before stabilizing and gaining altitude. In moments, we were above the skyline of the city, picking up speed out of sight and range of any police or corporate security. Below us, great towers were the only things to breach the endless fog.

  “At this speed,” Jennifer called out over the muffled sound of wind, “we’ll be there in a couple of minutes. The car will pass just a few feet above the Marshall Engineering building and slow as it makes a U-turn to return home. That’s when we jump, so be ready.”

  I nodded and withdrew the gecko bands from my pocket. They slipped on easily, which immediately concerned me. I understood the principle of how they would stick to a wall, but failed to understand what might keep me in them. Trying to slide them back off, I discovered the answer. The unidirectional traction extended to the inside of the band, meaning the only way to get it off was to stretch the elastic away from my skin before attempting to pull my body parts out of them.

  Jennifer lifted a hand to the side of her head and said, “How are the preparations coming?” Her voice in my earpiece was clearer than what I was hearing through the wind outside and the sound of the engine.

  Jason’s voice responded, “Our heavy lifter is putting the last dumpster in place now. Every Skyway access point within the business district is blocked off.”

  “Good work. Move to final position. We’re almost there ourselves.”

  The gold spire and sloped roof of the Marshall Engineering tower was in view and approaching fast. As far as I could tell, we were still a good twenty or twenty-five feet above the roof. Maybe Jennifer could make that jump, but I was going to break both legs and bounce off. I was beginning to make a plan for aiming for the edge and letting my arm do the hard part while my body slapped the top floor window like a fish, when the car began to descend.

  “Alright,” Jennifer said, pressing the safety override button at the top of the screen. “Get ready.”

  I suddenly became very aware of my surroundings. Tripping on the way out of the car or getting my gecko strap stuck on the door handle might mean my death. If I jumped off of the lip of the door, I might get sucked into the rea
r fan. If I didn’t drop fast enough, I might knock myself unconscious on the rear fan’s cowl. I planned for every variable I could, but this was not a situation I had any experience with.

  As the bumper of the car passed over the closest edge of the Marshall Engineering building, I heard the words “Go now” in Jennifer’s voice. Stupidly, I turned to look at her. Perhaps it was self doubt or just a need to confirm that my exit plan wasn’t all wrong, but either way it didn’t help. In seconds, she had shoved her door open, crouched on the outer lip, and stood as she simultaneously leaned backward, way backward.

  Catching her bionic feet on the bottom of her seat, she bent herself into a backward “C” shape, only to dislodge her feet a single second before it would have reduced her momentum, flinging herself down below the car, well clear of the chopping blades and risk of head injuries. There was zero chance that I could pull off the same move.

  The car was already banking when I opened my door. I held the door open with the knuckles of my right hand and placed my left foot on the opening’s edge, readying the right. The tilt of the car allowed the door to block most of the wind, but I still felt like I couldn’t get a breath. Six feet below was the slanted concrete roof of my former employer, my current target, and I was running out of time.

  Shoving off from the car, I reached with both hands. My palms landed flat and the gecko bands gripped firm, pulling on the skin of my left hand. My body slapped hard on the roof, bashing my knees and reminding me of the bruises on my back as all the muscles tensed. I held my breath for a moment in the drizzling rain, waiting for the wet or wind to ruin my grip. When I finally exhaled, I voiced thankful words.

  I looked up to see Jennifer coming up the other side of the roof, shuffling her feet like a cross country skier to avoid even a second of lost grip. I put my feet under me and met her at the apex, mimicking her gait.

  “Did you notice the second floor down?” she asked. I had to admit I hadn’t. “Not only is it not on the map, it’s blocked up, no windows, and no way of telling how thick the concrete is. We’ll be better off breaking in above or below.”

  “Agreed. My vote is for above. If I have to punch my way in, it’s easier to punch a floor than a ceiling.”

  “Sounds good. Now, press the lower button on your radio. It’ll scan the strongest signals, while avoiding our paired signal.”

  It only took one try. “I’ve got it. They’re reporting rounds.”

  “Good. Keep it there. Keep me updated.” She pressed a finger to her ear. “We’re in position. Start the distraction.”

  I felt a distant shudder under my feet. An alarm on the other side of the concrete began to sound. In my ear, Captain Stanley ordered everyone to stand by for orders.

  “Everyone is standing by,” I informed Jennifer. “They’re trying to locate the problem.” I couldn’t be sure if the shudders below me were the wind, or my aunt. “They’ve located the source, a ground level outer shell breach. They’re sending out two cells to come at the breach from ground level.”

  “How many are in a cell?”

  “Nine each, typically. Three teams of three, so that’s about half of their on duty security team they’re sending. Hang on.” I listened for a moment, trying to hear through multiple voices talking over one another. “There’s secondary alarms going off. Looks like the ground level damage plus the weight of the tower is causing fractures on a dozen different levels, all setting off alarms.”

  “That sounds like our cue.”

  “One second. Sounds like Dr. Marshall is in the security command center, asking about the building’s structural integrity. Oh, and the first cell is reporting in.” I chuckled. “There seems to be some sort of blockage at the nearest Skyway exit.” I began to turn to shuffle down to the edge of the building.

  Jennifer grabbed the arm of my jacket. “Whoa!” I stopped in my tracks, only halfway turned toward the edge. “If you walk forward down that slope, you’ll slide right off.”

  She demonstrated for me, walking backward down the roof, lifting each foot with a slight forward swing before placing it behind her. I followed her example, carefully, until I reached the edge. Squatting down, I placed my hands firmly on the roof, took a deep breath, and slowly inched my legs off the side. This time, I did not stop myself from humming.

  Three feet below the top edge of the roof, I could see inside the windows. The entire top floor was a single office. One circular desk sat in the center of the room, flanked by two smaller desks. For the moment, the room was abandoned.

  I maintained my gecko grip on the concrete just above the glass with my left hand, balling my bionic fist to break through into the room. The first punch sprang back on me a bit, giving me a tiny heart attack. My gecko cling held firm, so I struck the glass again, and then again. Nothing, not a scratch.

  I expected the glass to be strong, but I hadn’t accounted for the lack of power from this angle, from not being able to engage the muscles of my back and legs. Jennifer had been watching and understood. Drawing her sidearm, she leaned over the edge and took aim at the window. Three glancing shots scored the glass in a tight formation. I flattened my hand, pointing the tips of my fingers at the deepest mark, and with one firm swing drove half of my hand through the glass. Gripping the thick pane, I pulled hard.

  The greater leverage shattered the damaged window outward. Most of the shards landed on the stepped roofs of the next few levels, but some undoubtedly made it to the ground below. As I used the nearest remaining window pane to climb down into the office, I told myself I’d have to worry about making amends for that later.

  Jennifer flipped in behind me, landing on the window frame and stepping inside. “They’re fine,” she told me before I could ask. “Most of the glass got stuck between the buildings.”

  “That’s good to hear.” It really was, but my mind was on our next step, as my gaze settled on the elevator doors across from us. “It looks like we’ll need an executive I.D. for the elevator. If we open it without one, a whole separate series of alarms will sound. So, do we take the quick and noisy way, or try to beat our way through the floor?”

  “Time is of the essence,” she said, pulling off her gecko bands.

  I left my gecko bands on to improve traction while I forced open the door. It came open easily, and I didn’t hear an alarm. No doubt a silent alarm had been triggered in the security office. If we were lucky, it would be ignored in the commotion.

  “There’s no cable.” I said it as soon as I noticed.

  “That’s normal,” Jennifer responded. “See the track?” She was pointing to a series of slats on the left and right sides, running the visible length of the shaft. “Executive elevators are usually designed with their own battery powered electric motors. They climb up and down the track on their own, that way they’ll still work in a black out.”

  It sounded like a smart design, but without a cable, the escape portion of the plan suddenly seemed more complicated. Reminding myself to handle one problem at a time, I slapped my left hand on the ledge to secure the band’s grip and lowered myself down to force open the next door down.

  No one was guarding the floor. I had half expected to get shot at as soon as I opened the door, but it seemed Dr. Marshall didn’t even trust his own security to guard his best stuff. I carefully climbed further down and swung inside.

  The lights came on automatically as I entered, LED bulbs illuminating what seemed to be more of a computer room than a hidden lab or vault. Around the center of the room stood a half circle of black towers reaching to the ceiling. Tiny green lights flickered on smooth black surfaces as the supercomputer henge did its work.

  At the center of the monument stood a black ceramic pedestal, three feet tall, and upon it sat our prototype. As if designed by Da Vinci, himself, the silver spine stood tall and perfectly curved, held in place by a near invisible plastic stand. I removed my climbing bands and stepped closer to take a better look.

  A masterpiece of design, each verteb
ra fit into the next as if it had grown that way. Dips in the front sides of the metal bones were smooth and reflective like water, while the ridges along the backside seemed too harsh for a human, reminding me of the images of dinosaur bones I had looked up as a child. Toward the bottom, a series of small pieces formed the hook of the tailbone, finishing out the final curve of the design in a manner akin to a painter’s final stroke.

  Thinner than hairs, lines of carbon nanotubes sprouted from between the vertebrae. A warm current from the cooling fans of the supercomputers caused them to stir like spider’s silk in the breeze. I was no neurologist, but this looked like what we came for.

  Beside the spine’s stand sat a black case, laying open. It’s electronic lock hung limp and useless. Inside was a foam filling carved specifically for the prototype, leaving no room for anything else.

  Jennifer swung down into the room. “Looks like you called it right,” she said, setting her bag next to the column and squeezing the button to deflate it.

  While she removed the cake box from the bag and began unmounting the prototype, I stepped over to a small work station attached to the central computer tower. The monitor was still up, giving a live update on the program it was running. Apparently, it was taking all seven supercomputers, running at full capacity, to analyze the scans they had made of the prototype. In its upper left corner, the monitor stated that I was logged in as Dr. Alexander Marshall. My curiosity got the best of me.

  Despite the system having a custom-made user interface, I managed to find the archives easily. Unfortunately, each file was double password protected. All I could do was read the file names.

  Design 04 trial (Failed)

  Design 07 trial (Failed)

  Design 09 trial (Failed)

  Design 16 trial (Failed)

  Design 20 trial (Failed)

  Design 23 trial (Processing…)