Dominance (Fox Meridian Book 8)

by Niall Teasdale

  ‘That one,’ Kit said, highlighting one of the images which came up. ‘He corresponds to none of the eight standard sculpts for the Djinn. We are not using any custom models.’

  Fox insinuated herself into the crowd and began to slide through, dismissing all but the one Kit had spotted as she went. Whoever the guy was, he had picked a reasonable cover. The Djinns were, when it came down to it, android gigolos, just as the Sylphs were gynoid escorts. They were all designed to look handsome, or beautiful, and this was a good-looking man: blonde, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a professional ponytail, and blue eyes. Just as the androids were sculpted, so was this man. There had definitely been work done on his cheekbones and jaw, maybe the nose too.

  As she slipped into a space on the edge of the crowd, Fox spotted Whitton and his guardian, and the fake android. The latter was holding a tray of drinks and smiling at the guests as they dropped off empties and picked up refills. He was taking his time, probably waiting for the right moment. Fox scanned his body, edge-enhancement software adding to the details. The man was built: muscles enough to go for a hand-to-hand kill, maybe, but she was betting on a weapon of some kind. There was not a lot of space to hide anything on that uniform…

  Edge enhancement suggested something in the right-hand pocket of his slacks and switching in infrared showed a variation in heat there as something blocked the emissions from his thigh. It was something he was reaching for as he moved closer to Whitton, smiling all the way. The smile, Fox noted, had developed a smug edge.

  ‘Running facial recognition?’ Fox asked silently.

  ‘Yes, but these things take time,’ Kit replied. ‘I doubt we have time to waste.’

  ‘True.’

  And then it happened. The man’s hand pushed into his pocket and, more or less in the same instant, the tray went flying. Glasses, full and empty, toppled as the silver tray flew straight at Whitton’s bodyguard. There was a clatter as the discus hit home, almost lost in the man’s scream of ‘Traitors must die! The revolution is here!’ The man’s hand came out of his pocket and he levelled a stubby, plastic device at Whitton: an electrolaser. Fox figured it was set to lethal, but that really did not matter since she was here, stepping out of the crowd and pushing the weapon up toward the ceiling before it could fire. ‘What?’ the man said, and then Fox’s fist slammed into his jaw. Once, twice, and his eyes rolled back before he crumpled to the, now wine-spattered, carpet.

  ‘What the Hell is going on?!’ Whitton roared just as soon as his brain was functioning again.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Fox replied. She picked up the laser and examined it. ‘Cheap model,’ she commented, but she had been right: it was set to lethal mode. ‘Kit, call Blake Candler and let him know we’ve got an assassin here,’ Fox added silently.

  ‘At least this obviously falls into NIX’s remit,’ Kit said.

  ‘Well, very probably. Let me know when you have that identification.’

  ~~~

  ‘Nathaniel Costas,’ Kit said as Fox watched Blake Candler entering the terrace. The guests had been moved back into the main hall where the drinks were flowing even more freely. ‘Intelligence links him to a militia group from the Plattsburgh area.’

  ‘The kind of people who could’ve been heavily influenced by the various end-of-the-world memes,’ Fox replied. ‘Makes sense.’ Aloud she said, ‘Afternoon, Blake. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that I have no issue with calling this one a national security issue.’

  Candler grinned. ‘And I brought all my best arguments. Have you identified him?’

  ‘He belongs to a militia group. I’ll have Kit send you the details.’

  The grin vanished. ‘Crap. The bomber in Detroit belonged to a militia unit out of Charlottesville.’

  ‘Not the same group. This is probably all part of Edwin Montcairn’s future war memeplex. You were briefed on that, I assume?’

  Candler nodded. ‘I thought that would end with the Promised Land movement.’

  ‘Memes don’t just vanish, they fade. Some of them don’t even do that. This one has all the makings of something that could run and run.’

  ‘There’s always war coming, until it actually happens.’

  ‘Yes. Worse, if they lose, that wasn’t the right war.’

  Sighing, Candler looked down at where medical robots were checking Costas and readying him for transport. ‘I guess, if we’re lucky, they’ll all end up in custody after pulling a stunt like this.’

  ‘Or they’ll blow themselves up,’ Fox said. ‘The Sisters of Corruption estimate around two hundred million adherents to the meme. MarTech suggested three hundred million. That’s worldwide.’

  ‘There have been bombings in Russia and China. We’re waiting on the first in Europe.’

  ‘Yeah. Whatever the actual numbers, there are a lot of people who could suddenly turn into mad bombers or suicidal assassins. This is going to be just like the early years of this century, the “War on Terror,” if we’re not careful.’

  ‘Huh,’ Candler grunted. ‘The last thing anyone wants is that.’

  ‘He actually seems to believe that,’ Kit commented silently.

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ Fox said, possibly in answer to both of them.

  ~~~

  ‘Anything new?’ Fox asked as she swapped over with Sam at the door.

  Sam shook his head. ‘Neiman’s still an asshole. Uh, Piper’s starting to look like she’s not sure why her boss is acting like an idiot. I was wondering, just a little bit, whether Neiman’s hamming it up a little more than usual.’

  ‘Panicking a little? Good.’

  ‘You think he might break?’

  ‘I think that if anyone’s going to, it’ll be him. Sherman Wayden will hide behind his father’s coattails. Well, have a good evening.’

  Sam smiled. ‘I’d say the same, but it would be an empty wish. I’m taking Marie out for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Belle put the reservation in the calendar.’

  ‘Marie has bought a new dress. It’s just slightly on the legal side of decent.’

  Fox returned the grin that came with the comment. ‘It’s nice to know she still feels the need to try.’

  ‘Yes it is. Gives me hope that this relationship is going to last.’

  Something twisted inside Fox and her thoughts flashed to Naomi. ‘Good thing, you know, since she moved in with you and all.’

  ‘Uh-huh. See you in the morning.’ Sam headed off toward the waiting autocab and Fox turned, stepping into the building and locking the door behind her. She was not sure Sam was right about the morning; it felt like something was going to happen tonight.

  24th January.

  Fox walked through the silent house, multispectral vision at full stretch as she examined every part of its dark interior. Well, not entirely dark since the Moon was full and the blinds on the exterior windows were now open so that Fox could see out. To her, the night was as bright as the day, it just looked a little weird in a far broader spectrum than usual.

  ‘We have a report through on the nanodrug,’ Kit said.

  ‘Okay. What does it do?’

  ‘It’s… not nice, and probably a prototype.’

  Fox raised an eyebrow. ‘Details, Kit.’

  ‘The basic functionality is a suppression of critical thinking and decision-making functions in the brain. It directly attacks the cerebral tissues, turning the individual into, well, a robot. They’ll do what they’re told because they can’t decide to do anything on their own. However, it does not work as designed. Someone injected with the drug will be affected as intended for about a week. Then the secondary effects will begin to show. Essentially, the drug does not know when to stop.’

  ‘It eats their brains?’

  ‘Yes, Fox. All higher functions will be gone in around two weeks. After that it would be a matter of days, even hours, before the nanomachines damage autonomic functions sufficiently to result in asphyxiation or cardiac arrest. Their bra
ins no longer know how to signal their hearts to keep beating or their lungs to keep breathing. Sleep dysfunctions and other random symptoms may occur, depending on how fast they die. BioTek are working on a counteragent… But the initial effects occur within twelve hours of injection.’

  ‘They could be saved, but the brain damage will be fixed by the time anyone knows to cure them. You know, this reminds me far too much of the Ghost Dolls.’

  ‘BioTek say there are a number of features of the nanomachines and their coding which indicate that Arvid Hummel is the originator. The code is distinctive.’

  ‘Bastard’s still working on the same damn… We found a case of this stuff in Burrage’s place, right? That makes me think he’s the source. I think Hummel is working out of the South African Federation.’

  ‘That would be my assessment too,’ Kit replied, ‘but the only lead we have on that front is dead. Without Mister Burrage, we have no way of knowing where he got the drug.’

  ‘No, you’re right, but it might be useful to–’

  ‘Fox, the security cameras on the seaward side of the building have been disabled.’

  Fox slipped her pistol from behind her back and moved toward the central part of the building. ‘Finally.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be checking that side of the house?’ Kit asked.

  ‘I’m betting she knows I’m here. That means she probably knows I’ll spot the cameras going out. Hence, possible distraction.’

  ‘Oh. You believe she can bypass the security system?’

  ‘Neiman’s? Yes, and without giving away her point of entry. My security system, possibly not. Quiet. I’m listening.’ There was sound, and it was coming from the side of the house which faced the sea. Maybe Lomax was not quite as clever as Fox thought.

  Then Kit said, ‘I have her. She missed one of the cameras on the other side. She’s barely visible, but she’s definitely working on one of the windows.’

  ‘Then what…’ Kit was showing Fox the feed from the camera and there was definitely a body there, dressed in black and crouched down as she worked on one of the few windows which you could actually open. ‘Pool area. She’s trying to get in via the pool.’ The noise on the seaward side would have to wait; Fox set off for the pool room.

  The house’s air conditioning was set to low heat for the night and the glass walls were not especially good insulation; the temperature had dropped to about ten degrees through most of the building. The pool room was another matter. The water had a significant thermal mass, keeping the temperature up close to twenty Celsius, and there was a mist hanging over the water to make the place look just a little spooky. Especially with a killer making her way in through one of the windows at the far end. Fox dropped into a crouch and shuffled forward, keeping to the shadows on one side of the pool. She stopped halfway down, her eyes on the thermal image of Lomax as the murderess slipped into the building. It was weird. It was almost as though Lomax didn’t know there was a guard on Neiman. So why take down the cameras on the other side…

  Fox’s head snapped around just in time to see the assault rifle rising in the hands of a small, thin man who looked like he was made out of whipcord muscle. With her enhanced perception rate, she could take in the second man with him: big, thuggish but with a hint of precision which suggested intelligence. She had seen him before. Then the bullets were flying and Fox lurched to her right. Her shoulder slammed against the glass wall and alarm indicators flared: she was hit, badly. Glass shattered.

  ‘Get after her!’

  One of the men, Fox was not sure which one. She turned and fired. Three rounds and more shattered glass. Her inputs had still not stabilised, her left arm was throwing nothing but errors, and she was off balance. The man who had shot her, the shorter one, raised his rifle, but Fox fired again, taking a little more time. Three rounds hit home, but blood burst out from only one of the wounds: he was wearing body armour and he was moving, dashing back the way he had come and out of sight.

  Fox pushed herself up and checked both ends of the room in a glance. Lomax was gone and so was the bigger man. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Your frame is damaged,’ Kit said. ‘I suspect he has armour-piercing rounds loaded. This frame is not designed for combat.’

  Glancing down at her arm, which was hanging limply at her side, Fox nodded. ‘Okay.’ She started for the bedroom. The shots had to have woken Piper if not Neiman. And they were, at least theoretically, the priority here. ‘Pull the images of those two thugs out of my memory and put out an urgent BOLO for them. Oh, and see if we can get facial recognition. The big one was the guy who followed me after I interviewed Burrage. Make sure the BOLO says “armed and dangerous.”’

  ‘I’m on it. I’m also contacting Miss Gadot. You’re going to need some serious maintenance.’

  ‘Yeah. At least Sonya isn’t going to complain I’m making her work unnecessarily.’

  ‘No, not this–’ Kit cut off as Fox rounded a corner to see a sleepy and very naked Piper stumbling toward Fox.

  Piper rubbed her eyes and squinted. ‘Captain Meridian? What’s going on? I heard someone opening champagne.’

  Fox stopped herself from laughing. ‘Where’s Mister Neiman, Piper?’

  ‘Oh, he’s still asleep. He could sleep through a hurricane.’ Piper’s eyes widened. ‘What happened to your arm?’

  Maybe telling her about the gunfire was not the best idea right now. ‘It got damaged. I’m going to need–’

  ‘Wow! That must have been some champagne.’

  ~~~

  Silas Rampton, Ramp to his friends, was a big man. It gave the impression that he should be slow, both physically and mentally, and he did his best to maintain that delusion in those he dealt with. The truth was that he could move very quickly when he needed to and his IQ was above average even if he had never done anything with it in an academic sense. His colleague, Andy Pons, was one of the few people who knew Ramp for what he was, which was why he had dispatched Ramp after the woman they had been hunting ever since Thomas Winsford’s death. Back then they had not known it was a woman, but it had not entirely surprised Ramp to discover that it was; society might still have a view of women as being less violent than men, but Ramp had done his time in the military and knew different.

  He also knew a trap when he saw one.

  He had followed the car his target was driving across most of Long Island, doing his best to avoid being spotted. Taking her off the road along the way was a risk he was unwilling to take: there were too many cameras plus the possibility of a random patrol spotting them. No, he aimed to follow her to her destination and take her down there. That was also a risk, but that risk shifted to physical danger rather than capture and exposure. Ramp was fairly confident that, whatever this woman had done, he was more than a match for her in a straight fight.

  Then the car had driven into the Brooklyn Sprawl and the roads had got significantly more bumpy. Ramp was surprised the small, electric-powered hire car the woman was driving could cope with the terrain. The alcohol-fuelled SUV he was using was having no problems at all, but that little thing? Whatever, the target had to have somewhere secure to park her vehicle and somewhere close by to hole up. The Sprawl was a perfect place for her: even with the increased patrol rotations Palladium had instituted, it was still easy to hide in the Sprawl, if you were careful.

  Ramp had turned a corner to follow the little compact and… It had been sitting there, in the middle of what had once been a street. The driver’s side door was open and the lights were on, and there was no sign of the woman Ramp was chasing. It all added up to a trap. Ramp brought his SUV to a halt and sat there, watching the compact, now lit even more brightly in the glow from his headlights. Nothing moved. The buildings around him were dark, not even home to the usual squatters, unless those were all asleep in their hovels.

  No choice. He climbed out of the SUV, pistol in hand. Ramp favoured a fifteen-millimetre semi-automatic. American, not that South African crap Wayden had foisted on th
e police units. Caseless, of course, with electrothermal ignition. Expensive, sure, but worth it when he needed to be sure the target was going down. The problem here was visibility. Ramp pulled night-vision goggles from under the dash and lifted them to his eyes, not bothering with the strap. Where was she? Had she just cut and run? Unlikely. And the goggles were of limited use with all the car lights on.

  Reaching back into his SUV, Ramp cut the engine and the lights with it. The lights on the compact were still bright enough to make the goggles dangerous. Look too far one way and he would be blinded briefly, and the contrast of light and dark, actually enhanced by the goggles, just made spotting one female form in the clutter harder. He moved carefully toward the target’s car, weapon raised and ready. It was just about possible that she could be hiding in the vehicle with a gun. Just about. Not exactly likely. The thing was so small a kitten might have had trouble concealing itself in there if it had to worry about a handgun too. He made it to the open door without getting shot, from inside or nearby. He glanced inside, getting a rough feel for the layout of the controls, then he dropped to one knee, his eyes on the buildings around him as he groped around for the light switch. There was an embarrassing moment when the windscreen wipers started going – how come that always seemed to happen when you were fiddling with controls you were not sure of? – and then the lights went out.

  And then the car exploded.

  ~~~

  If Fox had been entirely human, she would have probably been running on empty by now. Of course, if she had been human, she would be in a hospital hooked up to life support, or in surgery where they tried to save her arm, so the analogy was probably fairly weak. Still, it had been a Hell of a day and it was really not getting any better. Chances were it was just going to get longer.