SINdrome

by J. T. Nicholas

  Silas. Shit.

  With that, reality came crashing back down. We could dance and laugh and cavort and carry on. But so what? It didn’t matter if the synthetics were freed if Walton Biogenics managed to wipe them off the face of the planet with their super bug. And if that bug mutated? Then we were all equally fucked. How’s that for fairness? With all our advances, death still manages a one hundred percent success rate.

  “What’s wrong?” Tia asked. “You’re stiffening. It’s like trying to dance with an iron bar.”

  The twelve-year-old boy part of my brain, still focused on being close to a pretty girl, came up with plenty of rejoinders to that. But not even the strength of juvenile humor was enough to overcome my sudden worry. “This is stupid,” I muttered. Well…shout-muttered. I couldn’t exactly whisper, not and be heard, but I tried to direct my words just to Tia. “Why are we celebrating? If we don’t do something about the virus, none of this matters.”

  Tia frowned, and then started tugging at my arm, pulling me from the crowd. We slipped from the chamber, and the next one, and the one after that, where the celebration had spilled over. We kept going, until Tia managed to pull me into a quiet little corner of nowhere. “Now,” she said. “What are you talking about?”

  I sighed, and felt a hopelessness that I hadn’t realized I’d been feeling, even in the midst of the impromptu party. “Why are we celebrating?” I asked, again. “What good are maybe-possibly-but-not-guaranteed rights to anybody if they’re too dead to exercise them? What’s the fucking point?” I growled.

  “The point, Jason Campbell,” Tia said, annunciating each syllable of my name in a way that reminded me of my mother when I was in some sort of trouble, “is that they have hope. Real hope. How many of them do you think came into Silas’s plan with any thought that it might actually succeed?”

  “Not a lot,” I muttered. Hell, I hadn’t believed it myself. I’d just wanted to find out who was killing girls. Not be the voice of a fucking revolution. “Not a lot.”

  “More like none,” she sniffed. “It was a way out that was almost certainly going to end in death, but even so, the one in a million, one in a billion chance that it could actually work was enough. That one little spark of hope against the unending darkness of their lives.”

  I understood what Tia was saying. And yet… “Dammit, Tia. I get it. But, it’s not enough. One little spark in the darkness. One bit of hope that maybe change will happen. When it’s weighed against what’s coming, what we have to do. Every person down here, with the exception of…who? You. Me. Hernandez. Three of us that might be spared the virus if we fail.” I snorted, feeling a bitterness welling up inside me. “Except, that if we fail, we’ll already be dead anyway, since we’re the ones who are going to have to break into yet another Walton Biogenics stronghold and try to ninja out some antivirus. And because you’re one of our only trigger pullers, that means I have to put a half-trained damn near kid who makes me feel things I haven’t felt in years in the line of fire.” I stumbled to a stop realizing what I had just let slip and hoping, somehow, that Tia hadn’t heard it.

  She had.

  The expression on her face was unreadable in the poor light of the empty Ballast chamber, and her dark eyes seemed even darker. “That’s exactly why they’re celebrating, Jason,” she said, her voice near a whisper now. I had to lean in a little to hear her better, until our faces were scant inches apart. “They know they may die. You were a cop. I was training to be a coroner. We both saw more death than anyone should have to. We both know how fleeting life is. Do you think the synthetics don’t know that, too?”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, only sort of following the conversation, now. Tia was so close to me. If I leaned forward just a little bit…

  “So, they’re doing the eat, drink, and be merry thing,” she said. “For tomorrow we may die.” She seemed to think about that for a moment, her eyes staring into mine. A small smile curled up the edges of her lips. “Tomorrow.” She leaned forward, and I was suddenly very glad she had pulled me into a secluded spot of the Ballasts to talk.

  Her lips met mine and there was an urgency there that I hadn’t felt from her before. She pressed hard against me, hands grabbing the back of my head, pulling me down to her. My hands went first around her waist, then lower, exploring her curves. She let out a soft moan as I stroked and squeezed. Then, she pulled harder, and we were on the floor, me on top of her. Her hands were roaming now as well and somehow my shirt was pulled over my head and tossed aside. Didn’t much like that shirt, anyway.

  She gave me a hard shove and I rolled with it, and then she was on top of me, straddling me. Her shirt joined mine. Then she shimmied out of her bra with that inhuman arms-behind-the-back elbows-at-an-impossible-angle twist that seemed encoded in the female DNA. After that… Well, after that, things got a little hazy.

  * * * *

  “I’m cold,” Tia whispered.

  It was some time later, and we were stretched out on the floor. We’d managed to maneuver our clothing beneath us, creating a thin cloth barrier between our bare skin and the cool metal floor. And providing some padding for the more…energetic activities in which we’d engaged. “I noticed,” I said, letting my eyes roam over her body.

  She slapped me—playfully, but hard—on the hip. “Ow!” I said.

  “It’s what you deserve, taking advantage of a… What did you call me? ‘A damn near kid?’ And do you really think that description fits?” she asked with an arched eyebrow and naughty smile. She also writhed about as she did, distracting me from the question in all sorts of interesting ways.

  “Definitely not,” I said, hands starting to roam again.

  She batted them away. “No time for that, Detective.” she grinned. “As you were so melodramatically reminding me not too long ago, we do sort of have to save the world. What is it you always say? Time to get to work?”

  I sighed. Tia was right. No matter how much I’d like to stay here—and truth be told, the metal floor was becoming less and less appealing now that the fun parts were over and the post-coital bliss was fading—there really was a lot of work to be done. Tia was already making her way to her feet, somehow making the movement graceful and sensual. Well, okay, the nudity helped with that.

  “You’re on my clothes,” she said, staring down at me.

  I smiled, admiring the view. “Sorry?”

  She kicked me. Lightly. “Move it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  My rise to my feet was, if I don’t say so myself, every bit as graceful. You don’t spend as many years as I had getting thrown to the mats without learning how to get up with a certain amount of efficiency. Probably a lot less sensual though.

  We sorted out our clothing in companionable silence. Tia kept casting secretive looks and small smiles in my direction, and I couldn’t help but admire her as she dressed. It had been… Well, a long time. Too long. Since I’d seen an actual, living and breathing woman in that state of undress. Much less done other things.

  When we were once again fully clothed and more or less presentable, Tia went up on her tiptoes to give me a quick kiss. Well, that may have been her intent. Things went on a little longer than either of us had intended. “We have to stop,” she said at last, putting both hands on my chest and pushing me away. “Or we’re never getting out of here.” She winced and rubbed at her backside. “Besides, the floor in here isn’t very comfortable, so if you expect a round two, Detective, you’re going to have to find better accommodations.”

  I grinned at that. Not just at the thought of a repeat performance, but at the thought of Tia already thinking about it. Maybe it was shallow—okay, hell, it was definitely shallow—but it suddenly felt really good to be wanted again.

  “Let’s hurry up and save the world, then. So we can get on with that round two.”

  Chapter 15

  It turned out, making any p
lans that evening was an exercise in futility. The synthetics were split between jubilant celebration and fixedly staring at the screens, watching the riots and protests and, in at least one case, outright carnivals that had broken out across the world. I couldn’t watch those for more than a moment or two.

  Silas had merely looked at us with weary eyes when I tried to talk to him about what Larkin had revealed. The man had looked paler than usual, if that was possible, and could only go for a minute or two without a cough. Most were still slight, nagging things. But every now and then he would unleash a torrent of hacking that had Tia prescribing a good night’s sleep and as much cough suppressant as she thought the synthetic could handle. He had waved us away, telling us to come back in the morning, acknowledging that nothing was going to get done tonight.

  Tia, remembering that she had not just one patient in Dr. Larkin, but a whole slew of them in the ill synthetics, had rather guiltily rushed off, with just a quick peck on the cheek for me. At loose ends, I had wandered through the Ballasts, watching, but not really participating in the celebrations. I witnessed more than one “affirmation of life” that had the simultaneous effects of making me wish Tia was around and marvel at the…flexibility…of the synthetics when it came to celebrating. And at their lack of inhibition. And, in some cases, at their literal flexibility. But voyeurism had never been my thing, so when I wandered into a chamber of the Ballast being put to good use, I left them to it. Besides, I got the distinct impression that, even in the larger gatherings, I—in all my humanness—wouldn’t be entirely welcome.

  At length, I’d sought my bed. Sleep didn’t come easy. My mind kept bouncing back and forth between the news of at least a partial victory, the need to stop the plague, and intrusive thoughts of Tia. Most of those were of the carnal nature, and thoroughly enjoyable. But I also couldn’t help but think of the future, and wonder what a broken-down former cop could offer someone like her. That doubt kept me awake as much as worrying about infiltrating another Walton Biogenics facility in a long-shot effort at a cure. Which said something about the human spirit. But I was too damn tired to figure out what.

  The next morning, we all gathered in the war room. Silas, cognizant of the fact that LaSorte, Al’awwal, and Danielle were, at the very least, asymptomatic, was joining us via screen from his own personal quarantine chamber. Hernandez threw one look at me and Tia, and let out a snort. “Finally,” she said. She walked over and gave Tia a quick hug, and whispered something into her ear that I didn’t catch. Whatever it was, it made Tia blush, and then honest-to-god giggle. I gave Hernandez a hard look. She gave me the finger. But she did it with a smile.

  “If we are quite ready?” Silas asked, from his electronic position at the head of the table.

  “Sorry,” I said. Hernandez didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. I noticed that LaSorte and Al were both looking at me and Tia and that they had shit-eating grins on their faces. Dammit. I mean, it’s not like I was ashamed of what Tia and I had done, but I also wasn’t expecting to be the entertainment for my friends.

  “Perhaps you could tell us what Larkin said,” Silas suggested.

  That settled everyone down. “Right,” I agreed. “There’s a place in Idaho, a facility where they grow synthetics. The call it the Potato Farm. I gather it’s because most of the real work takes place underground. Also, Idaho. Apparently, there are lots of rumors about the place. Short of round two at the facility we hit… Fuck’s sake. Was it only a month ago?”

  “Time flies when you’re toppling regimes.” Al grinned.

  “Anyway. The security there—in all of New Lyons, hell, probably all of Walton Biogenics—is on high alert. Specifically looking for me. And now Larkin, too. Larkin says that the virus was probably developed right here, in her former workplace. But getting in there…” I trailed off. Shook my head. “We’ve only got three trained shooters. Me. Al. Hernandez. We’re already going to have to put a gun in Tia’s hands and bring her along, which is risky in itself.” I gave her leg a quick squeeze under the table, to take some of the sting from the words. “No way we’re breaking into that lab again with four shooters and tech support.”

  “And what is at this Potato Farm?” Silas asked.

  “Dunno,” I admitted. “But it’s Larkin’s best guess at where the synthetic hit squads are being grown.”

  “Fuck,” Hernandez said. Everyone looked at her. “If they’re being grown there, they’ve probably got them on guard duty. We took out the ones at Larkin’s place, but they were decent. Better than normal rent-a-cops. Gonna be a bitch.”

  “Four shooters. LaSorte? You in for the screen work?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “As am I,” Silas said.

  A silence fell over the room. Everyone seemed to be looking at the screen with Silas’s calm face plastered on it. And then looking at me.

  Fuck.

  “Look, Silas,” I began.

  “No, Jason,” he interjected. “You look. I started this, and I will be there at the end. I understand that I may not be at my peak physical shape, but I assure you, there is nothing wrong with my mind. I can operate screens every bit as effectively now as before I contracted Walton’s final solution.”

  “That may be,” I agreed. “But if you come along, you’re going to be putting us at risk.” I said the words as gently as possible. “Coughing could give us away, and we don’t know how quickly things may progress. We can’t carry you along behind us.”

  “Too bad,” he growled. “Understand me, Jason. All of you. I will not be left behind. And while LaSorte is certainly talented with screens, I am better. Significantly better.” I threw a quick glance at LaSorte, who was nodding along, apparently in agreement with Silas’s assessment. “And if this is a top-secret facility, you will need me. That is all there is to it.”

  “And the risk of infecting Al’awwal? The risk of infecting LaSorte?” I asked.

  “Acceptable,” was the reply. “You know as well as I that we are likely all either infected or carriers at this point. Every synthetic in the Ballasts is as good as dead already. And every synthetic in the world will follow soon after. Unless we do something about it. I am the one who brought this plague down upon my people. I will be there to fight it.”

  I looked at the others. Al gave me a sort of half-shrug. LaSorte looked green around the edges, but he was nodding. I hoped his queasiness was from the thought of already being infected, and not, you know, actual queasiness. Whatever Silas said, I doubted he’d be operating at peak efficiency while hacking up a lung. I didn’t need my other tech guy down, too. Hernandez looked worried, and I knew why. You didn’t bring sick operators on mission. You bumped them and went to the next guy. Wasn’t worth compromising things. Of course, in this case, there wasn’t a “next guy” that we could bump to.

  I looked at Tia. She must have thought the glance was a question, because she said, “I’m not sure how we’re getting to Idaho. Driving, I guess? I don’t think you would make it through an airport. We can probably rig up some sort of quarantine for Silas, particularly if we get a van or something. Or maybe an RV. We seem to be able to get a lot of cars… Can we get an RV?”

  “We need shooters more than we need transport, Campbell,” Hernandez said.

  “I know,” I agreed. “But we don’t have them. With the exception of Al, the synthetics can’t pull a trigger.”

  “Well,” Al said, “the exception of me and these synthetic security forces Walton has created.” He gave a slight, self-mocking frown. “I’m starting to feel less and less special every day.”

  “Well, why don’t we get them, hermano? I can put out some feelers with the NLPD. Talk to some people we both know. Maybe pick up a couple more people who are willing to help. People who are actually trained for this sort of shit.” She glanced over at Tia. “No offense. And even if we have a full team, I’d just as soon h
ave you along. A good combat medic is worth more than a shooter.”

  Tia gave her a beaming smile while I turned the idea over in my head. “Silas?” I asked.

  “Your call, Jason,” he answered. “You know the tactical situation better than I do.” He shrugged, though I could only tell from the lift of his traps. His shoulders were too wide for the camera angle to include them. “There are risks. You know them. And, I assume, many benefits as well.”

  That was the problem. The risks were obvious. If the wrong person got wind of Hernandez’s recruiting efforts, we were fucked. Period.

  But, if we went into the Potato Farm under-gunned and under-supported, our chances of getting out with said cure were pretty fucking anorexic.

  “How sure are you that you could find the right people? And how long would you need?” I asked.

  “A day or two,” Hernandez replied. “And as sure as I can be.” It was her turn to shrug, and then sigh. “Shit, hermano, you can never really know what people believe, deep down.”

  “True enough. I assume it will take a day to get everything else ready?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Silas agreed. “Assuming Ms. Morita is willing to assist and act as our face in the more mundane matters. Purchasing supplies and RVs. That sort of thing.”

  Tia nodded. “And we’ll need to get some things to set up an isolation chamber for Silas.” She frowned., and looked at Hernandez. “Can you steal some gas masks from the cops? The NBC types, if you have them.”