The Scavenger Door

by Suzanne Palmer

  “How are we doing?” he asked as they took another corner. There were flashing lights behind him and the sound of another drone not too far away. The autovan’s systems was trying desperately, if ineffectively, to respond to traffic-control commands to shut down.

  “Three minutes,” Whiro said. “I will not be able to slow down.”

  “I guessed as much,” Fergus said. “I’m ready.”

  The buildings around them shifted from residential to commercial, from small businesses to warehouses, long, weathered structures that had managed to survive flood and storm before the seawalls had finally been completed.

  “The bridge is ahead,” Whiro said. “There is a blockade on the far end of it. The Alliance has flagged you as a possible terrorist. We have become very interesting to all local, state, and coalition law enforcement, many of whom are behind or above us, and they clearly intend to trap us on the bridge itself.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I expected,” Fergus said. “Everything in position?”

  “Yes,” Whiro said.

  “Great,” Fergus answered. He could see now the blue of the water ahead between buildings. The road they were speeding down was elevated above the mostly abandoned local roads below, rising up to meet the top of the ten-meter-high shoreline wall and become formally a bridge. As they neared the wall, Fergus threw the duffel out of the van window, where it landed heavily in the dirt and dust below. Then they were up on the bridge with a swarm of drones around them and enough police cars up ahead to have stopped a warship, never mind one doomed little autovan.

  In the rearview mirror, he could just see the antique motorcycle taking off in the other direction on the lower roads, the duffel strapped on the rider’s back.

  “She got it,” Whiro said. “Now you.”

  “Right,” Fergus said. They were heading at full speed toward the blockade, where they’d strung a portable slug field across the bridge to keep him from ramming them. Two drones zipped overhead and shot something onto the roof of the van. There was the loud pop of the roof being punctured, then the van started to fill with a foul, choking smoke.

  The wind from the open windows kept it pushed to the back long enough for Fergus to get his mask on before he ripped the confuddler out of the autovan system and sealed it into his front chest pocket, braced himself for impact, and yanked the wheel hard enough to send the van careening against the guardrail. “Come on, come on!” he yelled, and then the railing gave, or the van tumbled over it—it was hard to tell, and hardly mattered—and they hit the water like hitting a wall.

  “Bloody hell, that hurt,” he complained, jarred by the impact and sure he was going to have bruises from the safety belt, as the water grabbed the van and pulled it down.

  He grabbed his swim fins and bag off the seat, and when the last big bubble of air finally wobbled its way out of the van and blasted up toward the surface, he pulled himself through the window and swam away.

  Chapter 20

  By the time Fergus got to the train station in Alexandria, right on the southernmost border of the Atlantic state of East Washington, he was dry, hungry, extremely thirsty, and happy to find another duffel in a locker waiting for him just where he’d hoped it would be. So far, so good: one sneaky theft down, one to go. By the time they stopped looking for him in the sunken van and expanded their search outward, he’d had enough of a head start to stay ahead of everyone behind him and, thanks to his gift, enough forewarning to dodge anyone ahead.

  So far, everything was falling into place. Digital Midendian’s own dishonesty had gotten him into the Alliance, and now if everything went right, the Alliance would in turn help him break into Digital Midendian. He was almost done.

  He carried the new duffel to the train and bought his ticket up to the SCNY. It wasn’t an express, so he had about two hours to kill as they lingered through Philadelphia before crossing the border out of the Atlantic States into the pocket of territory that was the Sovereign City of New York. Zacker was waiting for him at the station, leaning against a light post with his arms across his chest, and watching all the passengers as if he was all that stood between civilization and the unfettered hordes of criminals allowed to roam into his city.

  Spotting him, Zacker gestured toward the taxi stand. “So, you came up with a plan?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Fergus answered.

  “I’m not going to like it, am I?” Zacker said. “In fact, it’s incredibly dumb and dangerous and desperate, right? And absolutely dependent on total stupid luck?”

  “Exactly,” Fergus said, as cheerfully as he could. “It’s so nice to be with someone who gets my work methodology so precisely.”

  Zacker growled and opened an auto-taxi door. “Get in and tell me,” he said, and then when Fergus got in, held his nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “Someone shot a gas canister into my autovan,” Fergus said. “You’d think swimming down half of bloody Chesapeake Bay would have washed it out, but no such luck.”

  “Yeah, that shit’s pervasive,” Zacker said. “When you shower next—which for both our sakes I hope is soon—try a little vinegar. If it doesn’t work, at least you’ll smell like chips, the one thing I miss about Glasgow. So, where the hell are we going?”

  “Back to Digital Midendian,” Fergus said.

  “Last time we looked at that place, I thought it was clear you’d need an army.” Zacker gestured around the auto-taxi interior. “No army.”

  “Our army is going to meet us there,” Fergus answered. “They just don’t know they’re meeting me.” He unzipped the duffel he’d recovered from the bus station, and checked for at least the eighth time that everything was all there. Then he took out the Alliance cap and put it on and beamed at Zacker.

  Zacker slapped the auto-taxi dash with both hands. “Impersonating an officer. It’s like you exist for the sole purpose of dragging me down into hell. Your plan better not include asking me to wear one of those. I have morals, you know. And pride.”

  “I won’t,” Fergus assured him.

  They crossed over the Hudson in silence, then Zacker muttered, “It’s even worse, isn’t it? Your body language is a fucking mess.”

  “What? The fragments? Yeah,” he said, frowning. “We’re running out of time. I don’t know how much we have left, but it’s not much. And if I fail . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to think about that.

  “No, I meant whatever you want me to do is worse than impersonating a duly sworn member of our armed services, but sure, distract me from my legitimate concerns with babble about death and doom instead,” Zacker said.

  “It’s not that bad,” Fergus said, then tapped his earpiece. “Whiro, how is my army coming?”

  “Looks like an orbital dropship has been deployed, so either they got clearance from the SCNY or they’re angry enough not to care. Three ground teams are coming in by air from Philadelphia and one from the Scranton airfield. It would appear that excessive force, both in appearance and application, is desired,” Whiro told him. “You have about a ten-minute lead on them; they do appear to have coordinated their forces to arrive nearly simultaneously. However, the local police have clearly been informed of an impending action and are preparing support and crowd control, and may interfere in your approach.”

  Zacker snorted. “Connecticut police? Yeah, let them try.”

  “You’re just hostile to everyone, aren’t you?” Fergus said.

  Zacker smiled and said nothing.

  Fergus sighed. “Anyway, I need to find somewhere near the DM building where I can change into the full uniform and then blend in with the rest of the chaos. You think you can find a good spot before the Alliance closes its fist?”

  “No problem,” Zacker said. “Soon as we’re off the highway and this go-kart lets me take control. Then what do I do?”

  “Then you sit and stay out of things,” Fergus said. “
Look, if the Alliance catches me? They are never going to let me go again. After Enceladus, and some other things I’m not telling you about and which you’d rather not know anyway? They’re going to disappear me, and if that happens, someone needs to be around to convince them that the fragments are dangerous and need to be gotten off Earth, gotten out of the solar system, if they can’t figure out how to destroy them. So, your job is to try to clean up after me, if I fail. You’re going to make a face when I say this, and trust me, I’m making the same face deep inside when I hear myself say it, but you’re the only person I know who has the credibility to save the world.”

  Zacker made exactly the expression of sour but smug surprise Fergus had anticipated. “Yeah, well, I’m retired,” he said. “Try not to die and dump all this complicated horseshit on me, okay? Not even out of spite?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Fergus said.

  “Fine.” The auto-taxi finally descended the off-ramp from the highway and let Zacker take over the controls, and he expertly navigated his way through the city until he parked it, rather abruptly, at a corner near a small alley.

  “Get out here,” he said. “Up ahead, that’s a roadblock waiting to happen. The other end of the alley opens up a block from the rear side of the DM building, and that’s the closest I can get you.”

  “Thanks,” Fergus said.

  “I’m going to go park, sit in a coffee shop, eat a pot pie, and wait for the inevitable wave of post-raid officers coming in with the gossip. If that includes laughing over your skinny-ass body, I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks. Really. Again,” Fergus said, grabbed his duffel, and got out. He watched as Zacker drove off without looking back.

  The alley was narrow and shaded, enough that he didn’t feel completely exposed as he took out the Alliance uniform and put it on. Across the back of the jacket, in bold letters, were the words science team. He didn’t know if it was a legit thing, but then, probably no one else would either, and it might explain to someone suspicious of him why he stood out. Go bold or go home, right?

  He dropped the empty duffel, threw a cleaner bot packet in it, then walked to the other end of the alley, careful to stop before he was close enough to the end to see the DM building itself; if he could see it, they could see him, and he didn’t want to give himself away or provide any advance warning of the raid itself. Assuming they didn’t know already, which was a big leap into the unlikely.

  The core fragments were still in the building, at any rate. It didn’t matter if they’d been concealed in anticipation of an incoming raid, because they couldn’t hide them from him—they were practically screaming for his attention from somewhere deep within.

  Fergus felt the air blast ahead of the drop ship before his brain could even register the sound of the decelerating engines. It had come in hot, its pilot wanting to impress, and the deftness with which it switched from giant metallic brick dropping like a stone to settling gently on the roof of the main Digital Midendian building definitely succeeded, too. Fergus could hear shouting and catch the brief blur of people running past the end of the alley in either direction.

  Sirens started up nearby, echoing between the buildings enough to make it hard to pin down what direction they were coming in, if not from all. Fergus could feel the drones before he saw one through his narrow gap of visibility: heavy, bright yellow emergency drones with flashing white lights, herding the gathering crowds safely out of the way before the armored vehicles arrived.

  He heard them coming, too. The Alliance was making quite a show of this, no doubt because someone—or, probably, many someones—higher up were deeply pissed, and the logistics people lower down saw a great opportunity for the sort of heavy-equipment free-for-all on civilian turf that hadn’t been de rigueur since the early twenty-first century.

  Works in my favor, Fergus thought. He sneaked closer to the end of the alley and watched with pleasure as the DM compound was efficiently and effectively placed under siege. Three teams of Alliance soldiers converged in the street and headed toward the front gates, and as the last few passed him, Fergus stepped out and tagged along behind them, keeping pace and trying to blend in as just one of the second wave.

  More Alliance vehicles arrived down the now-empty streets and parked out front, and Fergus watched as a small group of people in more formal uniforms disembarked from one and headed through the front gate, striding past the soldiers and Fergus now gathered on Digital Midendian’s lawn.

  A man came out to meet them, two others behind him. Fergus recognized him from his research on the company: Evan Derecho, founder and CEO. He wore an expensive business suit, as did the man and woman accompanying him. The woman had a handheld cam, recording the approaching officers, and the man held a legal pad.

  There was a conversation between the two groups, not loud enough to hear but certainly not friendly. Derecho was waving his hands, palms up, in obvious, strident denial. Finally, Derecho backed off and consulted briefly with his two companions, and then gestured—it was almost an elaborate, mocking bow—for the commander to enter. The Alliance commander turned and gave orders to his team, then walked into the building past Derecho without acknowledgment.

  “All right, everyone,” a nearby squad leader barked at the team Fergus had drifted into and loosely attached himself to. “Alpha and Bravo teams, take the grounds. Charlie team, secure the perimeter. Delta and Echo, you’re in the building. Secure all premises and personnel, identify any spaces you are unable to gain access to, and report in on the fifteens. Go,” she ordered.

  His team began to spread out into the perimeter, but he managed to lag behind just enough to step in behind the other two teams marching into the building. Derecho and the Alliance commander had already disappeared back inside.

  So far, so good, he thought, as he let himself get swept along into Digital Midendian’s previously impenetrable fortress.

  They spread out through the wide lobby, the soldiers’ boots loud on the marble. The leaders of both Delta and Echo had already set up a hologram display of the building blueprints on the desk. “As you encounter people, escort them to this conference room here,” Delta leader said. “Just them; nobody brings stuff. We’re going to have to search them anyway, but let’s not make it harder than it needs to be. Get to it, people!”

  The two teams of ten each began to disperse toward the stairs, and Fergus was cautiously following when the leader stepped to one side, put out a hand, and stopped him. “Who are you?” she asked. “You’re not one of mine.”

  Fergus shrugged one shoulder in and pointed at the back of his jacket. “Science team,” he said.

  “Science team?” she repeated. “What science team?”

  “That’s a good question,” Fergus said. “I can’t find the rest of us anywhere. They called me in from Syracuse, on my day off, no less, and there were supposed to be at least three more of us here.”

  “To do what, though?” she asked.

  “Um. It’s sort of classified? Do you know what we’re looking for?”

  “I’m looking for a lot of things,” she said. “Evidence of treason, mostly.”

  “Yes, well, not entirely, though, yes?” Fergus said. “There’s the things.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve been given a description,” she said after a pause. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Cheefer, sir,” Fergus answered. “Dr. Cheefer. And we’re here—or I’m here, anyway, until the others show up—because these things are dangerous. Were you given handling protocols?”

  “No,” she said. “Dangerous how?”

  “Uh, yes, also kind of classified,” Fergus said. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to say, sir. Dr. Derf, our lead investigator, was supposed to be here already, and he’s in charge of the liaison shi—stuff. I’m sorry.”

  The team leader turned, snapped her fingers, and pointed at one of the soldie
rs clustered around the hologram. “You,” she said, and he came over. “Private Roff, you’re now assigned to follow Dr. Cheefer here as he joins in the search. Report progress to me directly on the half hour, and anything retrieved needs to be personally certified by me before it leaves the building.”

  “Yes, Commander Quinn,” Roff said. He was young and had the expression of someone who was both very enthusiastic about, and very sure of their personal skill at, their job. He turned to Fergus. “Sir?”

  “You can just call me Bob,” Fergus said.

  “Yes, sir. Where to?”

  “Up,” Fergus said, and headed for the stairs. It was a simple task to just follow the call of the fragments, and now that he was focused on them, they were focusing intensely on him. The electrical bombardment increased exponentially with how much physically closer he got, and the alien bees deep in his gut were buzzing in resonance. At the top of the second staircase, he had to stop and try to get his wits back together and his Asiig gift under full control again. Now would be a very bad time for an oops-sparks-coming-out-of-my-head moment, and his ability to prevent one felt uncomfortably tenuous. He hoped if there was any scanning going on in the building, his own tiny contribution to the maelstrom of clashing signals was drowned out by everything else around him.

  Roff mistook his reason for stopping. “There is an elevator, sir,” he said, and his voice rang with poorly disguised pity.

  “I’m good,” Fergus said, more heartily than necessary, to show he wasn’t winded. He pulled a small remote signal meter out of his pocket, courtesy of his brief shopping trip in the electrical supply store opposite the Terrestrial Research facility.

  “Are you humming?” Roff asked. “And what is that you’ve got?”

  “Yes, I’m humming because I am a happy person, and this is a special signal detector,” Fergus said, though really it wasn’t more than a prop for cover. “Now shush, please.”

  Roff stood silently by as Fergus turned back and forth at the stair landing, holding out his device as if he was looking at it instead of not really looking at anything. Soldiers passed them in both directions, some escorting people down, others heading to the upper floors to search. No one seemed to pay him or Roff any attention, which was fine with him. “One more floor, I think,” he said at last, and took off up the stairs again. Roff followed.