The Silent Army r-2

by James Knapp

  His apartment suite was big and very cold. It conveyed his privilege and power to all, no matter where they might look. The design he’d chosen was minimalist, open rooms integrating high-end appliances and electronics, where each line and edge was arranged perfectly. I admired what he’d done, the oasis of order that he’d fashioned away from the chaos of the streets below. My eyes followed the room’s flow, and I found comfort in it, even though I knew that it would soon be gone. Very soon the man on the phone would be dead. Very soon the Alto Do Mundo itself, and everyone inside it, would exist only as fading memories.

  Normally, I’d never have gotten inside, but we were a vice of his, and he’d had me brought in, bypassing security. When I arrived, I found the door was open. In the entryway he’d left a cardboard gift box for me, with a note card. The gift box contained a series of items: an elaborate set of silk lingerie, a black wig, and an array of cosmetics. There was a computer printout, explaining what he wanted.

  It should have been humiliating to me, applying makeup to my lips and nipples, cinching in my waist, and pushing up my breasts, then sitting and posing while he took his time. It should have been an affront, but as I sat on the chair, I felt nothing. The truth was that I’d hoped I would feel something. I wanted to feel some sense of humiliation, even excitement, but the reality was that I did not. The closest I came was the wanting itself.

  What drove me now were purpose and survival. Not survival in the traditional sense—I’d already lost my life—but my mind was still aware. It knew that it was finite, and that whatever came after was unknown …dark and empty and endless.

  That unknown was like a void. Beneath my consciousness and my memories, it yawned like a black hole in the depths of space. With each passing second, it pulled me deeper, away from all that I knew. Any second I might fall across that rim, that dark event horizon, and plunge down through the field of my memories to the one thing left that scared me to my core. Life and death were just concepts, but not that endless unknown. That bottomless void was real.

  The man on the phone was speaking Japanese. I tuned my hearing a little as he spoke, and watched the translation scroll at the bottom edge of my periphery:

  No. Wherever it came from, it wasn’t supposed to be there. I was already out of the building when …

  The words passed by over the swell of my breasts. I’d been attractive in life, and I’d known that. Men had stared at those breasts, compelled by their curves, but they were just meat now. The blood that moved through them was black and cold. The veins could be covered up with body paint, but the flesh was not alive.

  The man who had me brought to him did not care.

  …knew where I was, it was arranged beforehand. I didn’t do anything wrong….

  He moved past a doorway, through my line of sight. He wore a gold watch and an expensive suit of which the tones matched my lingerie. He glanced at me, and I captured his image. He was a powerfully featured Asian man, with long hair that was thick and luxurious. His skin was smooth and pampered.

  Identity confirmed: Takanawa, Hiro.

  He moved out of view and continued speaking. My mind drifted as I watched the words go by.

  …should be thanking me. I managed to keep one of them. You only really need one….

  The field of my memories stirred like embers, a field of lights that were tagged and catalogued. I could access each at will. I saw images of him at the hotel. During the raid, the agents had let him go. He’d left with something of ours.

  My memories were now of two different types: those formed before my death and those formed after. A laser line cut between, and it was there that I found my new purpose. Each second that passed, it was a reminder. In my first living memory, I was five, and for a time my memories had been pure. As my life went on, they became fragmented. Bits and pieces were stolen. They were manipulated and sometimes changed. I had been rewired by an unseen force and lived two lives, and not known. Approaching the memory separation between my life and my death, the embers came to contain more lies than truth.

  Until my last, when I lay on a sofa and blood pumped out of my chest. I saw the face of the man in front of me, and heard the last words I would hear in my life.

  “What a waste.”

  Too much of my life had been just that: a waste. I’d worked so hard for a shot at moving up, not knowing it was all lies. I’d pushed myself until there was nothing left. I did it because I regretted my choice, and because I was afraid. Once I was dead, I didn’t want to come back. I’d have done anything to get out of it, but I never got the chance.

  The name of my killer turned out to be Lev—Lev Prutsko, the last of four Slavic recruits brought in for key terror strikes. Samuel Fawkes had bought him through a broker for the price of a new car. He was the closest I had now to a friend.

  Fawkes’s purpose was Lev’s purpose, and now mine: preserve the free will of all humanity. Stop any more people from sharing my fate. It was clear and absolute. An echo from my old mind latched on to it as a justice to be served and also, more secretly, as a distraction from that dark void, below.

  Yes. Yes. Good-bye.

  Mr. Takanawa stepped through the doorway and slipped his cell phone into his suit jacket. I sat still and did not breathe as he approached and faced me at arm’s length. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. Men had stared at me before, but this was unlike anything I recalled. He inspected me like he might a statue, not yet certain what he thought. Only his erection betrayed something more. After a minute or so, he came closer and knelt down in front of me. He moved his face close to mine.

  An orange light coursed up each side of his neck, thick, hot lines that branched out before fading. I followed them down below his shirt collar, to the heavy coal that pulsed inside his chest. A thin line appeared in my periphery. It spiked each time his heart beat.

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, so close that I could feel his breath on my face.

  Another of them once said those words to me. Later, I’d be told to forget what I’d heard, and I would, like I was told. Every time I heard them it was like the first time, unexpected and welcome.

  Nothing stirred inside me when I heard them now. As best I could interpret, he was earnest, but I was not beautiful, nor a woman. I was something different now.

  “I said you are beautiful,” the man said again, his eyes narrowing a little.

  “Thank you.”

  He looked into my eyes for a bit longer, their soft, moonlit glow reflected on his face.

  He likes that, I thought. It’s part of it, for him.

  “May I ask you something?” I said to him softly. His face changed, just a little. It wasn’t interaction that he wanted; it was something else, but I was curious.

  “One question,” he said.

  “Why revivors?”

  He was known to be suddenly violent, and I was ready for that, but he stayed calm. In answer, he just smiled. He moved so close I saw the glow from my eyes reflected in his own.

  His pupils opened to two dark, glassy spots. It happened when they exerted their power. He was trying to control me, I could see. When he failed, I saw fear creep into his eyes. The heat in his chest pulsed faster and harder, and the orange glow up the sides of his neck grew hotter as the veins there became engorged. The line monitoring his heart spiked higher. What he saw scared him, but it was more than that. It was exhilaration.

  “There’s a darkness inside of you,” he said. “All of you. I can’t control you or know you, and that …”

  He reached forward and took my hands in his own. They were dry and very warm. He stood, and pulled me up gently to face him. His eyes went back to normal.

  “Come with me,” he said, and walked past me. When I turned, I saw him cross toward the bedroom. As I followed, I pulled the wig from my head and let it fall to the floor. Cold air blew across the skin of my bare scalp. When we were inside he turned, frowning as I placed my cold hands on his chest.

  “That�
��s wrong,” he said. “Put it back on.”

  I slid my left hand up the side of his neck, running my fingertips through his coarse black hair. He didn’t pull away, but was still frowning.

  “You heard me,” he said. “Do what I sa—”

  My hand split along an invisible seam and splayed between the middle and ring finger. His body, so alive, jumped. His eyes darted to the cavity and stared. Fear returned when the blade inside caught the light.

  I could have impaled him before he could move, but the blade was not for him. A thin plastic tube shot out from beneath it. The needle locked on the heat inside his neck and plunged into the branching orange band of light.

  By the time he slapped his hand over the sting, the tube had reeled back and my arm had snapped shut. He just stared at me, confused.

  “What—”

  The toxin acted fast and paralyzed him. His arms fell to his sides, and he staggered back. The muscles in his face began to loosen.

  I stepped in and supported him as he fell. I reached into his jacket and took the gun, then tossed it onto the bed.

  “What …are you …doing?” he gasped, as I eased him back onto the plush comforter. I recorded and transmitted his vitals. The excitement he’d shown before was gone now. All that was left was his fear.

  Subject secured.

  Good. Site 1 confirmed secure. Transmitting collection point.

  Takanawa could see the gun, out of reach. His eyes locked on to it, but he couldn’t move. I watched him try to, and fail, as I sat down on the bedspread next to him. I waited for him to look back up at me.

  “Where is the last one?” I asked him. He could still speak, but he tried to shake his head.

  “You know what I mean,” I said. “We got the other eleven, but you were seen to take one. Where is it?”

  “…don’t know,” he breathed.

  “If it’s here,” I said, “I will leave with that and nothing else. Do you understand?”

  He understood. I could see it in his eyes.

  “Where is it?” I asked again.

  “…not here …”

  I’d search just to be sure, but I believed him. He’d have handed off the device before now. Lev would find out what he knew.

  I left the room and changed back into street clothes, then stowed the lingerie and wig in my bag. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, and wiped the makeup away.

  It had taken time to find myself again, after reanimation. There’d been a disconnect with my reflection, like it was somebody else. At first I thought it was the physical change; the grayish skin tone or dark veins that showed through. As time passed, though, I saw it was something else.

  The image in the mirror was someone else; Faye Dasalia had been lost long ago. She had been lost before she was ever killed. All that was left of her existed in me. She’d been revived, in me, when Nico woke me. All that she truly was and ever would be had emerged only in death. I’d only recently made her face my own. The woman from before was not really Faye. My memories formed from across that divide, and they were not corrupted. I was Faye Dasalia, more complete than I ever had been in life.

  Beginning transport.

  Acknowledged.

  I went back into the bedroom where he lay, his chest rising and falling very slowly. He was awake and aware. His eyes bargained with me as I approached him.

  “It’s time for you to come with me,” I said in his ear as I got a grip on him. I pulled the LW suit over us, and lifted up his body. He was frightened, but he didn’t need to be.

  Whatever answer he’d sought in revivors, he’d understand soon enough.

  Nico Wachalowski—The Shit Pit, Bullrich Heights

  I approached the place where Calliope suggested we meet, thinking maybe I should have picked the spot myself. The narrow street outside had a row of motorcycles hugging a brick wall under an overpass where everything was covered in graffiti. Heat rose from a metal grate next to the curb, and a patch of fog drifted across a broken sidewalk littered with cigarette butts.

  Information request complete.

  The results of my dig on Concrete Falls came up as I crossed the street. The miner found a lot of media noise about the bombing, but most of it was commentary. The limited footage of bomber didn’t provide a positive identification. That fact alone suggested he’d known where the security cameras were. There were only a few seconds of footage, and even taken from different angles, they could show only so much. The bomber was male. He had dark skin. He appeared to be between thirty and forty. No thermal images or X-rays were taken. It could have been a revivor.

  Whoever he was, he’d moved past the recruitment stations and through a door that led into the back offices. When this was noticed, two guards moved to follow, but never reached him.

  Given his movements, it was thought that the bomber had specifically targeted the offices where the Heinlein reps were set up. If Sean was right, though, and Fawkes was actually behind the attack, then it wasn’t just to make some political point or to hurt Heinlein. It wasn’t easy for Fawkes to make a move like that, and it put him at huge risk of being discovered. There had to be a reason for it.

  Hey, you showing up or what? Calliope.

  I’m here now.

  The first time I met Calliope Flax was in a parking garage after a revivor tried to kill her. The last time I’d seen her was after her interrogation, banged up and fuzzy from the dope. She was third tier, a heartbeat away from living on the street. The reward I sent her way for the tip she provided didn’t even cover her medical bills, and I knew that without help she was going under. I suggested the service.

  Later she disappeared. When I finally tracked her down, I found out she was stationed in Yambio.

  I could hear the beat from outside as I approached the front of the place. Pushing through the heavy door, I walked into a dark room full of loud music. It was packed full of tough-looking customers. A few guys looked at me, noting the reflection from the JZI. Word started spreading that a cop just walked in.

  I looked around but I didn’t see her. Between the darkness, the smoke, and the bodies it was hard to spot anyone.

  I’m here. Where are you?

  Downstairs.

  A set of stairs led to a basement floor where a second bar was set up in front of a bank of video screens. Sitting alone near the top of the steps was a woman who looked out of place. She was well dressed, with a plain wool cap that didn’t match the outfit. The only thing she had in common with the other patrons was her tattoo: a snake that ringed her neck, then swallowed its tail. She was sitting at a table without a drink in front of her. She looked bored.

  When I started to move past her, she looked up with bright blue eyes and waved for me to come closer. I held up my hand to indicate I was meeting someone else and couldn’t stop, and she reached out and took it. The second her cold fingers touched my hand, she zeroed in on a pressure point and sent a jolt up my forearm. She smiled faintly when she saw my surprise, and pulled me gently toward her table.

  “I’m Penny,” she shouted over the music.

  “Can I have my hand back?” She let go and I flexed my fingers.

  “You’re kind of cute,” she said, reaching toward my face. I went to stop her, and she brushed my hand away casually. She touched my cheek, then ran her fingers through my hair.

  “Are you always this forward?”

  “What’s the matter? Are you not used to being touched by a woman?”

  The truth was that I wasn’t. Not anymore. She seemed satisfied by my lack of an answer, taking her hand away.

  “So you’re him, huh?”

  “Him who?”

  Her pupils widened, and I felt dizzy for a second. It passed almost immediately, and her eyes went back to normal.

  “You are him. You’re Nico Wachalowski,” she shouted.

  “Okay, you got my attention. Who are you?”

  She leaned closer, putting her lips to my ear.

  “Someone wants to meet w
ith you,” she said.

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do say.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Motoko Ai.”

  I remembered Sean’s words scrawled on the bathroom mirror: Motoko Ai …she will contact you soon.

  “Should I know that name?” I asked.

  “She has information you’ll be interested in.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Information about Samuel Fawkes.”

  If she didn’t have my attention before, she had it then. She leaned back, looking satisfied. Her big eyes looked me up and down.

  “I guess I can see why she’s into you,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Not Ai. She’s not interested in stuff like that. I mean Zoe.”

  “Are you a friend of Zoe’s?”

  “Sort of. Tell me; are you just completely clueless?”

  “What?”

  “Because if you are, then open your eyes, and if you aren’t, then stop being careless with her.”

  The whole thing caught me off guard. Before I could answer, she changed the subject again.

  “Will you meet with Ai?”

  “Where?”

  “We’ll set it up through Zoe.”

  “Zoe?”

  “She’s coming too. Will you come?”

  “Yes.”

  “The events of two years ago were nothing, Mr. Wachalowski. Please be there.”

  Before I could answer, she hopped off her stool and gave me a wave as she moved off into the crowd.

  You get lost or what? Cal.

  No. Keep your pants on.

  I made my way downstairs and found her standing against the far wall with a big guy on either side of her. She looked like I remembered, with the same cropped hair and the same crooked nose. Somewhere inside me, tension let go; she was in one piece. She was talking to a black man with a cauliflower ear when she noticed me and waved. When she smiled, I saw she never replaced the missing tooth.