It’s a razor’s edge, what Kid is doing. But then, so is my response. We’re both gambling, hoping that the roll doesn’t come up snake eyes.
“They’ve been hittin’ it pretty hard,” Benny says. He eases up on the throttle a little, slowing down as we enter less friendly airspace. “Reno was pretty adamant about that.”
“I heard.”
“He don’t change his mind much,” Benny says. “Straight shooter. Must’ve seen something written in the stars.”
“Yeah, something like that,” I say. The smoke is dense, an acrid shade of blackish gray. It streams from the walls around the settlement. Kid has only been here a few weeks, but it’s a surprisingly sophisticated operation, given that time constraint. Must’ve had some of the Gifted Minds nano-builder bots lying around to help him out.
It reminds me of the enemy I’m about to square off with: ruthless, focused and with far more resources than me. The Oshies are tough, but they’re like a less-crazed version of the Remnants. Nomads struggling to survive and find a home.
That’s why I’m so damn important. I can actually think like Kid, Blackstone, Olivia Redmond. Because I am them, on some level.
The trick is not to become them completely.
“I’m gonna swing down and around,” Benny says. “The charge should go off in—yeah, there she goes.”
Just like the plan, one of the walls erupts in a massive plume of flame. It belches horrid amounts of smoke into the air that blankets the airspace. It’s all for show—and cover. The chopper dips down lower and plunges straight into the gray.
“They’ll know you’re coming,” Benny says. “No avoidin’ that. But they won’t know when or exactly where.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” I take the parachute from the backseat and adjust the straps. Test them to make sure they’re secure.
“Anyone tell you this?” Benny says, navigating through the zero-visibility conditions with detached cool. I count the seconds in my head, using the speed gauge to calculate when I should jump. “You might be the craziest son of a gun I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Then I open up the chopper door and jump, wind streaming past my bare ears as I hurtle into the unknown.
31 | Plush Digs
Kid Vegas’ scout base is surprisingly comfortable and plush. The Remnants, if they co-opted this spread, would probably think it was the paradise of paradise. I hit the ground and roll, unclipping my chute as I pop up.
The smoke and ash still swirls in the air. I cough lightly. No respirator. Haven’t worn one since I came into the Gray Desert, and I don’t plan to start. Would be an easy excuse to stick around, stay awhile, get comfortable.
Last time I did that, I spent three years with an imaginary dog without even knowing.
The metal clips clang when they hit the hard ground. I cup my bare hands together and blow into them, trying to create a little warmth. There are many parts of this plan that look like idiocy from the outside, but it’s a particular brand of feigned ignorance.
I’m in the housing district of the base. The entire base is about a half mile across. The buildings aren’t too densely packed, so there’s not much cover.
I hear voices, so I ball up the parachute and run over to one of the two-story townhomes. With a smirk, I vault the plastic white picket fence and tumble behind an empty planter. I don’t know what they’re planning on growing.
I peek out from behind my vantage point and see two guards walking through the gritty swirl of dust in the streets. Their voices are slightly muffled by the ksh-ksh of their respirators.
“You saw the helicopter. We got orders,” the first fella says.
“Man, it’s so damn cold out here,” the other guy says. “I don’t care about any helicopters.”
“Don’t let Vegas hear you say that. Crazy son of a bitch. Burned a man’s face half off.”
“That was the enemy.”
“Since when were these Oshies the enemy?”
“You’re the one all about orders.”
I hear their boots scrape past. I know they can’t see me, but I hold my breath anyway. Then the bastards stop, and my heart pounds in my ears.
“I just hit something.” The first guy sounds confused.
“It’s a wasteland. You fling shit and you find more shit.”
“No, it had a—there. You hear that?” He kicks around in the street, and I hear a metallic ting. I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from screaming fuck. My brilliant plan, undone by a single, small clip.
“Probably a nail.”
“Nah, man.” I hear the guy drop to his hands and knees. “It’s around here somewhere. Yeah, I got it.” He’s super-excited. I start to get up from the planter. Visibility is too low to shoot them—and besides, the gun will give away my position. I’ll be swarmed in seconds.
“It’s nothing—just trash.”
“No,” the guy says. “It’s a parachute clip. He came in around here.”
“Lemme see.” The other soldier grabs the object from his partner’s gloved hand. Then he tosses it into the wastes. “Told you it was garbage.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“You’re the one talking about Vegas burning a guy’s face off. Imagine what he’d do to a guy that brings him a piece of trash. I’m helping, you man. We’re like brothers. You’re just the stupid one I gotta watch out for.”
“Fuck you.”
I stop listening to the rest of their conversation, so relieved am I that my cover hasn’t been blown by the smallest details. When they’re gone, I stand up and brush myself off. The dust has begun to settle from the explosion.
Then, behind me, I hear a familiar voice.
“It was a nice try, Stokes,” Kid Vegas says, his tone making my blood chill into slushy ice, “but as always, you’re one step behind.”
A pistol hammer clicks when I take a step forward.
“It’s been so long since we’ve had a chat,” Kid says. “Going so soon?” The lonely wind rips past my ears. “Nothing to say? No clever replies? Color me disappointed.”
But all I can think of is the plan.
In thirty minutes, there are people counting on me.
And if I don’t deliver, they’ll all die.
32 | Half an Hour
“This is a nice knife,” Kid says. He stripped me of any weapons I had with an annoying lackadaisical care. Like I couldn’t kill him even if I was strapped. “Sharp.”
I don’t answer or turn around. I still haven’t looked at him. The longer that stays the case, the better.
After a short walk, we reach what must be Kid’s operational control. On the one hand, I should be pleased. This is where I wanted to go all along. On the other hand, I have a problem—I can’t exactly execute what I need to do with a gun pointed at my head.
“They give you the best work,” I say. “Vacation out west.”
“I requested this assignment, Stokes,” Kid says. “Door’s open.”
“You know there’s thieves around,” I say, mentally trying to calculate how much time has elapsed. Five minutes, maybe.
“I think we caught them all.”
I grip the knob and shiver. The metal sticks to my hand and pulls at the skin when I open the door. I walk into the dim lit room, where dozens of workstations line the walls, all displaying different operational details.
No one is present.
“All for you?” I say.
Kid doesn’t turn on the light. Apparently the digital glow is enough for him. “I like to keep apprised of things. Why don’t you sit?”
I do as I’m told, settling into a leather rolling chair that’s shockingly comfortable. Kid walks past, gun still trained on me. It’s the first actual look I’ve gotten at him. His expedition into the Gray Desert hasn’t aged him at all.
His eyes glow, and he rips off the respirator. The flashing multi-colored screens cast a strange glow over his pale skin. He stares
down his sharp nose at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I have another play in my pocket.
I don’t, but my mind is working furiously on it. Making a break for it and hoping he’ll miss isn’t an option. Kid’s an excellent shot.
“What do they call people like you?” I say.
“Savants,” Kid says. “I don’t pay much attention.”
“No, I got it,” I say, watching him adjust tweak a parameter at one of the workstations. “They call you an asshole.”
“I’m hurt,” Kid says, not turning around. The soft tap-tap of the keys is the only noise for the next few moments. “We were friends, once upon a time.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“Depends on what you consider a friend,” Kid says. “You could still be in HIVE, living the life, Stokes. Kind of silly to be playing around in this gray sandbox, don’t you think?”
“Wasn’t for me,” I say. “You gave me a shitty dog.”
Kid laughs. “We’ve worked out a lot of the bugs in your brother’s programming. You know, we don’t even need you any more.”
“So why am I alive,” I say. “You want the HIVE bounty?”
“Because I want to know what those Oceanic Coalition bastards are planning,” Kid says. He sits down across from me, leaning his elbows on the long table. One of the workstations beeps in the background, but I warrant his full attention now. “And you’re who’s going to tell me.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I put my dirty boots up on the table and stretch out.
“See, I couldn’t figure out why that cowboy moron Reno didn’t come out of his little rabbit hole.” Kid taps the gun’s stock against the table. It reminds me of the time, each tap a second burning off into the ether. “It didn’t add up. I knew he was rattled. Shaken to his very core. All that dipping and aw shucks shit, it goes away when you turn the heat up high enough.”
“Thanks for the psychology lesson,” I say. “If I’d known you were giving classes, I would’ve come earlier.” I kick some dirt off my boots. This clearly bothers Kid, but he can’t do much about it. Shooting me isn’t much of an option when he still needs information.
Right now, we’re on the carrot portion. Soon, we’ll come to the stick.
I can’t wait.
A little voice shouts in the back of my mind: do something. Over and over. But the pistol is still flatly pointed at my chest. I move too quick, he’ll blow me away, take his chances with whatever is coming next.
“Then you put the pieces together,” I say. “Your old buddy Luke Stokes, running around, pissing in your cereal again.”
“I wouldn’t say again. I seem to recall I was the one who caught you last time around.”
“You’re going to love what’s coming next,” I say. “Love it.”
“I don’t think so,” Kid says. “What you don’t understand, truly understand, is intelligence. The implications of mine, or—more importantly—HIVE. Your silly failsafe, it really is quite ridiculous.”
“Duly noted,” I say. “Or maybe I just don’t understand. Speak slower.”
“Aren’t you curious how I found where you landed?”
“Not really.”
“I calculated the trajectory of your descent based on the chopper’s entry angle and speed before you hit the smoke cloud,” Kid says. “Human beings are quite predictable, when it comes down to me.”
For some reason, I get the impression that he’s not really showing off for me. But using me as a kind of proxy for Matt, who must’ve run circles around him. I could see how that would piss Kid off. He’s calm and collected on the outside, but there’s a reason he knew how to rattle Reno.
He suffers from the same weakness. Dig down, beneath the slight, strong form and all the skills, and you can rattle him.
“I’m sure my brother would’ve been impressed.”
His sharp nose flares, and it’s immediately evident I’ve hit a nerve. “Your brother’s dead. Unplugged. And I’m still standing.”
“Not in—oh, do you have the time?” I say casually. “Matt’s documents were very interesting. A whole plan for what to do in case HIVE became active. I’m just following instructions.”
“You’re lying. I can see it. You have a tell.”
“I don’t think you’ve played enough poker with me to know that,” I say. “But sure, I’m lying. Why not tell me the time?”
Kid glares at me and gets up. Checks one of the workstations and says, “It’s an hour before midnight.”
“The exact time,” I say.
“11:04 PM,” Kid says before he reseats himself. He jabs the gun in my face. Losing it. A little further and I might be able to push him over the edge. “Matt wouldn’t make a plan like this.”
“No?”
“It’s not his style,” Kid says, with a satisfied smirk, temporarily regaining confidence, “no, he’s much subtler.”
“I didn’t say we were gonna drop a bomb on you in thirteen minutes.”
“Thirteen minutes?”
“Might be twelve, now,” I say. “Better watch that clock.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“See, you want to know your problem, Kid?” I lean back in the chair, like I’m telling an old friend a fun story. “You didn’t adjust for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Once bitten, twice shy,” I say. The chair’s wheels slam down as I come in closer. “Running the same gambit over and over again on the same mark is a rookie move. You can’t always expect others to do the work for you.”
His teeth flash in a crooked smirk. “You’re good, Stokes.” He waves the pistols at me in a congenial way. “Very well done. You had me going. I see what you’re trying to do. Get me riled up, lose my cool.”
“Is it that transparent? I suppose it would be, for someone of your intelligence,” I say.
“Trivial,” Kid says. “Whatever plan you were working on, it’s done as long as you’re dead.”
He brings the pistol up to my head and clicks the hammer.
My heart beats faster and I swallow hard. Thoughts jump across a number of different scenarios, none of them particularly compelling or high probability.
I say, “You’re right. You should shoot me.”
“Don’t try this childish bullshit on me, Stokes.” But he doesn’t shoot. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Because I don’t understand this intelligence,” I say. “You know what Matt really did?”
I can see that he doesn’t, because his face is torn between pulling the trigger and asking. Finally, his curiosity gets the better of him. “Why?”
Ego is a bitch. Even with Matt long gone, my brother is the gold standard—the benchmark everyone else in Gifted Minds compared themselves to. No wonder they killed him. It was as much about jealousy as it was about seizing control of work they could never do themselves.
I tear into the small opening with abandon. The truth is most powerful when it’s least expected. “He created a failsafe, as you know. Your coders probably found little bits of it in the HIVE source. Maybe you corrected it.”
“There were complications, early on.”
“A lot of those were glitches,” I say. “But one was a feature. For a single user. Me.” I shrug and raise my eyebrow. “But you guys rolled up on Atlas, did your thing, right? So you know about that, too.”
Kid doesn’t nod. His gelled side part moves slightly as the heater kicks on again. But from the look in his lifeless eyes, this isn’t what he’s expecting. Then again, the pistol hasn’t moved, so I can’t consider it a victory yet.
“So yeah, Matt created a little code that would download into my mind if I was ever inserted into HIVE. Call it—what, you ever been on a scavenger hunt? No, probably not. They don’t invite assholes on scavenger hunts.”
His fingers dig into the pistol stock, letting out a little scratching noise. “You got one minute to get to the point, Stokes. Before you join your brother.”
; “Right, that was personal, wasn’t it? I’m sorry,” I say with a fake bow. “Hit a nerve.”
“The world’s not gonna miss your bullshit. It’s got enough of it.”
“I don’t disagree,” I say. “Here’s the interesting part, the kicker as they say. The part you don’t know. What the failsafe can do. Because I looked at the code.”
“I know what a failsafe is,” Kid says with massive irritation. “It’s in the damn word.”
“That’s where Matt outsmarted us both, yet again.” I watch the pistol. It’s quaking almost imperceptibly. Kid’s anger is starting to override his intelligence. “But don’t feel bad about it. After all, none of you created HIVE. Hell, you got kicked out before the HoloBands even became a thing, and that’s like the tiniest gear in a massive—”
The dam breaks, and I watch as the pistol swings towards my jaw. I duck, and the butt clips the back of my hair. Kid squeezes the trigger, and my ears explode into a painful ringing. I slither across the table on my belly and reach for him.
He tries to get the pistol down again, firing another shot, but this one misses, too.
I see his mouth moving, but all I can hear is the endless ringing. But I like it better that way. The chair overturns, and his pistol bounces away. We both crash to the floor. My chin bounces off the scratchy carpeting.
It stuns me for a second, which is too long when you’re fighting Kid Vegas. His hands are around my neck, and I can immediately feel the world going dark. Despite his small stature, he’s an incredibly strong guy.
I gasp and choke, trying to pry his fingers off. But it’s like being caught by a robot. Nothing I do makes a difference.
So, instead, I try a different tack.
I let myself go limp, like my neck is broken and he’s won. For a couple more seconds, he keeps pressing, then he lets up slightly. Shakes me like a dog with a rabbit. Drops me to the floor.
“Piece of shit,” he says with a snarl. I hear him lean back. He’s panting heavily. I smile, my lips brushing the carpet. Whatever I dredged up, that shit was buried deep. Maybe it has something to do with his father, the infamous Damien Ford.
Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) Page 17
