The Bridge Chronicles Trilogy

by Gary Ballard

  “Yo, brother, what’s the problem? Who you trying to call?”

  Aristotle looked up quickly from the phone in his hand, his expression one of sheer abject animal terror. He quickly went back to the receiver, dialing again and cursing while ignoring Bridge’s question. His curses only grew louder as his frustration grew. “Fucking piece of shit, why won’t you get through?” he finally screamed into his palm. As if realizing where he was, he looked around quickly and saw the stares of the nearby patrons. Everyone in the joint was on edge, their nerves frayed from the disruption of their normal lives by the outright weird. Bridge put a hand on Aristotle’s shoulder and led him away.

  “Calm it down, big guy. We got a reputation to protect. Now who are you trying to call?”

  Aristotle seemed unwilling to tell Bridge at first, his eyes darting from Bridge to the phone and back. At last he sighed and stared into Bridge’s eyes. Almost on the verge of tears, he said, “My grandmother. She lives in Boulder, Bridge, and I cannot raise her. I think she’s dead.”

  *****

  “Whoa there. Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Slow it down, breathe and let’s work this, ok? I’m sure you’re grandmother is fine.”

  Aristotle’s expression grew sour, the hint of sarcastic disbelief in his wry smirk. “What do you care? You aren’t exactly family guy now are you?”

  “Just because I’m an amoral shitheel doesn’t mean I don’t got family… somewhere,” Bridge replied. His thoughts drifted to his parents for the briefest of seconds before he pushed the memories aside. They were out there somewhere, but damn if he cared where. “You never talked about your grandmother, so I just expected you didn’t have one.”

  “Gram pretty much raised me. My parents split when my dad was in Iraq and my mom was a no good nothing, or so Gram said. Last I talked to her, she was living in Boulder.”

  “Where in Boulder? Near that big dome thing?”

  “I cannot be certain.”

  “Well, see, there you go. It couldn’t have covered the whole goddamn city, right?” Aristotle nodded meekly. “Maybe she’s in the part that isn’t covered.”

  “She was living near the university when I left Boulder. The artsy district. She’s a bit of a Bohemian. I haven’t been back since I left. I haven’t even visited her. What if she’s dead?”

  “Hold on, let’s not jump to conclusions. So she’s by the university. I can get Angie to start pouring through the feeds, see if they can pinpoint this thing. It may not even be anywhere near her.”

  “Then why can’t I get her on the phone, Bridge?”

  “Shit just kicked off, big boy. The power was out. Maybe it knocked out the networks around there. Hell, maybe everybody in the country with family there is trying to call in, or everybody trapped in that bubble thing is trying to call out. The whole network could be jammed to hell and back. You remember what happened during the riots, how nobody could get any kind of service, no GlobalNet, nothing? That’s probably what it is.”

  Aristotle had been staring down at his feet the whole time, nodding at each new proffered morsel of hope. As Bridge finished, he raised his head again with a forceful nod, his mind made up. “That’s it, then. I must go there. I have to go find out if she’s ok. You have to come with me.”

  “Wait… what? Hold your horses there, big guy. You’re talking crazy talk.”

  “No, I’m not. You said it yourself, the whole network could be down or jammed, and it could be days before it clears up. She could be outside the bubble. She could be wandering around alone in a daze. There’s no way I can spend days wondering if she’s ok. I have to go find her, get her out if I can.”

  “How the hell do you plan on doing that? The cops, the national guard, the goddamn LGL is probably going to lock that site down tighter than a nun’s habit.”

  Aristotle nodded. “That’s correct, and they are likely even now setting up plans for evacuation camps to hold the survivors. And who better to navigate the red tape of survivors, bureaucrats, cops and administrators than you. Those situations are where you shine.”

  Bridge grinned with egotistical pride for a moment. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. You’re stroking my ego, brother, trying to get me to go along. It is not going to work. Colorado ain’t my stomping grounds. I don’t know nobody there.”

  “Since when is there a place you don’t know somebody?”

  “Ok, fair enough, I know a guy. But I’ll be totally out of my pond. Plus, I got work to do here. I can’t just toss nights of profit away on somebody’s grandmother.” The force of Aristotle’s reaction slammed the breath out of Bridge. Aristotle had lifted him completely off his feet and into the wall behind him.

  “Listen, Bridge. Since I know that you are a cold-hearted bastard, I’ll ignore the insults. I’ll even ignore your lack of sympathy. But I will not ignore the fact that you OWE me.” Aristotle’s eyes narrowed to piercing slits. “That’s right, motherfucker. I am calling in the marker on that one. I went to jail for you, and I’m a two-strike man. I could have gone away for a long time FOR you, so let’s be entirely clear here. I need your help, and you will, aheight="0" give it to me, whether from empathy for someone you call a friend or because you well and truly owe me. At this point, I don’t care which it is. Are we clear?”

  “You picked a bad time to call in a marker,” Bridge replied with a grin. “All right, put me down, goddamnit.” Aristotle let him down gently, smoothing out his lapels as he did so. “I help you with this, we’re square, right? No matter what turns out?” The bodyguard nodded.

  “Then we’re going to need some help,” Bridge said. He dialed up the one person he really didn’t want to ask. While Bridge owed his life to Aristotle he owed as much and more to Stonewall Ricardo.

  *****

  Chapter 4

  November 2, 2028

  02:43 a.m.

  “Not a good time, Bridge.”

  Right on the edge of Stonewall’s usual gruff tone, Bridge sensed a nervous undercurrent, a wavering insecurity that Bridge had only heard from the ex-footballer once. As they had sat over Twiggs’ body in that dusky warehouse, Stonewall had unleashed a torrent of pent-up anger at his late boss and Bridge had gotten a glimpse of a tiny fissure in the man’s callous façade. He heard inklings of that unsteadiness again and it frightened him just a little. Tonight had already put Bridge off his corn flakes. He needed some stability, some solid foundation in the face of unexpected weirdness.

  “When is it ever a good time, my brother?” Bridge joked. The static-filled silence of the old cell network Stonewall used to evade CLED detection shook Bridge out of his typical routine. “What’s going on, Stoney? Are you alone?”

  “No,” he replied, “I’m dealing with a situation here.”

  “Mr. Johnny on your ass?” Bridge used their code words for Johnny Law, asking without asking if Stonewall was on the lam.

  “I can deal with the man. This shit… this is different.” Butterflies spun around in Bridge’s stomach.

  “We need to talk.”

  Stonewall returned a sigh. “And if I said I wasn’t in a spot to talk, would it matter?”

  “Hey, brott iher, you know me when I need something.”

  “You always need something. When do I get to be needy?” Stonewall chuckled a little, easing the tension. “I got people down all over the station, screaming about some kind of rock or boulder or some shit. I’m a little distracted, homes.”

  Bridge sat up straight in the back seat of the cab. “Did they all just flop around screaming ‘Boulder’ over and over again?”

  “Yeah.” For the first time since the conversation had started, Stonewall sounded interested. “How did you know?”

  “Because it just happened to me and about half the Tanz, right about the same time as that explosion in Boulder.”

  “Boulder… Boulder, Colorado? What explosion? What you talking about?”

  “Turn on your news feeds. I’m coming to you. What st
ation?”

  “Umm, shit. Go to Broad… no, hold on, Broad’s where the Kandor boys are right now. Don’t go there. Paulson Avenue. Tell ‘em the barn’s on fire. They’ll get you to the right station.”

  “Right, Paulson. Gotcha. See you in a few, brother.” Bridge gave the cabbie the directions to the subway station on Kilborne Street. Stonewall never gave the actual directions to his location over the phone, even over the abandoned cell networks. Bridge and he had worked out a series of code locations when the footballer had returned to town a month ago. Stonewall would tell him a location that was at least four blocks from the real station, with the use of street indicating the real station would be south four blocks and avenue would mean to go four blocks north.

  “Everything ok, boss?” Aristotle asked. His worried expression grew even worse at the sight of Bridge’s reaction to the conversation.

  “Don’t know, big guy. Say, is your grandmother jacked in?”

  Aristotle shook his head. “She’s the arty type, a real bohemian. She didn’t believe in defiling her body with metal. She wouldn’t even get a hip replacement when she took a spill skiing. The doctors and I had to fight her tooth and nail to get her to take nanomeds to rebuild the bone.”

  “Good, because it looks like us dumb fuckers with metal in our brain stems got a dose of strange from this Boulder thing. Stonewall’s got folks seizing up as well.”

  “Is it just the ones with interface jacks?”

  Bridge shrugged. “Don’t know, but I wouldn’t bet against it. You sure you still want to do this? Weird shit always gets weirder.” Aristotle just glared back at Bridge. “All right, I gotta ask.” Bridge slumped back into the seat and stared out the window, putting together a mental list of the things he would need.

  *****

  The subways of Los Angeles had been taken over shortly after the 2027 riots by the various street gangs and indigent downtrodden, a result of the Chronosoft LGL’s policy of willfully ignoring anyone that didn’t contribute to the company’s bottom line. Stonewall led one of those gangs, the Los Magos family. They used the term family in the loosest sense, modeled somewhat after the mafioso crime family system from Italy. Los Magos was part of the collective called the Five Families, and each claimed a portion of the subway for itself. Despite the LGL’s withdrawal of funds, the Families kept the subways in tip-top working order, in part due to their policy of shelter for all. The Families could count former engineers, computer whiz kids and other professionals left homeless by cred-crashing, riots and corporate indifference.

  Kilborne Station was El Diablos territory, and they appeared none too willing to help out any friends of Stonewall. No one got onto the subway without a thorough search for weapons, but the Diablos were especially rough on Bridge and his companion. He got the feeling they were deliberately attempting to insult Stonewall but he let it slide. No sense causing Stonewall any more headaches.

  The ride to Stonewall’s quarters was uneventful, other than the smoldering glances thrown at the passengers by the guards. On arrival they were rudely forced off, causing a tense moment of hostile stares between the greeting party and the train’s guards. Bridge defused the situation with a little bit of humor, but it was obvious the two Diablos guards had beef with the Magos. One of the Magos guards kissed his trigger finger and pointed it at the departing train. The target just pounded his chest and smiled as if to say, “Bring it on.”

  As they were escorted to Stonewall, Bridge got a glimpse of the troubles the ex-footballer suffered from. In a scene reminiscent of the Tanz, at least one out of every three people were recovering from the seizures, their eyes glassy, their friends helping them just as Aristotle had helped Bridge. Seeing the afflicted rub their necks, Bridge was reminded of his own splitting headache, a pain he’d been repressing in the rush of preparation.

  The gigantic ex-footballer turned gang leader Stonewall Ricardo was leaning over one of the stricken when Bridge reached him. He stood to his full 6’5” height, all lanky muscle and deceptive grace. He ran a hand over his dyed-blonde hair, which was tied in hundreds of neat spikes. He had been a professional soccer player before injuring his knee in a training ground accident so horrific, it had required a cybernetic replacement. To this day, the league banned cybernetics, depriving him of his life’s passion and his livelihood. To make ends meet, he’d taken to enforcing for one of his soccer buddies. Unknown to Bridge at the time, Stonewall had also risen to a high rank in the Magos family, to the point where he was their leader in all but title. He was one of the toughest and most resourceful men Bridge knew, Brtenseand Bridge knew everybody. Bridge owed Stonewall his life twice over.

  “Stoney, brother,” Bridge began with as much camaraderie as he could muster.

  “Don’t butter me up, Bridge. I’m not in the mood.” His face was all worried frustration. He cared deeply for his people. He was practically a revolutionary martyr for these people. “I got people screaming and going into seizures all over the line. You telling me this Boulder thing’s got something to do with it? What do you know?”

  “It happened to half the Tanz right about the same time Boulder went boom,” Bridge replied. “Did you see the video of that cameraman doing the flyover? Remind you of anything?”

  Stonewall nodded. “Si. Now what the fuck does an explosion in Boulder have to do with my people?”

  “Not a goddamn clue, brother. But I got a guess. Every one of the ones flopping on the floor like a fish were jacked, am I right?” Stonewall nodded and appeared about to ask another question, but Bridge cut him off with a raised hand. “Everybody in the Tanz that got hit was jacked too, including me. The cameraman on the TV was probably jacked. And I’m betting we all had the same kind of hallucination. It was like we got connected, like we all jacked into the GlobalNet wireless without trying. But we weren’t just there, we were out here too. Really fucks with your sense of equilibrium.”

  “So what did you see?”

  “I was in Perthnia with Angie. And she was sort of in the Tanz or something but neither image was solid enough to be real or virtual. It was like ghost images one on top of the other. You got any new cell phones in here?”

  “Naw, brother, you know we use the old 3G stuff. That new crap is all traced up.”

  “Just after the seizures stopped, the cells all got a text saying ‘Boulder’ too. All this happening the same time as that explosion is a coincidence? Uh uh, I don’t believe in coincidences that big. Whatever that wave was, it came from Boulder.”

  “So what’s that got to do with you needing shit from me?”

  Bridge pointed back at Aristotle. “Actually, he needs me. And I need you to do what he needs me for. Big boy’s grandmama lives in Boulder, and he’s got it in his head that with or without my help, he’s got to go rescue her. Now, normally I’d tell him to go blow, but I owe him.”

  “You owe everybody, Bridge,” Stonewall said with a smile. Bridge knew he had little hope of ever paying back the debt he owed Stoney.

  “I don’t forget my debts, brother. You help me with this, I help you with your little Diablos problem. I couldn’t help notice the tension there.”

  “You know how it is, Bridge.it h to Little trifling beef turns into tit for ratatattatting. Pedro’s trying to smooth it over.” Pedro was the Magos’ titular leader, known among the Families as Los Reyes Magos or The Wise King, Pedro was evenhanded but disliked violence. Bridge knew that Pedro had lost much of the Magos’ respect just by attempting peaceful resolutions. Gangsters used to solving things with a gun rarely got the satisfaction they desired with words. “What do you need?” Stonewall sighed.

  “A clean car with net hookup and a bodyguard.”

  “You got a bodyguard,” Stonewall replied, pointing at Aristotle.

  “I need someone who won’t hesitate to take it all the way. I don’t pay him enough to fight, much less kill a motherfucker what needs it. More important, I need someone that isn’t distracted. No offense, Aristotle.” Aristotle just
shrugged. “So really, you’d be doing it for him, not me.”

  Stonewall pondered the situation hard, his brow furrowed. “For your abuela, I’ll do this. But your boss here is going to owe me again.”

  “I appreciate it, Stonewall. If there is something I can do…”

  “No. I got a grandmother too, eh? I’d be doing the same thing.”

  “You’re both crazy,” Bridge joked.

  “We’re just human, Bridge. You should try it some time.”

  With the deal settled, they chewed over the details. They would leave the next morning around 7 a.m. It was almost four before Bridge got home. Angie had shut down the crèche for the night, and sat on the couch, folding her legs up under her chin. Bridge spent another hour consoling her and explaining the trip. The shock of the wave had affected her more than either of them would have believed. At first, she was adamantly against Bridge’s trip to Boulder. Once she realized his mind was made up, she insisted on going along. Bridge refused to put her in danger, reminding her that she had duties to take care of with her virtual world and their information-trading business. She would not be dissuaded and eventually they compromised. She would stay in LA, but would tag along virtually. Bridge would use a wireless cell connection, checking in with her on the GlobalNet every hour. She would provide any hacking tasks they needed. Her regular duties monitoring the stable of hackers she had out at any one time would be delegated to one of her best assistants. That settled, they fell asleep spooning on the couch, a desperate sadness in their embrace.

  *****