Metal Fatigue

by Sean Williams

  Caution ... or reluctance? Roads didn't want to hurt Cati, but could the reverse really be true?

  When the attack came, it almost took Roads by surprise. Cati stepped back onto one leg and lashed out with his other foot to knock the bar aside. Roads ducked as the giant's right hand chopped at his neck. He drove his shoulder upward into Cati's stomach and heard a slight grunt.

  Then Cati's elbow hammered down into his back, and he rolled aside, riding the blow. A fist followed, connected glancingly with his shoulder and sent him spinning. Both blows had been slower than he had expected, perhaps indicative of Cati's unwillingness to obey the orders of his controller — but they were still powerful.

  Another kick pushed Roads toward the edge of the platform, and he scrambled for grip on the shreds of cloth. Cati followed, reaching down to grab Roads' outflung arm and tear it free.

  Then an invisible force knocked the killer aside, giving Roads barely enough time to regain his footing. Cati staggered, enveloped by the Mole's whirling field-effects, confounded by something he could hardly get a grip on, let alone fight.

  While he was busy, Roads scrambled hastily to his feet and ran for the ladder.

  Before he could reach it, however, the Mole disengaged from Cati. Roads felt a tentacle of force wrap itself around his waist, tug him irresistibly back to meet Cati, then let go.

  The biomodified killer's face displayed open confusion as they faced each other again, back where they had started.

  Roads circled to his left, to where the iron bar had fallen. Cati moved to cut him off, but too late. Roads snatched the bar in one hand before Cati arrived, and swung it upward to strike the killer in the stomach. Knocked off balance, Cati staggered backward. Driving home the minor advantage, Roads delivered a double kick to the killer's stomach and knee.

  Instead of falling as he was supposed to, Cati jack-knifed down and forward, reaching out and across as he did so to sweep Roads off his feet. The metal bar glanced off Cati's hairless skull as Roads fell, making the killer wince but doing little to ease his grip.

  Caught in an ungainly tangle, they struck the platform together. With blood beginning to trickle down his face, Cati wrapped an arm around Roads' throat and squeezed.

  The platform immediately below them, weakened by the weight pounding at it, abruptly gave way. The buckled metal plate groaned, tipped, then dropped with a loud crash into the superstructure of the bridge.

  Roads experienced a moment of terrifying giddiness as both he and Cati scrambled for a hand-hold, the fight temporarily forgotten.

  Cati grasped a stanchion with one hand as it went past, arresting his fall with a jerk. Roads' fingers slipped on bird-droppings and lost their grip. The iron bar dropped with a clatter into the blackness below. He too fell unchecked — until something wrapped itself around his hand and yanked him upward.

  He rose rapidly through the air, was wrenched sideways, then landed awkwardly on an intact section of the platform. Winded, he clambered onto his hands and knees.

  A swirl of energy darted away and disappeared into the background.

  "Martin," he gasped into the cyberlink. "Are you catching this?"

  "Yes," came back the voice of the RUSAMC captain. "I'm not sure I believe it, but — "

  "It's trying to protect me, but at the same time protecting Cati because it wants him to kill me?"

  "That's what I thought might be happening. It can't kill you itself, so it has to use someone else. But it can't stand by and let you be killed, which is why it keeps saving you at the last moment. But it can't let you escape, either — or Cati." O'Dell whistled. "The conflict must be incredible; it's a wonder the AI is still functioning at all."

  "Yeah, wonderful. And it's only a matter of time before Cati takes us both by surprise and gets past the Mole's guard. Then I'll be dead, and Cati won't last much longer. Once he outlives his usefulness, the Mole will be able to return to the last orders you gave it, which were to dispose of him." Roads grunted as Cati's hands appeared at the lip of the hole, dragging his enormous body back into the night air. The bandage had fallen off his injured arm, and blood flowed freely again. "There has to be something we can do."

  "I'm sorry, Phil. I'm out of ideas."

  Cati climbed slowly to his feet. Blood trickled in a hot, steady stream from his temple and down his chest. A ragged gash down his right thigh testified to the narrowness of his escape when the platform gave away. Skirting the wide hole between them, he came with arms outstretched while Roads, unarmed, kept well out of reach.

  INTERLUDE

  1:20 a.m.

  Warning pains trembled in the muscles of his left thigh and right arm, but he ignored them. More serious was the sensation of weakness spreading outward from his gut. The energy-expenditure of his body was enormous; he needed solid food and water soon, or his performance would begin to deteriorate. His breathing was already twice its normal rate, echoing his heartbeat — but oxygen alone wasn't enough.

  The damage to his tissues could wait. There would be plenty of time to repair and recuperate once his orders were fulfilled.

  His orders —

  Roads is a traitor

  — compelled him to attack, even though his mind screamed caution. The traitor had demonstrated evasive abilities he had never seen before: sometimes duplicating himself or vanishing entirely. The traitor could deflect his blows as though made of a material stronger than steel, yet at other times injured more easily than he did. Inconsistencies like this were dangerous. He was being toyed with, used.

  The traitor circled to his left, hunting for a weapon. Before it could complete the curve, he shifted position, cutting it off. The traitor feinted, and he responded with a stabbing kick to the rib cage. Ordinarily, he would have followed the move with a hail of blows, but he didn't on this occasion. Something held him back, something that he had no cause to be considering when his orders were at stake. He focused his mind on the task at hand —

  a threat to the security of the United States

  — and struck again. This time, the blow missed completely, and he was appalled by his clumsiness. What was happening to him? Why was he so slow, so uncoordinated?

  The traitor took advantage of his disorientation and lashed out at his throat. He knocked the fist aside, ducked under another blow. Reaching over his head, he grabbed the swinging arm and twisted the traitor off his feet. Something indefinable, only half-visible, swirled at the corner of his eye as the traitor crashed heavily to the platform, but this time it made no threatening moves.

  He was gratified to hear the distinct crack of snapping bone when the traitor landed. Regaining his footing, he skirted the hole in the platform to find a better position from which to attack. Not long now. The traitor was seriously wounded. One opportunity to press home the advantage was all he needed to finish him off, after which he could turn his attention to the rest of his orders.

  The unidentifiable distortion threatened to take shape as he approached the traitor he had been ordered to kill. He ignored it. The fallen ... man, he forced himself to think, although it defied his programming ... tried to crawl away, scrambling crab-like for a safety that didn't exist. He followed it, every muscle in his body tensed for the final blow.

  Behind him, the sound of feet climbing the ladder suddenly ceased. Suspecting that the traitor's allies had finally arrived from below, he raised his fists and prepared to leap.

  But all he saw was a lone woman — the second traitor — struggling upright to face him, her mouth open and saying something he couldn't understand.

  Sanctuary?

  Then the distortion moved, stretched out a limb to prod him forward. He stumbled toward the first traitor, his mind screaming rebellion but his orders —

  kill them both

  — forcing the rest of him to obey.

  The traitor had ceased trying to escape. He approached within an arm's-length and looked down at his intended victim. One blow would be enough — one kick downward too fast too d
odge, and the traitor would be no more. It was almost too easy, at the end. And yet —

  Roads first and then the girl

  — so difficult.

  He shifted his balance, ready to strike.

  Then the second traitor was between him and the first, beating at his chest, crying at him. He flinched, raised his hands to ward off the attack, but only succeeded in making her protests louder. The conflict in his mind made it difficult to think. The woman's voice cut deeply into him; he could hear her pain, her suffering, even though her words eluded him. He didn't want to hurt her, but the incessant echoes of his orders almost drowned her out completely. He winced, raised his hands to his ears, desperate for a respite, for release from his torment.

  The traitor was on his feet again, beyond the woman. His orders howled at him to move before the traitor could escape —

  a threat to the security of the United States

  — and suddenly he couldn't hear the woman at all. Something in his mind had given way under the pressure. He finally knew what he had to do to relieve the tension. The pain peaked in resonance with the controller's final orders —

  kill them both

  — as he reached with both hands for the woman's throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  1:25 a.m.

  Roads, hampered by his broken left arm, could do nothing to help Katiya. Cati's hands wrenched, and the woman flinched as though struck. There was a tiny snap, almost inaudible over Katiya's gasp of fear, and Cati's hands fell away.

  Then the killer shoved the woman aside. The object in his hands flashed at Roads, glinting in the starlight as it flew toward him. More by reflex than conscious intent, Roads clutched with his one good hand and snatched it out of the air.

  Trapped in his fingers was a necklace, from which hung Katiya's pendant. He could feel the edges of the solid, rectangular block of silver as he opened his hand and stared at it in confusion.

  Cati moved silently away, his deep eyes watching him, begging him to do something. But what? Of what conceivable use was the pendant — the only present, Katiya had said, that Cati had ever given her? What he needed more than anything else was a weapon ...

  Then he turned the necklace over. Engraved in the silver was an identity code and three short words:

  I AM LUCIFER

  "Officer Roads!"

  He looked up in time to see Cati draw back a clenched fist, and ducked clumsily aside. He lost his footing on the platform and fell onto his broken arm. The darkness lit up as pain flashed through him. Hissing through clenched teeth, he forced himself to concentrate. With Cati's dog-tag clutched tight between his fingers, he thrust his good hand deep into his pocket.

  Cati loomed over him. One giant hand reached down for his face, blotting out the stars as it came.

  For the first time in his life, the thought of blood didn't make him hesitate as he brought DeKurzak's portable transmitter to his lips.

  "I am Lucifer," he gasped. "Cati — listen to me! I am Lucifer! You don't have to kill us!"

  The hand froze, but didn't withdraw. Uncertainty flashed across Cati's face.

  Roads slithered aside. Katiya helped him regain his footing, glancing between him and her lover.

  "Phil!" O'Dell's voice burst into Roads' implants. "Phil, your feed is breaking up. Can you hear me?"

  "Yes," he transmitted back. "What's going on?"

  "We lost visual for a second, then audio as well, and now we've picked up another transmission on the CATI frequency — "

  "Yes, I know," Roads interrupted. As he stepped away from the killer, Cati's upper torso turned to follow him. The wide-spaced eyes with their pinprick pupils didn't once look away. "Just wait a second, Martin. I'm onto something here."

  "But — " The line went dead with a crackle.

  "He's querying the order," said Keith Morrow, the artificial voice gliding smoothly into the silence.

  "He's what?" Roads asked. "I thought I put it clearly enough. Don't tell me I need a specialised language as well — ?"

  "No, but you have to phrase the order correctly. You must reassure him that 'Roads' is no longer a threat to the United States of America and that he can be allowed to live. You have to follow the protocol built into him."

  Cati's depthless eyes watched Roads as he moved across the platform. The killer's fist had fallen to his side, but it remained at the ready. Roads raised the communicator to his lips again.

  "Cati, listen to me. Listen to me carefully," he said. "Your previous orders have been superseded: Phil Roads is no longer a threat, and neither is the woman with him. You are not required to kill them. Do you understand? They can live." He paused, then added: "Please indicate your understanding immediately."

  Cati nodded, and straightened to a more relaxed posture.

  Roads took a deep breath.

  At that moment, the Mole reappeared, ran across the platform and collided bodily with Cati, knocking him to the metal surface. Katiya screamed and went to his aid, but the Mole dashed her aside.

  The artificial image flexed and twisted as force-fields warped; fingers stretched, became talons like pointed daggers, impossibly sharp at the tip. Cati rolled away as they stabbed down at him. One slashed his abdomen, but the others missed and buried themselves deep in the metal of the platform. The Mole twisted again, following Cati as he tried to escape. Its gait was no longer possible to mistake as human — like something out of a bad dream, impossibly silent and deadly — and far too quick for even Cati to avoid for long.

  Then a voice shouted at both of them: "Freeze!"

  Roads, Katiya and Cati turned as one to face the voice coming from the ladderwell. Only the Mole ignored it. While Cati was distracted, it stabbed forward again with five rigid talons aimed directly for the killer's undefended throat.

  The gunshot blew it backward across the platform, warping active field-effects at chest-height so it seemed to collapse inward upon itself.

  Barney aimed again as its shape readjusted and came forward. This time the bullet did not encounter anything solid, and passed through the illusion unimpeded. A third time Barney fired, and kept firing until her clip was empty — aiming at throat, hips and nipples ...

  She hit something with her last shot.

  Sparks flew from a point somewhere within the hologram's right chest, and the Mole froze in mid-step.

  With a fierce crackle, the image dissolved into static, then winked out completely. All that remained were the five silver balls at its heart, hanging motionless in midair and humming furiously with pent-up energies.

  As though in sympathy, everything else became still: Roads lying on his back with the bloody transmitter still clutched in his hand, Katiya on the far side of the platform where the Mole had pushed her, Barney in a sharpshooter's stance next to ladderwell — and Cati, solemnly watching them all.

  Then, before anyone could react, Cati turned and ran for the edge of the platform.

  "Cati!" Katiya screamed.

  But Cati took two bounding steps and dived gracefully into space, his huge frame hanging motionless for an instant, then curving as it fell.

  By the time Katiya reached the edge, Cati was gone.

  From far away, almost lost beneath the moaning of the wind, Roads heard a splash.

  Katiya turned away and buried her face in her hands.

  Barney brought the gun down, wiped sweat from her forehead.

  Roads sagged onto his one good elbow and winced at the pain in his back. "Behold the cavalry," he muttered.

  "In the nick of time, right?" Reaching into a pocket, Barney replaced her pistol's clip without looking away from the Mole.

  "Silver bullets?"

  "Lead, actually. I pinched them from Martin."

  "Speaking of which ..." Roads subvocalised: "Can you hear us now?"

  "Clear as a bell," replied the RUSAMC officer. "Whatever caused the problem must have fixed itself."

  Roads mentally thanked Keith Morrow, and remained silent.


  The sound of further movement came from the ladderwell. Barney stepped quickly aside to allow a line of RSD officers onto the platform. They held their weapons nervously, looking for something to aim at.

  "That," said Barney, pointing. "If it so much as moves, give it all you've got."

  Only when she was certain the Mole was covered did she turn away. Crossing the platform to where Roads lay, she reached down to help him to his feet.

  "How're you doing, old man?"

  "Feeling my age, for once." Roads forced a smile through the pain of his injuries. "You missed most of the action."

  "Well, I'm here now." She cast him a mock-scathing look. "The least you could do is show some gratitude."

  "What do you want? You turn up late and scare Cati away, and you expect me to carry you on my shoulders through the streets?"

  "A 'thanks for trying' would be something."

  "Fair point." Roads put his good hand on her arm. As empty as he felt on the inside, she didn't deserve to take the brunt of his disappointment. "I'm sorry. You weren't to blame for Cati. DeKurzak ordered him to jump off the bridge after he had killed me and Katiya."

  "He did? Why bother when we were already on the way?"

  "To hide the evidence. He wanted a nice, convenient tableau to convince the Council that Stedman and I were guilty of something. With me and Cati dead, there would be nobody left to pin the blame on him."

  "Except me." Barney shrugged. "Anyway, DeKurzak himself is dead now, so now no-one's left to mount a case against you."

  "Maybe," Roads said, weariness sinking into his bones.

  "Pessimist." Barney left his side to study the Mole. The silver balls didn't move as she approached; they hung unsupported in mid-air like Christmas decorations minus the tree. The angry buzz continued unabated. "We have to get back and help Roger, Martin," she said into the RUSAMC intercom. "But what about this? What do we do with it now?"