Streetlethal

by Steven Barnes

  "Good evening," Margarete said gravely. "It is sad that it takes such unpleasantness to gather our family together. That is often the. way of life. We must determine the nature of the event that took place on February 19, 2022."

  Her voice was much stronger than it had been earlier. This was her Family, and before them she would show no weakness.

  "Aubry Knight and the woman known as Promise, you are here to bear witness to the events of that night. You will tell us everything that you know. Omit nothing. The slightest variation from the truth will be severely punished."

  Aubry spoke carefully as he recounted the events: the formulation of the plan, his climb up the rope, and Luis's death.

  As he spoke, he made a special effort to feel out towards them.

  If only I could hear them. Touch them. What are they thinking?

  Beside him, Promise stiffened.

  AUBRY. I KNOW WHAT IT WAS THAT BOTHERED ME. MIRABAL IS IN LEAGUE WITH WU.

  WHY? WHAT DO THEY WANT?

  "Continue, Mr. Knight."

  Aubry looked up at them, and for the first time, his half-formed thoughts began to coalesce. He went on, and as he did, felt Promise probing his mind for pieces of information.

  Ignore the pieces. What is the larger picture?

  Aubry stopped talking. The escape from Death Valley. Too easy. Casa Ortega. Too easy.

  "You are here to bear witness ..."

  "There was something in that house that broke through your conditioning "

  "Mr. Knight? Have you finished?"

  He couldn't find the words anymore, and it was Promise who spoke. "He's finished, because you already know the truth. This is a farce. You already know that Tomaso set Luis up to be killed."

  Tomaso came upright in his seat, then stood slowly. "What did you say?"

  "I said that they know, Tomaso. You thought you were bringing us here? You poor fool. They suckered you into coming here so that they could pass judgement on you. That's what all of this is about.

  "We're not on trial, Tomaso. We're witnesses. We were just tools. You programmed Aubry. You set him loose from Death Valley. You made sure he could get in to kill your brother. You gave him one of your damned implants in his side. It had to be. There was no other way for anyone to get past the defense screen—"

  "Lies!" Tomaso pointed an accusing finger. It trembled. "Lying bitch!" He pulled a gun from his coat, aiming at her head.

  Aubry dropped to the ground instantly, cutting Promise's feet out from under her, angling so that she fell atop his cushioning body. The bullet struck sparks against the far wall. Margarete's attendant grabbed at the gun frantically.

  "No guns, Tomaso." Margarete tried to raise her head from its cushion. "This is my home, and I will have no guns within it. You will release that weapon at once."

  "Check Aubry!" Promise gasped. "Check the implant! Find out who gave it to him at the prison, how they knew the security code that was used at Casa Ortega!"

  "Lies!" Tomaso screamed again, and there was another gunshot. The attendant staggered back from him and fell against the curved bubble of Margarete's egg, leaving a dark stain.

  Tomaso had lost all control, the smoking gun in his hand twitching as he turned to Margarete. "Grandmother." His round face sagged as if the facial muscles had been severed with a scalpel. "These are l-lies." Margarete's face was cold, and from the corners of the room, guards were moving to intercept him, shock prods whining. He waved them away with the point of his pistol. "And... and even if they were true, it would only have been for the Family. The Family is everything to me. You know that." He screamed it. "You know that!"

  One of her grandsons grabbed him from behind. Wu sat impassively, watching as the two struggled, as Tomaso broke free with a desperate wrench and clubbed the man down.

  The men and women in the room were clearing the tiers frantically, heading for the doors which had opened for them on all sides.

  Tomaso aimed the pistol through the plastic bubble, directly at Margarete's head. "Get back, all of you." His voice was too high, cracking, and his body was racked with tremors. "I don't want this. I don't want any of this. I only did it for the Family. He was ruining the business. He was killing his best employees, squandering money—" He wheeled and fired, catching an approaching guard in the shoulder. The man flopped back, groaning. Tomaso had the gun pointed back at the bubble in an instant.

  Margarete's face was frozen in contempt and shame as Tomaso pleaded. "He had hold of a new drug, the strongest, most valuable—"

  There was a series of clicks. Guards had dropped to their knees, rifle barrels pinioning Tomaso.

  "No!" Margarete screamed. "He is mine. His blood must not be spilled. Whoever kills him, dies."

  Tomaso looked around him, backing away from her. "Just let me go. I just want—" He shot at one of the guards, who ducked away. Tomaso ran and fired twice more, clearing the corridor before disappearing along it.

  Margarete turned her face to the side, tears spilling from her eyes. "It's my fault," she said softly, unaware that the sound of her voice was amplified and carried to all ears.

  Wu leaned close to her. "Margarete. He will never leave the island alive. The guards, the others—they have heard your words, but one will shoot, and no one will remember who."

  "Then what? What can I do? My family is all there is. All I have."

  "What if I can bring him back?" Wu asked carefully, eyes glittering. "What if I can save him?"

  She turned to him, her dead eyes staring through him. "Anything. Anything you want."

  He stood, and pulled out a security card. "Diego," he said clearly. "Move your people into position. Apprehend Tomaso." His eyes widened, and he looked around the room. "Knight," he whispered. "Knight and the woman. They are gone "

  Aubry and Promise hid in a storage room off a darkened corridor, listening to the sound of running feet. There was gunfire and screaming upstairs, but that was too far away for them to think about. She laid her cheek against him.

  HOW MANY MEN DOES TOMASO HAVE?

  I'M NOT SURE. MIRABAL AND WU HAVE TURNED AGAINST HIM. MIRABAL WILL PROBABLY TRY TO GET WU PUT IN AS THE NEW HEAD OF WEST COAST. HE'S FAMILY. ANY SECURITY MEN TOMASO BROUGHT WITH HIM MAY GO EITHER WAY. MOST OF THE OTHER FAMILY WOULD HAVE BEEN AGAINST HIM ANYWAY, BUT POINTING THE GUN AT MARGARETE CINCHED IT. HE'S DEAD. AND SO ARE WE, IF WE CAN'T GET OFF THE ISLAND.

  BUT HOW?

  Feet were approaching. Aubry opened the door a crack and waited until he saw that there were only two of them before he made up his mind. As they passed he exploded out, attacking from behind. A kick to the back of the knee drove one to the floor before he could even begin to turn. The other got halfway around and was met by a spinning thrust kick just under the right floating rib, damaging bone and liver.

  Tied hands threw Aubry's balance off badly. He lost a step in covering the distance between them, and the first man had time to get his gun up before Aubry landed on them with both feet. The gun fired in a hiss of compressed gas, and the flaming sting of a needle gouged a furrow through his cheek.

  He spit blood and dropped to his knees, dizzy. "Margarete said no guns," he said in disgust. "Here. Prop him up." Promise helped Aubry wrap his legs around the man's trunk and arms. She cupped the guard's face in her hands, and relaxed.

  Nothing at first, just a rolling blackness, clouds of ink in water.

  The man twitched into consciousness, and Promise held his jaw and mouth as he struggled.

  In the background, the dull sound of an alarm buzzer rang through the walls.

  Now there were images from the terrified guard, and she concentrated, sorting them out. The layout of the island: the house, and its three levels: bomb shelter, guest quarters, house proper. Outside: stands of trees, gardens. A solar still. Communications shack?

  NO. WE COULDN'T GET ANYONE HERE IN TIME. WE NEED TRANSPORTATION.

  THEY'LL BE WATCHING THE DOCKS, AUBRY, AND I CAN'T FLY ONE OF THOSE MASS-TRANSPORT SKIMMERS. CAN YOU?
<
br />   NO. BUT THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING. SOMETHING.

  They coiled around the guard tightly, joining, pulling images and sensations from him and sorting through them carefully.

  Medical emergency.

  It was the briefest flash of memory, months old. An image, broadening out into a sudden shadow play. The sound of klaxons and running feet. Guards and medical personnel clearing the way; an unconscious Margarete wheeling through the halls of her house, the egg on automatic. Doors sighed open before her, and the egg slid out into the open air, down a gleaming track, where a three-seat transport skimmer waited. It eased into the side of the craft, and the two medical attendants hurried into their places, monitoring her life functions with care.

  Without any prodding from the attendants, the gleaming wedge lifted on its fans, finally washing the ground below with burning air as it flashed towards the mainland.

  hospital. Excitement ripped through Promise's thoughts like live steam, automatic medical transport, set to ride in on a homing beacon, in case of life-support failure, MARGARETE'S egg automatically heads for the transport.

  WHERE?

  They pulled a final image: a nearby corridor and a set of colored buttons, triggered in sequence. Then the guard bit Promise's hand, and when she jerked it away, began to scream. Aubry bore down savagely with his legs, and felt the ribs splinter.

  She helped him up, in the touch continuing to trade with him all that they had pulled from the guard. She took the needle rifle and shifted it around in her hands until she could cradle it comfortably despite her bound wrists. They turned and moved off down the corridor.

  Aubry could feel his contact with the guard dissolving, and fought to stay in the same space. I've been here before. I've been this way. I know this hall, he told himself over and over as the image§ slipped away.

  He stopped at a crossway and concentrated fiercely. There were feet approaching from the other direction, pattering distantly. Promise pulled at his arm.

  AUBRY—NOT THAT WAY.

  But he was staring, muscles straining as he forced himself in the direction of the footsteps.

  IT'S THIS WAY, PROMISE. WE HAVE TO HURRY.

  Halfway down the hall was a steel door. At its side was a vertical row of colored buttons. Aubry closed his eyes and visualized the image of the sequence.

  Blue, red, green. He fought to move his bound hands into position to push the buttons, but couldn't. Promise covered the corridor with the rifle as the footsteps and voices grew nearer.

  She looked at him in desperation and set the rifle on end against the wall, punching at the buttons.

  Blue, red, green, blue —

  With a clatter, the rifle slid down the wall and hit the floor. There was a clamor of voices, and the footsteps broke into a run as the door slid open. Promise snatched at the rifle, but Aubry shouldered her into the elevator as the men came around the corner. He jabbed his elbow into the "Close door" button as the guards came into view. Bullets and needles spattered against sheet steel.

  He scanned the buttons quickly. "Second from the top. 'Medical Emergency.'" Promise punched it, and the elevator began to move.

  Aubry collapsed against the wall, sucking air. The sound of rifle butts banging against the doors disappeared beneath them as the lift rose. His gaze swept Promise, and she smiled. "You're a mess," he said gently.

  She nodded, brushing at her hair self-consciously. "Didn't use to be."

  "I know, baby." He looked up at the floor indicator. "Promise—

  "Don't say it, Aubry," she whispered. "We're almost clear, aren't we?"

  He nodded, and their eyes locked, sharing the lie. "We sure are."

  The elevator stopped. Then the doors opened to the outside of the house. It was dusk. Firelight from the direction of the docks made the cactus shadows dance on the ground. Gleaming steel rails led to the tiny medic skimmer.

  Between them and the skimmer were Mirabal, Wu, and two of Mirabal's men, pointing a rifle and pistol unwaveringly at Promise and Aubry.

  Mirabal blinked. "Step out, Aubry. Please. You surprise me—you really do. I had no idea you knew this house well enough to end up here. I had expected Tomaso. Please—"

  They stepped out slowly, faces neutral, hope dying within them.

  "What's the fire?" Aubry asked.

  "Some of Tomaso's idiots. A few of the others who sided with him. Distractions. Trying to help him get away. They'll all be dead soon, and we'll find him. I want him alive."

  Promise leaned against Aubry.

  I'M GOING TO DO IT, AUBRY. DISTRACT THEM. ANYTHING.

  Mirabal was still talking. "Aubry, you know, I rather hope that you can give me a reason to keep you alive."

  "So you can fight me or screw me?"

  "It doesn't really matter, does it?" He smiled, showing even white teeth. "You can fool other people, but not me."

  Aubry was silent. He felt Promise's weight against him as she went limp.

  Wu was very still. "Diego," he said firmly, "this man is dangerous. Best to kill him now."

  Aubry looked past them into the darkness, and smiled sourly. "Your move, Tomaso."

  One of the guards turned his head slightly, and missed the buildup as Promise exhaled harshly, tensing her muscles and sending a charge into her Plastiskin that built from quiescence to full output in just over one second. The flash of light was like a silent thermite explosion, and even with his eyes shut against the glare, Aubry still saw the veins in his lids outlined in blazing crimson.

  He was moving before the flare died, and hit the ground, rolling up off his shoulder. The guard fired blindly.

  Aubry ignored the pain of his cruelly mashed hands and arched his body out straight. His feet lanced out at the end of his roll and smashed into the guard perfectly, sending him cannoning into the second guard, both rifle and handgun discharging, one with a hiss, the other with an explosive flash. Promise screamed.

  The kicked guard dropped instantly, shooting at point-blank range. The second man rolled into the surrounding cactus, screaming as the spines bit into him. One hand covered his eyes, the other clawed at his side. Aubry took a chance and ignored him, pivoting back toward Wu.

  It had been three seconds since the flash.

  Mirabal was still shaking his head. Wu was already groping out and Aubry kicked sharply once with his left, intending to bounce back from the little man and go straight into Mirabal.

  But the incredible happened. Blinded, Wu evaded the kick, swirling behind it to lash up at Aubry's groin. Aubry felt the move rather than saw it, tightening the arc of his circle so that he completed it faster, dropping his foot down to block with his shin. He rammed forward with his shoulder, but again Wu wasn't there. Something hit him between the shoulder blades with the impact of a sledgehammer and his left leg was swept out from under him.

  Aubry twisted desperately as he went down, turning the fall into a partial somersault, whipping his right leg back to kick up over his shoulder. It was a free-fall maneuver, almost impossible to predict or counter. He felt the muscles tearing with the strain, but his foot connected solidly at the impossible angle, and Wu dropped, unconscious.

  Six seconds had elapsed.

  Aubry limped up, breathing heavily, and turned barely in time to meet the charge of Diego Mirabal.

  The man's shoulder took him in the stomach, driving what breath remained from his lungs. They went down, Aubry's head barely missing a stand of cactus, Diego's arms locked around him, pinioning him tightly.

  Pain exploded in Aubry's body, and in that moment the sickening realization of Diego MirabaTs superior strength hit home with the impact of a grenade.

  He felt a rib go. Mirabal reared his head back, grinning. Aubry slammed forward, butting Mirabal in the face with all of the strength in his neck and shoulders. He distinctly felt Mirabal's inose break. The man grunted, but the hold didn't slacken at all.

  He butted again and felt teeth go. Mirabal smiled.

  My God — he likes the pain.<
br />
  Panic poured over Aubry like a sheet of lava. A chilling voice in the back of his mind whispered Give up You can't beat him.

  No. I can't — so why am I trying to?

  Aubry hunched his chin down on his chest, and with the greatest effort of will of his life, relaxed. In that moment, his feelings stretched out beyond his skin, penetrated into Mirabal as if the two of them shared one body. Life and death, pain and ecstasy, Mirabal and Knight. One.

  Mirabal felt Aubry's resistance drop to nothing, below nothing, and for a hideous second, he had the sensation that what he held wasn't a human being but a construct of his own mind. He felt the pain of his own crushing embrace, felt ribs giving way. Sudden fear gnawing at him, he drew back, bloody mouth open in shock.

  Aubry's legs jackknifed up and he got a knee into Mirabal, and then a foot, screaming as he heaved. Mirabal tumbled back, shaking the ground with his impact.

  Aubry fought onto his side and concentrated, bringing his wrists down to his hips, ignoring the pain as he fought them past, as the plastic bond cut into his wrists, slicing the skin away. He ground his teeth together as his wrists slipped over his hip, and he feverishly passed his legs through them as Mirabal rolled up and oriented himself, smiling as he saw Aubry's bound hands come around to the front.

  Mirabal swallowed, the grin becoming feral in its hunger. "I knew you'd be good, Aubry." His voice was low, husky.

  He charged, face masked with blood, eyes burning, great hands outstretched. Aubry joined with him for a moment, felt the movement, felt the dance, then parted when a knee driven into the ribs bounced him out.

  Without thought, without hesitation, he rejoined, and again there was the slithering blur of movement. Suddenly he was outside Mirabal's grasping arms. His clenched fists hammered the side of Diego's head, the meaty edge of a hand striking directly over the eardrum, the concussive force rupturing an eardrum.

  Mirabal hit the ground and rolled. This time he didn't pause even a second but sprang up, taking Aubry's kick, taking the clubbing hands, eating it all and smiling through the hideous, mashed face.

  I can't stop him. I can't stop him —