Flotsam Prison Blues (The Technomancer Novels Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  “At least you think it worked. I was prepared.” Ahlray continued the schoolyard game of “Nuh-uh! I had you! No you didn’t! Yes I did!”

  “Regardless,” Grimm interjected, mostly to stop this banality, “I am correct to assume you plan on letting us go? We may leave and continue our business?”

  “Yes. I am going to get you, one way or another,” Ahlray said. I didn’t need Grimm’s truth-telling power to know he meant it.

  “Then you will have to excuse us. We have business elsewhere,” Grimm said, standing up and motioning for me to join him. I downed the rest of my drink and stood up.

  “See you soon. Sooner than you think,” was all Ahlray said as we left Dante’s.

  This day was just shaping up to be a benchmark of freaking weirdness. I was glad night was coming so it would be over with and I could go back to being a normal cyborg land baron who was in massive debt.

  Too bad things never work out the way you want them to.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wish Fulfillment Through High Explosives

  In the past, whenever I was planning a smash-and-grab job, I gave myself more than a few hours of planning. Sad to say, being a thief and being a lightrunner usually go hand in hand. Usually I’d give myself time to scope out the location, do my research on the target’s security, and plan several ways in and out.

  I always, always, always took just the items I planned on. If you got greedy mid-job, then that was how you got caught. And this new world’s version of a justice system was guilty until proven innocent.

  Father Grimm and I sat in his outrider waiting. It was like one of the old buddy cop movies when the two partners were on a stakeout. They would banter and expose deep things about themselves and bond, but for us, there was only silence and brooding as we checked out the warehouse on a middle-upper level of Windy Spires.

  The warehouse itself should have seemed out of place, being this was mostly an affluent residential area. But the locals had taken up the industrial chic look. They made it look like a neon Gotham, from the dark, Schumacher period of Batman movies when everything looked like electric stonework and cyberpunk.

  From what I could gather, Windy Spires was where the demonic nobility sent their bastards and troubled children. I guess douchebag privileged rich kids were prevalent even in the demon world.

  Not all the snotty demon locals were topside born. Some actually came up when Hell rose after G-Day. After the wars died down and a sense of order came out of the chaos. The seven princes of Hell, the oldest and most powerful demons, claimed their territories; the scraps were fought over and assigned by rank. So low-ranking nobility like Andromalius got stuck with places like this.

  Can you go over it again, Mom? I asked, sending the signal back to my lair via the data-transmission port in my head.

  Of course. According to The Lesser Key of Solomon, Count Andromalius was something of a misfit in demon culture. He actually caught thieves and punished them. He could discover dishonest men and their dealings and recover stolen goods.

  No wonder he took a shine to me. Thanks, Mom.

  My pleasure, dear. Do be careful.

  I will, Mom. Thanks, I said, switching off the connection.

  My collection was obtained by less than honorable means, which made it pretty damn tempting to the Count. But something told me that in the new world, Andromalius wasn’t in the business of returning goods.

  If The Field’s intel was right, then he was a collector himself, a rival. And he was making a profit off my own hard-earned, oftentimes stolen, merchandise.

  How dare he steal what I rightfully stole!

  Grimm and I fired up the outrider again and did another sweep of the neighborhood. We didn’t want to drive by too many times. It would be suspicious. So we would do a drive-by, check out what we saw, wait an hour or so, and repeat. This latest sweep confirmed our beliefs.

  Andromalius was having a party at his home. Security there seemed lax at first glance. Normal Wrath demon bouncers were stationed outside, with some heavily armed private security humans, cyborgs, and hellions in formal wear inside the place. But after a few sweeps, Grimm and I both noted image recognition cameras mounted outside the museum and along nearby street corners. They in turn were relayed to the sniper points at lookout posts above us at the adjacent buildings.

  The guests going into the party confirmed my suspicion. Douchebags. So many douchebags. The majority of the partygoers were demons, dressed ironically like slacker kids from the late 1990s and early 2000s. While I will always hold a soft spot in my heart for my formative years—the music, the clothes, and the culture—we sure were a bunch of whiny crybabies back then. A lot of self-indulgent personal pain expressed in flannel shirts and grunge music.

  Watching these demons mock my childhood made me hate them even more. They laughed and cackled while human servants attended them. They reeked of money, power, privilege, and worst of all, abundance of free time coupled with no responsibility. I kind of wanted to drive by one more time, toss thirty pounds of Semtex though the main doors, and press “detonate.”

  Wish fulfillment through high explosives aside, Grimm and I had a job to do. So we continued past the party before the IRC caught us and reported back to the snipers to start taking shots. Something told me I was not on his guest list.

  We settled back into our spot just outside of Andromalius’s storage warehouse. Compared to the party he was throwing, this seemed like a walk in the park. Which was why I was extra cautious. Odds were he was just as paranoid about his possessions as I was.

  The warehouse itself was set fifty yards or so back from the twenty-foot-high energy fence surrounding the complex. Armed men were posted at the main and rear entrances. The only windows were the top-level skylights. It stood there, neat, nearly naked, and tempting. It looked safe, which meant it probably wasn’t.

  I switched my eyes through various modes of the color spectrum. Infrared, ultraviolet, spectrometer and radio telescopes. And the building was cold. Nothing. No place in this world is devoid of some kind of energy source or temperature spike or something. Which meant this place was shielded. So yeah, we were definitely in the right spot.

  “This place has some major shielding going on. No signal is getting out or going in and it’s cold as a tomb,” I told Grimm and lit a smoke. I pulled out a thermos Grimm kept in the outrider and poured both of us a cup of coffee. Grimm accepted and we continued our stakeout.

  Lighting a smoke, I thought about what the exact plan to get into this place would be. I liked thinking out loud. I found it helped me work out problems.

  “Do you think this is wise? Perhaps Rictus was accurate. Perhaps this is something you should let go and just accept.”

  “I was waiting for you ask me that. And the answer is ‘Yes’. Not so much for the other vault items, even though I will get them back. But this is about reputation.”

  “So hubris is your enemy here, then?”

  “No.” I shook my head and took another sip of coffee. “This prick came into my life, for whatever reason,” I started. “He took it upon himself to steal from me, and probably hire the assassins as well. The fact is, if he could do it, so could anyone else. I have survived over the years by cultivating a certain reputation. Semi-honest dealings at gouge-level pricing. But above all that is the simple rule: Fuck with me and you are the one going down.”

  Grimm pondered that a moment. “So, your reputation as a ‘badass’ is what is at stake then? That seems rather short-sighted and self-indulgent, do you not think?”

  “Nope,” I said, flicking the cigarette butt out the window and lighting another.

  “Because why?”

  “Because of the near three thousand people I’m responsible for,” I said, getting a little pissed that Grimm doubted me.

  “What of them?” Grimm asked.

  “What the fuck is your problem, man?!” I asked, no longer caring or bothering to hide my anger. “What kind of dumbass question is
that? If these thieves and killers think I’m an easy target, then they are going to keep trying, regardless of whether I get my stuff back. Over and over they are going to come after me. And by coming after me, the people of Löngutangar are vulnerable. In order to protect them, I have to show these colossal douche-nozzles that I am no one to fuck with. Does that make ANY goddamn sense to you?!”

  Man, I was heated up. I wanted to drink gasoline and spew righteous fire on Grimm right about then. When Grimm said nothing, I started to calm down and use my brain for something more than a creative swear word generator. Once I did, I realized what Grimm was doing.

  “You just wanted to see my real motivations. Make sure I was doing this for something more than my pride, weren’t you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course,” Grimm responded, then took a sip of his own coffee. “In anger and intoxication, man shows his true feelings.”

  “And? If my motivations were pure ego?”

  “I would have helped you anyway. You are my friend, after all.”

  That surprised me. Grimm really would have come along while I stole my crap back, if that was all there was. Damn. I guess he wasn’t as big a dick as I’ve been saying.

  “Another question for you,” Grimm said.

  “Another deep psychological revelation?”

  “No. But one that needs to be asked. Why would Andromalius go after Jensen’s arm? There is no reason to.”

  I’d been pondering that one myself. In truth, Grimm was right: There was not reason for Andromalius to steal it. The other stuff from my vault, sure. But Jensen’s arm? That had no value to anyone but me, and to some degree, Jensen.

  “Those are the million-credit questions, aren’t they? Who informed Andromalius about the arm? And how did he know the locations and codes to access the vaults? By taking the arm, it pretty damned well ensured there would be some sort of reaction on my part. Someone wants me here, walking into what is no doubt a trap.”

  “So we are back to the original question. Do you think this is wise?” Grimm asked.

  “No, it isn’t,” I conceded. “But it has to be done. Whoever is behind this made sure of that. So there is only one thing to do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Spring the trap.”

  ************************

  An hour or so later, after Andromalius’s party was in full booze mode, Grimm and I ventured out of the outrider and headed towards the warehouse. It was night and the streetlights were on, casting pretty impressive lights.

  The brighter, well-lit streets made our nefarious plans a little harder to pull off. So it took us a while to move from the outrider to a partially shadowed section of the road along Andromalius’s warehouse complex. The key was to look like we belonged and hope whoever was monitoring the corner street cameras was too bored to notice us.

  Of course, neither Grimm nor I looked like we belonged—he in his perpetual black robes and hat and me in my T-shirt, jeans, and boots still covered in assassin blood and brain matter. I needed to ask Grimm one of these days if he would consider using some of his magic to make my clothes resistant to stain and blood and all the other crap I come into contact with on a regular basis.

  Staring at the energy fence, I decided the best way was simply over it. Not elegant or tricky. But then again, the defense planner didn’t expect someone breaking in could jump that high. I engaged my cybernetic-enhanced strength, activated my pulse boots, and leaped over the fence. Grimm simply vanished and reappeared on the other side.

  “Showoff,” I told Grimm, who only smiled and gestured for me to follow.

  Once we found our spot in the shadows along the warehouse’s long southern side and away from the cameras, I started tapping out a hack on the holo-terminal on my tech bracers. I needed to see what kind of security this place had. After a few useless moments, I gave up.

  “Nothing. Nothing in there is wireless. At least, nothing connected to his security,” I said. This bastard was clever.

  “And your own home? How many wireless ports are there for people to hack your system?” Grimm asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yeah yeah. None. Because I’m smart, and apparently so is this guy.”

  “Or whoever installed the system,” Grimm said, his voice denoting an idea.

  “Yeah. I think you are on to something there. Demons are shit with technology. So, he probably paid someone to install it. Some human. If it was a company, they keep records. And no matter how honest the company claims to be, they always have back doors into their own security. Let’s find out.”

  I opened my own wireless transmitter and secured a link back to my lair. Dad, you online? I mentally asked.

  Yes, son, I am. Oh, you should see what T is working on now. The man is more of a genius than ever before! With the technology available to him now, there is no telling what—

  Dad. Focus. Hero worship later. I need you to research something for me.

  Oh. Sorry. Sure. What do you need? I knew my dad was like a kid in a candy store with his idol working alongside him. But I had to keep on task, even if I could tell he felt hurt that I cut him off. I was getting really sick of his persistent cheerful attitude. It was his own damn fault and I was the one who had to suffer. Long story.

  Dad, I’m outside of a warehouse in the Windy Spires district. Use my location for reference. Grimm and I need to know if a security company did any work here recently or ever. If so, what was the company. I will let you know what to do after that.

  Sure thing, son. But have you given any more thought to having a direct link to the Ultra Net through your Collective? my dad asked for the hundredth time.

  Dad, how many times are we going to go over this? The old internet, while useful, was a filthy, porn-tastic, virus-infested whorehouse of disease. The Ultra Net is worse. Every cyborg that has tried to link directly goes crazy cakes in no time and kills everyone around him or himself.

  But you are not like other cyborgs, Dad noted. And while that was true, I did not want to take that chance.

  Dad, research. Please.

  Sure, son. But it’s done already.

  Damn, Dad. That was fast.

  Power of a supercomputer AI processor, my dad gloated. OK, Andromalius’s security was in a constant state of upgrade. He has been collecting for many years and the latest rash of security upgrades was performed five years or so ago by a small security company called Grayrock Security after several break-in attempts.

  Never heard of them. Where are they located?

  Nowhere now. Andromalius had their corporate headquarters razed five years ago after installation. They were a small group and no one cared that they were obliterated, Dad’s AI told me.

  Guess there’s not a company software to hack then, I said. Damn. Guess Andromalius was paranoid that some asshole like me would use the company’s code and hack his system. And as it happens to be, rightfully so. Shit.

  OK, Dad, thanks. Looks like we are going to have to try another route on this one.

  Be careful, son.

  I will, Dad. Go back to playing with T. I closed my transmission port.

  The entire conversation with my dad took about four seconds in real time. That’s the beauty of computer-based conversations. I turned to Grimm and shook my head.

  “No go, hoss. Andromalius had the company that installed the security destroyed.”

  “Paranoid, but effective,” Grimm said, and I had to agree. “We require a new approach then.”

  “Any suggestions?” I asked. Grimm closed his eyes and laid a hand along the wall of the warehouse. His mystic senses could possibly penetrate the building where my tech failed. Grimm tilted his head to the side, as if he heard something. And from the grimace on his face, it was something he didn’t like.

  “Wait here. I will be right back. Do not try to enter,” Grimm said.

  “Why?”

  “If you do, you will die.” And with that, he melted away into mist and nothingness
, leaving me alone in the shadow of the warehouse.

  Dick.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He Kissed Me

  Father Grimm materialized within the warehouse. He made himself dim, nearly invisible to any motion camera.

  Due to his “condition,” Grimm was capable of many amazing things, even beyond what his magic allowed. The man known as Grimm was no longer human. Therefore, he was not subject to the rules of man. When he chose the time, he was effectively a dead man.

  No heartbeat.

  No body heat.

  Invisible.

  No signs of life on any scan made by man.

  The “man” he was now was a long way removed from the simple shepherd he once was. Now, he was Father Grimm, mage and dark protector of mankind. So perhaps in that way, he was still the shepherd.

  Now, I have work to do, Grimm thought to himself.

  He assessed the warehouse. Multi-tiered, multi-leveled, lit by overhead LED lights with rows and rows of storage crates in various states of packaging. Digital manifests at the end of each row detailed the stored crate’s contents. Grimm noted the building was locked down in a rather intriguing and ingenious way: It was devoid of oxygen.

  The pressure of the vacuum ensured all the doors were sealed stronger than a magna-lock. From the look of the canisters positioned all along the rafters, should someone break the vacuum lock, the room would be flooded with some sort of gas, a neurotoxin, most likely. Energy field generators were carefully placed and concealed to lock the thief inside to ensure the gas paralyzed any thieves, preventing any chance of escape as they died in the vacuum. Fiendish.

  The tech, while very modern and very capable, was incapable of tracking and containing a dead man who chose not to be seen. Grimm examined various manifests and the date of entry for the items were not matching up with date of Salem’s vault’s thefts.

  Grimm looked at the warehouse as a whole and came to the conclusion the warehouse was just a front. He summoned a small amount of his energy and sent vibrations rippling through the warehouse, like sonar ping, or magical radar. The returning signals let him know there was indeed a large and very secured holding room beneath this one.