Electric Church ac-1

by Jeff Somers

  As I watched, the street began to dry up. People faded into the shadows, into the buildings, walking away. I’d seen the phenomenon often enough in New York, and when I glanced at Canny I found him looking at me. He nodded, subtly, and I grimaced. It usually meant one thing: System Police were coming. I turned to Jerry Materiel.

  “Cut the crap,” I said, standing up. “Can you fill the order or not?”

  He scratched behind his ear, squinting at the list, his face made up entirely of folds of skin and stubble.

  “Well, yea, I s’pose I ken-”

  Canny was on his feet, too, urging Gatz up. I held up a hand to stop Jerry in midsentence.

  “How much, then?”

  He looked at me from under his eyebrows. “Won’t be cheap, Mr. Cates. I ken ashur ya of that.”

  The street was clearing out, criminals disappearing like water down a drain. My whole body tensed, heart pounding, as I waited for the hammer to drop. But I kept my face calm-the act could never fail, even for a second, or the sharks would smell blood-and half an eye on Materiel’s boys, who were starting to catch the scent of doom, but were still following orders and keeping their distance.

  “Name a price.”

  It was agonizing, watching Materiel do calculations on the fly, precious seconds getting away from us. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see even the Monks packing it up and starting to drift off to greener pastures as word spread. The Electric Church might be the world’s only religion in a few years, but at present the System Pigs were still at the top of the food chain.

  Materiel smiled cunningly and quoted a number that made my hair stand up on my arms. I opened my mouth to protest the obvious gouging, but Orel put a leathery, curiously heavy hand on my arm.

  “Done,” he said to Materiel, holding out his credit dongle in the other hand. “I’m good for it.”

  Materiel ran Orel’s credit and smiled, nodding. “Very well, then, gentlemen. Where shall I make delivery?”

  I was already moving, Gatz and Orel on my heels. “We’ll find you.”

  When we were a few feet away, Orel fell into step next to me. “Looks like a standard SSF hunt-and-gather.”

  I nodded, trying to have my eyes everywhere. “I’m getting tired of running from the fucking Pigs.”

  “Then you should be in another line of work, Mr. Cates.” He gestured behind us. “They’ll be coming from over there, I’m thinking, with a hover in the air over here to herd us.”

  “Right. Split up,” I said, turning sharply away from them and heading for a ruined wall. It looked like a good prospect for a clear way out of the neighborhood. It was best to stay low; the SSF used air superiority ruthlessly. I had gone about four more steps when I heard Orel shout behind me.

  “Run, you idiot!”

  I turned in time to see Orel give Gatz a shove to get him moving as a huge hover, the biggest I’d ever seen, leaped into the air above the ruined church, the roar of its displacement exploding around us, a storm of noise. The few slow people who were still hanging around the street scattered like roaches in the light. I looked down, and a dozen or so System Pigs emerged from the church, guns drawn, moving fast toward us, a cloud of clumsy and unhappy Crushers around them.

  Gatz ran with surprising speed and agility, but Canny stood his ground. Sweeping his coat back to reveal his twin Roons, shining in the dirty light, he drew each and released the custom, old-school safeties with an audible snick of metal on metal.

  “Mr. Cates,” he yelled without looking at me. “You owe me twenty yen, yes?”

  I kept backing away, entranced in spite of myself. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted, horror swamping my better judgment for a moment and rooting me to the spot. “Move your ass!”

  He shook his head. “Cainnic Orel does not run.”

  I whirled and thought to myself, Well, Christ, you’re not Cainnic Orel, and fuck that-Avery Cates does.

  XXV

  HAS DEFINITELY BEEN YOUR LUCKY FUCKING DAY

  00101

  Immediately, there was a volley of shots behind me, like firecrackers. I ducked into the ruined lot behind the crumbling wall and pushed myself to run faster, chalky dust billowing up around me. But the fucking Pigs-despite a Cainnic Orel pretender slinging bullets at them, despite Kev Gatz scurrying away-within a few seconds I knew there were at least three hot on my trail. I tore my dark glasses off and yanked one of the guns from my sack, wondering if there was enough luck left in the universe for it to be loaded.

  I didn’t know anything about London-if there were Safe Rooms buried in these sagging, ancient buildings, where the sewers might lead me, if there were any friendlies nearby who might take me in. I didn’t even know where to hide, and I cursed everything under my breath as I ran. I’d somehow slipped behind the curtain, and was running through a ruined section, all rubble and uncleared streets, staggered walls looking ready to collapse on top of me. To lighten the load and gain a fraction of speed, I tossed the bag with the rest of the guns and popped the clip from the old Roon 85 I’d selected-three lonely armor-piercing bullets shining inside it. Armor-piercers were rare; the cops themselves had stopped using them years ago due to their expense, and they were highly prized in the underground-Jerry must not have realized he had an extra hundred yen in profit sitting in this gun. With one in the chamber that made four shots. Three cops, four shots. It was the biggest break I’d gotten in a while, and it made me nervous.

  The hover displacement in the air got louder; I knew they were trying to find me on the ground in order to guide the streetside cops. I ducked into the nearest doorway, instantly enveloped in stale, dusty dark-and blinded after the relative brightness of the day. I fumbled forward a few steps and then tripped, landing hard on a loose pile of sharp, uneven things. Instinct took over and I went still and silent, biting down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood, cutting off any noise. My breath whistling through my nose sounded thunderous. The only thing I could do was wait for my eyes to adjust and try to be ready.

  It took the cops longer than I expected. After thirty seconds or so, I carefully rolled over onto my back and squinted at the faint outline of the doorway. I raised my gun just in time; a figure appeared, framed in the doorway. I pulled the trigger reflexively, the shot loud enough to bring the whole sagging structure down on me. The shadow crumpled.

  I stared for a moment. Killing System Pigs was starting to be a habit with me, and yet I was still alive. I’d seen what the Pigs did to cop-killers, back in New York. They usually put the body on display once they were done with it, sometimes with an educational sign pinned to it. A few months ago I’d been sick with worry over one mistakenly killed SSF officer. Now I stared blankly and thought it likely I’d manage to kill a few more before fate finally caught up with me. No matter what I did, I was already marked for the rest of my life. The only good news was that my life was probably going to be pretty short.

  I heard a scrape of boot on dust behind me, and like a wire snapping my body rushed back to me. I scrambled backward on my hands, cutting them on the broken rock, still staring at the dimly lit doorway where the cop had been.

  “Cates!” an unfamiliar feminine voice shouted from somewhere within the building. “Colonel Moje sends his regards, and has a message for you: You didn’t run far enough, rat.”

  I spun around onto my hands and knees and rolled until I hit a wall, then went limp. Fuck it. Moje had pronounced his death sentence on me already. Everybody in the fucking world wanted Avery Cates dead, and after twenty-seven years maybe it was time. I could remember my father, coming home from work-a real job-and being greeted by the men in our building, shaking hands, smiling. I could remember the world before, and knew this one wasn’t worth fighting for.

  All this in an instant, in a heartbeat. Then it was just me on the floor, staying low, rapidly losing my sight advantage, and two trained cops trying to kill me. And then I thought: I’ve already killed cops, I can kill as many as I want. Fuck it, no more running.
The cops were about to find out what I was really capable of.

  I closed my eyes and drew a long, deep, silent breath, calming my nerves. If I were a System Pig, capable, arrogant, healthy, and well-equipped, how would I go after Avery Cates? Keeping my eyes closed, I listened. There-over my left shoulder, creak of a leather boot. I pictured the room: three windows to my left, small squares of watery light over a low mound of rubble, and I imagined him there, third window, peering in from the outside.

  Then-the smell of smoke, faint, off to my right. I could see him, coming in from another entrance. I strained and heard light steps. Too light for a man-this was a woman. She was prowling along the wall, feeling her way in the gloom, I imagined I could see the fucking cigarette dangling from her lips, eyes wide as she searched the darkness.

  For a moment, I just imagined their orbits, moving slowly in a standard pattern around me, staying out of each other’s crossfire, listening quietly to the data streams from the hover in the air and their fellow cops on the ground. I knew the moment I made any noise at all, I would have seconds before they gunned me down. I was going to have to make my three bullets count. So I stayed down, eyes shut, smelling the choking dust in the air and feeling the sharp corners of smashed masonry stabbing me in the back.

  When I moved, they moved, instantly.

  I took the guy at the window first-standing behind cover, peering into pitch black from the daylight, he would subconsciously imagine himself safe. I jumped up and spun, opening my eyes. There he was, a big black fat unshaven motherfucker in a huge raincoat, the sort of cop I’d seen a million times shaking down whores and beating some poor kid who stepped the wrong way. Even as I brought the gun up he moved his own arm and ducked down. I tracked him and put the armor-piercing bullet through the wall, and was rewarded by a strangled cry. I could tell from the gurgling noise he made that it wasn’t a kill-shot, but fuck it, he was out of the game for a moment. A moment was all I had anyway.

  I ran.

  Behind me, bullets popped new holes into the load-bearing wall, cement dust flowering and sparks flying, each just centimeters from paralyzing me for life. I didn’t stop to admire them. I ran straight for the wall and threw myself into one of the empty windows, leaping with arms outstretched. I misjudged the opening and slammed my shoulder into the wall, which whipped me around. My feet got caught on the sill. I bent at the waist and slammed into the outside wall, cracking my skull hard enough to make my vision swim. I shook my head and pulled myself through, and was on the damp ground outside again.

  A gurgle next to me made me scramble to my feet, gun ready. The first cop lay on the ground; to my light-shocked eyes the blood looked the same shade as his coffee-colored skin, as if he was melting into a puddle of himself. He moved his arms feebly and kept opening his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out but a wet sound, like he was swallowing his tongue. I decided that he wasn’t much of a threat. My lungs hurt and my mouth was full of dust. I crawled to the wall and pushed myself against it, listening.

  I didn’t hear anything, except the wind and hover displacement. I risked a look up and couldn’t see the SSF ship, but knew it wouldn’t be long before it circled back and spotted me-maybe already had if they were equipped with infrared. Putting myself in the cop’s shoes, I imagined what I would do, trying to feel their disdain for me, their arrogance. What would I do if hunting rats?

  Staying low, I got down on my bloody, shredded knees and began making my way around to the back of the crumbling building. I breathed shallowly and steadily despite my aching chest, and I kept my gun up despite the trembling weariness of my arm. When I’d cleared the windows I stood up carefully, staying flat against the wall, and moved faster. I could almost feel our gravity, pulling us toward each other-and then I heard a faint rustle of fabric, and caught the same scent of smoke. I waited until the last moment, counting heartbeats, and then stepped away from the wall, gun up, a bullet to spare.

  She was just around the corner. Plain-looking; dark hair, olive complexion, husky and formidable. When I popped into her field of vision, there was a split-second when our eyes met, hers a light green I’d never seen before. I saw the most remarkable thing. Fear.

  I’d seen System Pigs laughing and carrying on conversations while they beat suspects to death, I’d seen them take down gangs of people while outnumbered and outgunned without breaking a sweat. I’d never seen one scared before.

  Then she moved, and it was close-the deciding factor not skill, but my armor-piercing bullets. Dumb luck. She feinted left-just a facial tic and a ripple of air, but enough to get my gut going-and then dived fearlessly right, scraping herself on scrap metal and jagged rocks, attaining the cover of a ruined wall.

  I tracked her movement behind the wall and shot twice through it. When I crept around to the other side, she was just lying there, staring at me, eyes flat, chest torn open.

  Weariness swept through me. My legs were soaked in blood from the knees down. My shoulder ached where I’d slammed it in the window. There was no time to contemplate or rest; I could hear the hover in the near distance, searching for me. I jammed my empty gun into my coat and started limping as fast as I could back to the black cop. I stood over him and stared down at him. Still gurgling breath in painful hitches of his chest, he stared back at me, his eyes pink and bloodshot and wide.

  “If you live,” I said slowly, panting, “tell Colonel Moje that Avery Cates says to come do his own dirty work.”

  For a second or two we stared at each other, and then I whirled at a noise, the sound of boots hitting the rubble, as if someone had jumped down from a second story. Despite my exhaustion, amazement crackled through me, because Dick Marin was marching determinedly toward me, a wicked-looking gun stretched out before him.

  He looked like he had that first night: a short, smiling man with pale, pale skin and wrap-around sunglasses, dressed in an expensive suit and overcoat. His mirror-polished leather shoes glinted as he crunched over stone and debris. He held the gun out stiffly as he walked and fucking smiled at me. I had nothing left to fight him off with. If he tries to shoot me, I doubt I’ll even have the energy to fall down.

  “Sorry, Mr. Cates,” he said evenly. “But you’re going to have to give that message to Colonel Moje yourself.”

  He stopped when he was standing directly over the gurgling SSF officer, and without pause or ceremony pumped two shells into the Pig’s face. The cop twitched once and then lay still.

  Marin immediately looked at me, a sharp, sudden twitch of the neck. His grin widened.

  “Smile, Mr. Cates. This has definitely been your lucky fucking day.”

  XXVI

  WE DON’T GO EASY, DO WE?

  00111

  I stared down at my coat as Dick Marin talked, mesmerized by the clean bullet hole that had appeared in the fabric near the hem. I hadn’t even noticed.

  “You have a very strange attitude toward your subordinates, Director Marin,” I said, my voice sounding far away. I wanted to just curl up on the rubble and take a nap.

  He nodded without looking up. “I’m director of Internal Affairs, Mr. Cates, and I have full discretionary powers to investigate officers of the SSF and to take appropriate action once evidence of malfeasance is acquired.” He looked up at me, a sudden, snapshot motion. “Once that evidence has been acquired, logged, and digitized, Mr. Cates, from that moment onward, the officer in question is completely under my authority. Understand? Once I have legally classified them as having committed a crime while working as an SSF officer, they are forfeit to me and my office. This man,” he gestured casually at the body he was leaning over, “is guilty of several felonies, including murder. I chose this moment to remove him from the force with predjudice. All very legal and completely within my powers.”

  I considered this. I considered what percentage of the SSF must be guilty of crimes, and were walking around with those smug, well-fed smiles, not knowing that if it served Dick Marin’s purpose he would snuff them out-legally-
in a moment. The thought cheered me.

  Marin looked back down at the body.

  “Elias Moje, may I someday get that cocksucker in my sights, named you as the main suspect in the Harper kidnapping. He didn’t give a shit whether you actually did it: He knew you were in London, temporarily beyond his reach, so he threw your name out there in order to bring you back within his influence. He did this so he could mobilize the SSF against you.” He cleaned his gun with a portable kit, moving with fast, efficient movements, not even looking at it as he worked. “You moved out of his sphere of influence and then you did the dumbest thing you could have done, taking that woman.”

  I blinked. “How-?”

  Marin cocked his head as if listening to someone very far away, whispering his name. “We are the police, Mr. Cates. Contrary to your experience, we do more than accept bribes, murder innocent men, and strut about in stylish clothes. Ms. Harper filed a memo with her bureau chief in Geneva, noting that she thought she’d seen notable murderer, terrorist, and all-around Anticitizen Number One Avery Cates on a flight to London, and that she was going to poke around a little. As I think I mentioned when we first met, I engaged several others in similar previous and parallel missions, and they are all dead. I sometimes wonder how it is that of all the people I hired to attempt this job over the past few months, you are the one who has survived.”