by Jeff Somers
We all stood up, but the blonde pointed at me. “Just him, eh?” she said. When the Poet and Mara hesitated, her cheeks suddenly bloomed red. “Sit the fuck down,” she said, snapping her fingers once. The three grunts behind her instantly raised their modified shredders. Mara and the Poet sat down, hands up in placating gestures. The Monk sat down like it had just remembered the maneuver and wanted to try it out.
I smiled around the cell. “Set me wide,” I said to Mara, and winked.
The army had built a temporary base a quarter mile outside of what had once been Shenzhen. It was temporary in the sense that they had built it in a few weeks and its erosion from natural forces might possibly predate the sun’s going supernova. I followed the blonde down a corridor that felt tight and sealed, underground, with power lines snaking their way above us, the air sterile and crank. Everything else might be falling apart, but the grunts still had a way with resources.
We’d only been on the move for a few minutes when she stopped outside another impressive-looking metal door with a spray-painted series of numbers on it. She knocked once, crisply, and then stepped aside as the door sagged inward and she gestured me inside. I sketched her a little salute as I pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes, feeding one into my mouth, and entered.
I’d expected an office, a small tight room with Anners behind a desk, so I was startled at the sudden sense of space. It was a huge room carved out of a natural cave, lit from above by several banks of bright white lamps, giving everything an unnatural crispness, the shadows sharp enough to cut. It was filled with the buzz of people, white uniforms moving around talking to themselves, trading stacks of paper and barking orders. I stood for a moment, watching and wondering why everyone was bent over staring at their feet, until I noticed the huge map of the System on the floor, the whole world stretched out and distorted so it could lie flat. I’d never seen the whole fucking thing laid out like that. The cities were marked with black and white dots, and the whole deal was carved up into red and green overlays indicating who held what. Just a few feet away from me was Shenzhen, glowing army green. Inches away, Hong Kong island was burning red. Hong Kong was marked with a white dot, Shenzhen with a black one—based on what I’d seen of Shenzhen, I assumed black meant the city wasn’t there anymore.
There were a lot of black dots.
“Over here, Mr. Cates.”
I glanced up. In the middle of the room—and of the map—was a long table. It was a lazy oval, and in its center were a dozen large Vidscreens, about half black and empty, the rest flashing a rainbow of colors as coded data sped by. A knot of uniforms were standing and sitting around the table, and at the far end I could see Anners, silvery hair close-cut and perfect, nose still as crooked as the Hudson River.
I started walking toward him. He stared at me the whole way, looking hungry. If anything, Anners looked better than the last time I’d seen him, as if reducing a city to sludge and organizing an army or two around Hong Kong was feeding him instead of draining him. He watched me all the way, those bright bicolor eyes locked on, and I slowed my pace deliberately. It wouldn’t do to act scared or intimidated.
When I stood in front of him, he pursed his lips and looked me over. “You look like somethin’ I left in the latrine this mornin’, Mr. Cates.” He winked. “You shoulda stayed with army life. No life like an army life. You’d be like a shiny bright penny if you’da stuck with it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The SFNA’s been in existence for, what, two, three years? What the fuck do you even know about army life? ”
His face darkened, and his gray eyes got hard, losing their humor. Suddenly he grinned, shaking his head. “Mouthy bastard. But you crossed fuckin’ hell just because you wanted into my unit, and that speaks well of you, Mr. Cates.”
I shook my head. Every muscle in my body ached; I didn’t have the energy for bullshit like this. “I’ve got a business proposal for you, Colonel.”
His smile flashed away. His eyes, too white, fixed on me for a moment and then he was up. “Umali, with me,” he snapped, striding past me. “This way, Cates,” he hissed as he stepped past me. I saw the short, tan Umali stand up from the crowd of white uniforms around the table and scamper to join us.
Anners led me to an unmarked door that swung inward as he approached and snapped shut behind me. It was the small room I’d expected, with just a cramped-looking desk of charred metal and nothing else. Anners spun and sat on the desk with his arms—bulging beneath the shiny, creepy white fabric of his uniform—crossed over his chest, staring at me, while Umali walked around with a small black device held out in front of him. After a moment, the smaller man nodded and looked up.
“Clear, sir,” he said.
Anners nodded once without taking his eyes off me. “You tryin’ to get me shot in the fuckin’ head, Mr. Cates? Talking about business proposals in the clear like that?” He shrugged his silvery eyebrows. “I got a Spook CO, see?” He sighed, looking down at his shiny black boots. “Fuckin’ reading minds.”
I shrugged. I didn’t give a shit if Colonel Anners got fragged by his superior officers, and it was good to let him know that. “I want to contribute to your retirement fund. Since you’re a man who doesn’t blush at selling people out of his service, I figured there’s plenty of other things you won’t mind doing.”
Anners studied his boots, arms still crossed in front of himself as if he were afraid they’d go rogue and wanted to keep his hands trapped under his armpits. Then he looked up. “All right, Mr. Cates. Whoever bought you out paid a nice sum, so you got yen behind you. All right. Let’s hear it.”
I nodded. “I need to get into Hong Kong.”
He smiled. “So do we. I’ve got a hundred thousand men and six armor divs, and we’re still sitting here pullin’ our puds.”
Putting a cigarette in my mouth, I fought every nerve in my body in order to appear calm and relaxed. Everything hurt. My thoughts were slick and syrupy, and every time I moved without thinking, I had to fight the urge to gasp and wince. “I’m not talking about a hundred fucking thousand assholes in bright white uniforms,” I said, miming a request for permission to reach for a lighter. “I’m talking four people and a duffel bag. Don’t tell me you’re not getting people on and off the island.”
Anners nodded, waving away my request. “Sure, sure, we gettin’ people in and out. Ain’t easy. Only one tunnel left usable. The cops, or whatever y’call ’em now, sit on the other side and step on anything come out from our end.” He smiled again. “Ain’t easy.”
I lit my cigarette and sent a plume of smoke into the air. I’d been smoking the terrible cigarettes they made these days for so long now I’d forgotten what good tobacco tasted like and almost enjoyed these. “Ain’t easy means it ain’t cheap,” I said. “Fine. Let’s get past this bullshit and talk about it.”
Anners stood up suddenly, arms loose. “All right, let’s do that, huh? ” He glanced at Umali, and the little soldier suddenly sprang into action, pulling a larger palm-sized device from his pocket and slapping it down onto the desk. He gestured over it for a moment and a tiny flickering representation of Hong Kong flared up in the air. Anners walked over to it, eyes suddenly smart and focused.
“No one fucking owns this city,” he growled. “The cops—rebels—say they do, but that’s bull. Everyone owns a part of the fucking island, and they’re all poundin’ each other trying to push the others into the water.” He gestured, and a thin line lit up green, leading from the edge of the island into space. “The cops do own the tunnel, though, and that’s their blue chip. They collect the toll, anyone wants in or out.” He gestured again and a multicolored overlay of irregular blotches appeared. With another gesture, he made the green ones flash. “The cops own some property—they grabbed whatever they could. The Geeks”—he glanced back at me as he gestured again, making a series of red blotches flash in unison—“that’s SPS, y’ever hear? ”
I thought of the Monk. We protect the technology. I nodd
ed.
Anners kept looking at me for a moment, and then turned back to his map. “The Geeks own parts of the city too. Who the fuck knows where they came from or what they’re doin’ here, but there they are. And this”—he gestured again and blue patches, smaller and less common, flashed into life—“is the huge empire of the shitheads, all the fucking criminal shit that wasn’t smart enough to get out before we shut ’em down out here.” He sighed, turning to me and looking momentarily tired. “We’ve been starving them for weeks now. Nothin’ in, nothin’ out. My orders are to preserve the city. If I could reduce the fuckin’ place, we’d have moved on by now.”
I nodded. “You keep reducing cities like Shenzhen, won’t be much System left to worry about, will there? ”
He grinned. “Maybe, Mr. Cates,” he said, his accent dropping away with startling speed. “We are exceedingly good at our jobs.” He gestured and the map disappeared. “That was a gift, Cates. A little intel for ya. All you need is for us to get you in, right? ”
I nodded. “Once we’re in daylight on the other side, you turn around and go back to sitting out here, scratching your bellies.”
He nodded. “All right. Seein’ as yen is measured in the ton these days, let’s say five hundred million gets you through that tunnel, complete with honor guard.”
I blinked. “Honor guard?”
He nodded. “The tunnel ain’t empty, Cates.”
I considered this, and nodded. “Done. Let’s go see my banker.”
XX
THE ONLY WAY OUT IS FORWARD
I stood next to the Poet in the rain in silence for a few seconds.
“I do not want to go in there,” I said.
The entrance to the tunnel rose up out of the melt like a sculpture, a wave of metal and concrete that still had the huge sign affixed to its top: CROSS HARBOUR TUNNEL. A wide swatch of broken asphalt sprang up from nothing, as if torn off of a road somewhere else and dropped here by hover. Faint paint lines still remained here and there, echoes of pre-Unification. The entrance was two dark squares angling downward. A formidable-looking collection of concrete barricades had been set up across the entrance, with a single metal gate in place in the middle. Dozens of soldiers manned the entrance, looking bored and nervous, with thousands more within hollering distance, rotated in and out from the caps farther behind the lines. Everything was topped with razor wire, and I could see that once you got through the gate, there was a maze of narrow corridors formed by more barricades that would force anyone approaching to double back fifteen times. Two makeshift towers made from scaffolding jutted up on either end, a lazy-looking soldier up on the platforms on each one, sniper rifle leaning casually against the railing, white cigarette smoke puffing into the air.
The big alarm sirens were mounted up there as well, set to trip if anything crossed the midway point in the tunnels, giving the rest of the force time to assemble.
On the horizon, buildings soared into the air, blue and gray, glass glinting in the dim light. There was no light anywhere, but the sight of so much preserved construction was dizzying. Behind us was a flat wasteland. In front of us, across the water, was fucking civilization.
In my peripheral vision, the Poet nodded. “I agree with you. I would rather swim across.” He paused and then looked at me. “I’m afraid of rats.”
“She’s fuckin’ old,” Anners bellowed, breath steaming in the cool night air. “Leaks like a sieve, sometimes rumbles like it’s your last hour in there. If she fails, hold your breath.”
I scowled at Anners. The colonel was bright and alive and cheerful in the twilight, looking like he’d eaten well and had a good shit before coming out to escort us. I wondered, briefly, where the army had found these people. Where did you unearth someone like Colonel Malkem Anners? Did they have them in glass jars for years, plotting the rebellion, freeze-dried and ready for reconstitution? I’d fucking believe it.
I stared at the dark mouth of the tunnel, imagining I could hear the ancient rebar creaking under the weight of the water. It was hard to imagine there had been a time when people had been forced underwater just to get someplace that was so close I could see it. Then I realized with a start: That time was fucking now. I was standing in it.
“All right,” Anners said, belching. “Let’s have a little gatherin’ here so I can lay it out for ya.” His four hand-picked soldiers had their cowls up, anonymous and grim in their white uniforms, and stepped forward to stand around him. The rest of us didn’t move.
I nodded toward the tunnel. “What’s in there, Anners?”
“Now you’re askin’?” Mara groused. “After we paid half up front?”
“Push the button or shut up,” I snapped. It had become my motto. “Anners? ”
The colonel grinned, teeth white and straight. “Bottom-feeders, mostly. Live in there, waiting on anyone tryin’ to get in or out of Hong Kong. Like the dark, stay quiet, your throat slit before you even know what happened.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely indicating his soldiers. “Stay behind us and let us clear the way. We shoot anything that moves, and we got our night-vision—it ain’t hard work dealing with their kind, as long as you go in with your eyes open. You stay outta our way and we’ll have you across in a blink.”
I turned and looked at Mara and the Poet. I didn’t bother with the Monk. Whoever was trapped inside the android body, she’d proven to be uninterested in casual conversation and so far had offered no opinions. Which was fine by me.
I looked back at the colonel. “All right.”
He nodded. “No lights in there. Don’t light up—cigs, novas, whatever.” He smiled. “It attracts ’em. Easiest way to get a blade in your neck is to light up.”
“How do we follow?” the Poet asked, his voice betraying an unexpected edge of worry. “If we must stay in the dark, how do we follow?”
Anners glanced at him and shrugged. “Hold fuckin’ hands, I don’t give a shit. We’re here to guide you through. That’s it.”
The colonel spun. “On me,” he barked at the four uniforms. “Remy, you’re my back. Stick to me and keep ’em off me.”
A short, skinny soldier peeled off from the three others and took up a position behind the colonel. I stared at his white back, heart pounding, my HUD glowing back into life. After a second of hard staring, his text box flared into life again:
EVENS O. REMY, PRIVATE (3), ASSAULT INFANTRY, STF.
Without another word, Anners marched toward the barricades, the squad on guard duty snapping to attention immediately, a wireless signal alerting them to their CO’s approach. As they walked off, Remy turned his cowled head to look back at me for a moment.
After a moment, someone grabbed my arm and I spun, taking hold of Mara’s wrist and twisting it around in an instinctive reaction. She didn’t wince or cry out; she just raised her eyebrows. “You havin’ second thoughts, Cates?”
I let her wrist go and ducked my head, launching myself after the colonel, replaying his words in my head. Remy. It was too easy to picture Remy inside that cowl, head stuffed full of augments, staying on Anners’s ass because he didn’t have any other choice.
“Stand down,” Anners bellowed to the guards as we approached. “You’re all off-line for five minutes. Stand down and step back. Have a smoke.”
“Sir,” one of the guard duty shouted back, saluting.
We followed Anners through the gate as it swung open at his approach, and began navigating the switchbacks formed by the battered, chipped stone barricades beyond. When we were standing in front of the yawning entrance to the tunnels, I looked back at the Monk, who was still grinning, still silent.
“All right,” I said. “Break out the goods and pass it out.”
The Monk immediately dropped the green duffel it had been hauling for us since Brussels and pulled it open with a single, vicious tug. The dull metal of the gear I’d gotten straight from the SSF absorbed all of the dim, damp light and tugged at your eyes, as if the duffel was a drain everythin
g was spilling toward. The Monk immediately reached into the bag and produced two gleaming, factory-new shredding rifles with shoulder straps and optional rocket-propelled grenade launchers.
“RPGs? ” Anners suddenly barked, stomping back toward us with an unlit cigarette—well-chewed and damp—crushed between his white teeth. “Aw, now, fuck no. You stow that gear. We ain’t walking y’all through here armed.”
The Monk tossed a shredder toward me and I snatched it from the air with augmented reflexes, and then had to work hard to steady myself, a wave of dizziness graying my vision as my heart skipped a few beats, finding its rhythm with a thud. “You gonna . . . you gonna skip the other half of your paycheck, Colonel? We’ll lead you if it makes you nervous.” Taking a deep breath, I tossed the shredder at the Poet; it almost sailed past him but he lunged and snatched it, making it look natural. My back lit up as if something in it had just torn like paper, immediately settling into a burning throb, but I turned smoothly and caught the second shredder without wincing, and tossed it on to Mara.
Anners stared at me, chewing his cigar, as the Monk tossed me the last shredder. I caught it with my chest, staggering backward a step and managing to hang on to it through magic or luck. I braced myself and stared back at him; I could almost see the wheels turning, the numbers crunching. Finally, he pointed at me.
“All right,” he said. “All fucking right.”
He turned and marched off, and we gathered around the Monk as it handed up ammunition and grenade clips. While the Poet and Mara checked their weapons, the Monk silently handed up a thumb-sized black box. I put it in my palm and gestured, and a 3-D map of Hong Kong appeared in the air in front of me. I practiced zooming in and out and manipulating the representation for a moment, and then the Monk was holding up a bundle of thick material.
“Body armor,” Mara said. “I thought you were old-school, Cates.”
