by Jeff Somers
He stepped halfway backward and swung Michaleen around once, halfway again, and let go, sending him sailing into the wall that separated the bathroom from the rest of the space. Mara’s taut body slammed into it and formed a deep impression, then fell on her ass into a perfect sitting position. Without even a second of hesitation, she raised her gun and fired six times at Belling as he danced to the side and retreated toward the entrance of the room. Three of the shots shattered the glass behind me, letting in a sudden maelstrom of damp wind and noise.
Michaleen leaped, tucked and rolled, and came up gun in hand in the hallway, but Belling had disappeared. He dropped a clip and reloaded as Belling shouted from beyond the walls, the Poet’s voice still sounding crazy in my ears without the weird beats he’d always had.
“C’mon, you ancient cunt! You still think you have a step on me? I’m not twelve any more, Cainnic, and I am sick to fucking death of your mush-mouthed bullshit!”
Mara’s body sprinted into the darkness of the outside hall. I put my gun on her back and held it there, shaking, until she was swallowed up. Then I let my arm drop and turned to look over my shoulder.
Hong Kong was being burned to the ground.
There was fire everywhere. Darkness had crept up on us and the sky was near black, the military hovers outlined in dim lights like tiny stars cutting through a haze. Directly across from me, a tall building that was like increasingly smaller blocks set one on top of each other was burning, fire licking out of all its windows above the fifth floor or so, and it wasn’t the only building on fire. New blooms of flame erupted on the ground every few seconds, and in between the roar of them was a constant noise, without shape or definition, just an undercurrent of sound I felt more than heard.
As I stared, something streaked through the air, almost invisible, and seemed to be coming right at me for a moment, disappearing overhead for a second and then smacking into the Shannara, making the room roil around me for a second like it was made of rubber, undulating in a way that rooms normally don’t. All of the remaining glass in the window shattered and fell away, and my audio augments flatlined as the explosion pushed all the air out of the whole fucking building. Huge flaming chunks of building sailed dreamily down, like giant misshapen birds set on fire.
The building began to groan, a steady, unchanging note of severe distress.
“Might be time to get out.”
I turned, slowly, and found Michaleen standing just beyond the bathroom. Mara’s avatar had been torn up; one arm hung limp and bent at her side, and she was stained with coolant and fake blood. One of her cheeks had been sliced and torn and hung like a flap on the side of her face, something unnaturally white poking through the layer of artificial gore.
I raised the gun and held it up again. If I had unlimited bullets, I thought, I might manage to hit a wall. Before I could do anything else, the voice of the building’s shell boomed through the air.
“Attention: This structure has suffered damage. Insufficient power to engage safety systems. Structural integrity is threatened. Please evacuate immediately.”
I looked at Michaleen; our eyes met, and he put the gun right on my face from across the room and squeezed the trigger, getting the dry click of an empty chamber in return. I couldn’t focus and hold my own gun up at the same time, so I let my arm drop and got my legs under me, forcing them to move. “Seal all exits,” I said into the air. “Invoke special provision for public safety. Elevators to lobby and locked.”
There was a beat. “Token confirmed.”
“Fuckin’ pain in the ass,” Michaleen snarled, stuffing the gun into Mara’s coat pocket and coming up with the tiny black square of my remote. “One thing I’ll give ya, Cates,” he said in Mara’s soft, almost pretty voice, “you never know when to—”
I launched myself forward as he extended the remote toward me. As his finger came down, toggling me to dead, I jabbed the exclamation point in the bottom corner of my HUD and everything turned red.
XXXV
I’LL DO IT
I crashed into Mara’s body in slow motion, a sharp pain like an ice pick jabbing into my head—but that just dissolved into the general feeling of being on fire, my skin burning, every muscle feeling torn. We hit the floor and skidded into the already smashed-up wall outside the bathroom, and I felt nothing—well, I felt everything, but the new pain was lost in the ocean of acid I was suddenly floating in.
Like on the train, I felt like I was just faster than everything. Beneath me, Michaleen was squirming, trying to break out from under my weight, and I knew that as an avatar he would be able to just toss me off, but he was so slow. I marveled at being able to feel him writhing beneath me, being able to anticipate his movements. He twisted left, digging his hands into the carpet to give himself some leverage, and tried to buck me off, so I reached around the slim waist of the avatar and hugged it to me, squeezing with everything my shredded, crystallized muscles had in them, and jabbed the Roon into Michaleen’s chest, firing twice.
Dying ain’t pleasant whether you’re flesh and blood or silicone and coolant, I’m thinkin’, he’d said, and I hoped he was right.
The back of the avatar exploded, inches from my face, showering me with the same pinkish mix of fake blood and coolant I’d seen erupting from Belling—I wondered how much longer they’d bother putting in the fake gore, the layer of blood and tissue designed to fool assholes like me into buying the Droids as real people; one of these days, probably tomorrow, everyone in the fucking System was going to be an avatar, and what would be the point?
He flopped once under me and then went still, a thick, warm pool of white coolant spilling out beneath us. Something like an ice pick traveled through my head, making me flinch and twitch, the pain rising until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I tried to put my hands on my head to contain the swelling, but my left arm refused to move, just hanging limp and suddenly numb by my side. Then Michaleen started to laugh, and it was strange, because everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, taking decades to get to me while I hummed along, but when he started to speak in Mara’s hoarse, high-pitched voice, I had no trouble understanding him.
“Shit, this is unpleasant,” he spluttered, gouts of coolant drooling from his mouth. Then he focused on me. “You’re not dead. Ain’t that fucking bullshit, huh? Damn military tech’s as bad as the Pigs. Half the shit don’t work.”
I tried to say something back at him, but my mouth just moved in an odd way I didn’t understand. My face felt heavy and numb.
“You gonna shoot me again? Funny thing is, Avery, tomorrow I’m gonna wake up somewhere, y’know? And you’re not.”
The whole room suddenly twisted under us, the floor moving like rubber before settling again. The persistent groan of the building got louder.
I was shaking, heart pounding. Everything still seemed to be happening slowly, and my ruined hand didn’t bother me at all. I pushed myself up onto my knees and then tried to get up onto my feet. My left leg didn’t want to take my weight, and I staggered backward a few steps before finding the right distribution and getting stable. I dragged myself back toward the avatar, beat to hell and still grinning at me, Michaleen’s ancient mind inside the girl’s head.
“Ah, shit, I’ve pissed him off now,” Michaleen cackled as I limped toward him. “You ain’t looking so good, Avery. Maybe the revenge business isn’t good for you, eh? You should stick to doing my dirty work for me. It suits ya.”
I leaned down and with my good hand I took hold of the avatar’s coat. Blood pounding in my temples and static electricity sizzling under my skin, lifting the avatar was easy, my back popping and a searing line of distant pain shooting down into my legs as I jerked it up off the floor. Turning, I started walking toward the smashed-in windows, dragging Michaleen’s avatar behind me.
Outside, more of the city was burning, and the sky was filled with the shimmering lights of hovers. Tracers still seared up from the ground into the sky, and off in the distance a hover w
as crashing slowly, flames outlining it against the night. It looked like a cloud of fire just drifting lazily toward the ground. The floor shook again as I arrived at the edge of the window frame, shattered glass crunching under my feet. Wind, damp and heavy, pushed in at me, dark gray smoke trailing in behind it and slithering to the floor.
With a jerk, I tossed the avatar at the floor, where it landed awkwardly and slid a few inches to rest up against the lip of the window frame right above the floor. Mara’s face grinned at me, the flap of torn skin making it look like it had two mouths beaming at me.
“Sure you don’t wanna stuff me in a bag and carry me around? ” Michaleen squawked as I leaned down and took hold of one thin leg with my working hand. “For company? You’re a lonely guy, Avery.”
I wanted to say something back, to say, I got enough fucking demons whispering in my ear. I wanted to promise him that I was going to find him, the real him, and then we could have a little chat. I moved my mouth, but it was like the muscles had been disconnected, and nothing manifested. So I just took hold of the avatar’s leg and lurched forward, Michaleen’s laughter—Mara’s laughter—bubbling up from below as I flipped the avatar over and rolled it out of the window.
Glancing down, Mara’s upturned face was swallowed by the darkness immediately, the sound of her digital laughter cut off as if the dark were a solid barrier between us.
I stood there for a moment, panting. I couldn’t take a deep enough breath, and my head hurt with every heartbeat, a lance of sharp pain that skipped and lurched like my pulse, random and ragged. The building roiled beneath me again, almost knocking me off balance and into the dark, damp air, so I limped backward, scanning the floor until I found my handgun. Leaving the duffel and the shredder, I staggered for the doorway and back out into the hallway, where some ceiling tiles had shaken loose and smashed onto the floor.
“There is approximately five minutes of operational power,” the hotel’s shell announced suddenly. The PA system was exceptional and it sounded muted and local, like someone invisible was standing next to you. “Please proceed with evacuation.”
To my left, splayed on the carpet in a thickening pool of pink-tinged coolant, was the Poet’s body, the avatar’s fake skin still flickering with the silent movement of its animated tattoos. It lay chest down, the head missing, one arm bent back at an unnatural angle, the Hamada still clutched in its hand. Michaleen, in whatever body, was a pro. So was Belling. And not a fucking ounce of mercy between them. I stared at the body and realized I felt like I’d lost a friend, even though I’d never actually had one.
“Cates.”
I startled, whirling on the last fumes of Berserker Mode and almost pitching forward when my delicate balance on my bad leg was upset. I didn’t see anyone, swinging the Roon around in a sloppy arc, and then glanced down to see the Poet’s head, pristine except for the ragged line of fake flesh just below the chin, looking at me.
It blinked.
“Cates,” it said, sounding normal. “Battery backup. Only a few minutes. Supposed to give you a chance to upload your recent experiences if you get caught out.” It blinked again. “You look terrible, Mr. Cates. If I had to guess, I’d say you look like you’ve had a small stroke.”
I just stared. I thought that if Belling asked me to carry his head around for company, I might just sit down and wait for the fucking building to collapse.
“You’re like a roach, you know? Every time I think you must be dead, you crawl out from under it and strut about. You’re a miracle of science. I have always thought you were a mediocre Gunner, Mr. Cates, not in my league, but I think I have overlooked your true talent: survival.”
I wondered if I could get away with kicking him like a ball, or if that would topple me to the floor. I started to walk toward the stairs, wondering how I’d summon the elevator if my tongue continued to elude me.
“Cates,” Belling hissed after me. “You and I have one thing in common now: Cainnic is coming after us both. You might want to find me. We could be useful to each other.”
I closed my eyes. Translation, I thought: You can’t trade body blows with Canny Orel either—even with the fucking God Augment, if it actually works, so you’d like to stand behind me while I absorb bullets for you.
“That crazy old man has a modified Monk chassis waiting for him. He figures he can live forever, and with that augment he can be a god,” Belling said behind me, sounding suddenly weak and tired. “You think I took this on out of greed? Mr. Cates, I am a fucking hero.”
I nodded, opening my eyes and limping away. You sure are, Wa, I thought.
As I reached the door leading to the stairwell, the hotel’s shell spoke around me again. “Emergency Shutdown Protocols engaged. Thank you for choosing the Shannara. Good-bye.”
The lights faded out, leaving me in darkness. I heard Belling whisper, “Ah, fuck, not in the dark, please.”
After a moment, my visual augment managed to scrape up a pale green image that somewhat resembled the stairs, and I made for them, swinging my bum leg down and tottering on the verge of falling over with each step. When I’d made it down the first flight, the whole building shook again in response to a dull explosion, the metal steps vibrating under me, the handrail humming in my hand. I was pouring sweat and trembling, and I estimated that it would take about an hour to climb down the whole way, and if I sat down I’d never get up again.
I stopped thinking. I just swung my leg, tottered left, grabbed the handrail, stepped down. I breathed in short, painful gasps. Every now and then, everything bucked and rumbled and I clung to the handrail desperately, wondering if the whole place was going to come down on top of me. When the sickly green glowing EXIT sign loomed up in front of me, the dust of the bottom landing making me gag and cough so hard flares lit up in my vision, I just stared for a moment, unsure of what the next step was supposed to be. Slowly, I limped toward it, crashing through and out into a greasy-looking alley just off the boulevard.
The noise immediately surrounded me: hover displacement multiplied by a thousand and poured down onto the street steadily, explosions, and the sharp, quick punch of small-arms fire. The air smelled like smoke, charred wood, and something darker and more rotten, and my lungs tried to kick it back up for a better sample, sending me down on my hands and knees, shivering and coughing, every part of my body burning. I wasn’t sure what I’d accomplished when I’d triggered my Berserker Mode, but it had maybe saved my life when Michaleen had triggered my remote.
The sound of boots thumping along closer and closer didn’t really register until it had stopped, and I slowly raised my head to find about a dozen soldiers in soiled whites, cowls up and face masks on, standing in a loose semicircle around me. A tall officer with shiny pips on his shoulder had one hand up in the air, signaling a halt, and he looked down at me with his head cocked for a long moment, silent. Then he slowly lowered his arm and peeled back his face mask, grinning, just as faded text boxes bloomed everywhere, giving me the names and ranks of a bunch of assholes I didn’t give a shit about.
“Well, sheeyit,” Colonel Anners said, sounding breathless but pleased. “It’s Mr. Moneybags Cates. Motherfucked, Cates, you look like nine hundred types of crap rolled together.”
For some reason I couldn’t identify, I smiled, sinking back onto my haunches. Without seeing it, I knew that the smile was a travesty, but once it had leaked out onto my face, I found it impossible to recall.
Anners looked around as if we’d met in some bar somewhere, old friends. “We got ourselves a beachhead, here,” he said as the ground rumbled beneath us. “But these Hong Kong cops ain’t givin’ in easy, and I got shit to do.” He looked back at me. “I got bitches out there ain’t got no idea what to do with a bridgehead once you got one, and I got fucking superiors who seem like they’re afraid to get some kids shot to hell.” He spat on the ground. “I’ve only been at this war shit for a few years, Mr. Cates, but I got a belly for it, as some don’t. But I’m stretched mighty fuc
kin’ thin here trying to keep up. On top of it all, we got malfunctions on the unit implant settings and I had six decent grunts keel over from false frag alerts this past hour. It’s fuckin’ chaos, and I love it.”
Somewhere nearby, something approximately the size of New York exploded, and the night air got brighter for a moment. The next few things Anners said were lost to the roar, but the colonel just stood there yapping like nothing bothered him much.
“So, you got anything to offer me, Mr. Cates? ’Cause I got a fucking bevy of generals up my ass and I can’t have you just wandering around behind the lines knowing my name. But it might be worth it, if you still got your wallet.”
I stared up at him. Even smudged with dirt and sweat, he was so fucking happy and healthy I was overpowered by the bright light that was Colonel Malkem Anners, so I smiled and spread my hands in front of me, trying to say, Sorry, I threw my wallet out the fucking window.
He nodded once, crisply, and turned to his squad. “All right, we got ourselves a drum trial, and as presiding officer, I waive the fucking drum and the fucking trial. Who wants to walk Mr. Cates around the corner and pronounce him dead in the name of the constitutionally legitimized Joint Council and its undersecretaries? Nothing in it but extra credit.”
After a moment of quiet, one of the soldiers stepped forward and peeled back his face mask, his beaten-up face impassive, his eyes locked on me. I imagined there was something in them aside from hatred, but it might have been my imagination or my downward-spiraling brain.
“I’ll do it,” Remy said.
APPENDIX
Field dump of flash storage unit retrieved from Sector 97, Hong Kong Offensive, during routine investigation and benefits analysis. Retrieving Officer Hayes, 657483-560.
Transcript of field statement recorded with Ts. Sarangerel, Private (2), Small Infantry, 3356411-562 prior to termination and internal unit recycling. Per standing JC order 900-c regarding in-field AWOL officers, all FS Unit Dumps connected to the Anners incident will be kept perpetually in-system for access.
