The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year-Volume Three

by Jonathan Strahan

  Joe asked, "Who ordered every com-system destroyed before we abandoned the Demon Dandy? Who left poor Barnes with no way even to call home?"

  "Except by then, your colleague was a prisoner, and according to our corporate laws, the captain was obligated to silence the criminal to any potential lawsuits." The woman kept her gaze on Joe. "Somebody had to be left behind, and in the captain's mind, you weren't as guilty as Mr. Barnes."

  "I hope not."

  "But nobody was half as cold or a tenth as ruthless as you were, Joe."

  His expression was untroubled, even serene.

  "The captain understands what you are. But in the end, she had no choice but to leave the other man behind."

  Joe laughed. "Human or not, Barnes wasn't a very good person. He was mean-spirited and distant, and even if nobody admits it, I promise you: Nobody on the ship has lost two seconds' sleep over what happened there."

  The psychiatrist nearly spoke, then hesitated.

  Joe leaned forward. "Do you know how it is, Doctor? When you're a kid, there's always something that you think you're pretty good at. Maybe you're the best on your street, or you're the best at school. But you never know how good you really are. Not until you get out into the big world and see what other people can do. And in the end, we aren't all that special. Not extra clever or pretty or strong. But for a few of us, a very few, there comes a special day when we realize that we aren't just a little good at something. We are great.

  "Better than anybody ever, maybe.

  "Do you know how that feels, ma'am?"

  She sighed deeply. Painfully. "What are you telling me, Joe?"

  He leaned back in his chair, absently scratching at the biggest bandage on his iron-battered face. "I'm telling you that I am excellent at sizing people up. Even better than you, and I think you're beginning to appreciate that. But what you call being a borderline psychopath is to me just another part of my bigger, more important talent."

  "You're not borderline anything," she said.

  He took no offense from the implication. "Here's what we can learn from this particular mess: Most people are secretly bad. Under the proper circumstances, they will gladly turn on one of their own and feel nothing but good about it afterward. But when the stakes are high and the world's going to shit, I can see exactly what needs to be done. Unlike everybody else, I will do the dirtiest work. Which is a rare and rich and remarkable gift, I think."

  She took a breath. "Why are you telling me this, Joe?"

  "Because I don't want to be a mechanic riding clunky spaceships," he confessed. "And I want your help, Doctor. All right? Will you find me new work . . . something that's closer to my talents? Closer to my heart.

  "Would you do that for me, pretty lady?"

  Ii. Natural Killer

  At four in the morning, the animals slept—which was only reasonable since this was a zoo populated entirely by synthetic organisms. Patrons didn't pay for glimpses of furry lumps, formerly wild and now slumbering in some shady corner. What they wanted were spectacular, one-of-a-kind organisms doing breathtaking feats, and doing them in daylight. But high metabolisms had their costs, and that's why the creatures now lay in their cages and grottos, inside glass boxes and private ponds, beautiful eyes closed while young minds dreamed about who-could-say-what.

  For the moment, privacy was guaranteed, and that was one fine reason why desperate men would agree to meet in that public place.

  Slipping into the zoo unseen brought a certain ironic pleasure too.

  But perhaps the most important, at least for Joe, were the possibilities inherent with that unique realm.

  A loud, faintly musical voice said, "Stop, Mr. Carroway. Stop where you are, sir. And now please . . . lift your arms for us and dance in a very slow circle. . . . "

  Joe was in his middle thirties. His rigorously trained body was clad in casual white slacks and a new gray shirt. His face had retained its boyish beauty, a prominent scar creasing the broad forehead and a several-day growth of beard lending a rough, faintly threadbare quality to his otherwise immaculate appearance. Arms up, he looked rather tired. As he turned slowly, he took deep breaths, allowing several flavors of radiation to wash across his body, reaching into his bones.

  "I see three weapons." The voice came from no particular direction. "One at a time, please, lower the weapons and kick each of them toward the fountain. If you will, Mr. Carroway."

  A passing shower had left the plaza wet and slick. Joe dropped the Ethiopian machine pistol first, followed by the matching Glocks. Each time he kicked one of the guns, it would spin and skate across the red bricks, each one ending up within a hand's length of the fountain—an astonishing feat, considering the stakes and his own level of exhaustion.

  Unarmed, Joe stood alone in the empty plaza.

  The fountain had a round black-granite base, buried pumps shoving water up against a perfect sphere of transparent crystal. The sphere was a monstrous, stylized egg. Inside the egg rode a never-to-be-born creature—some giant beast with wide black eyes and gill slits, its tail half-formed and the stubby little limbs looking as though they could turn into arms or legs, or even tentacles. Joe knew the creature was supposed to be blind, but he couldn't shake the impression that the eyes were watching him. He watched the creature slowly roll over and over again, its egg suspended on nothing but a thin chilled layer of very busy water.

  Eventually five shapes emerged from behind the fountain.

  "Thank you, Mr. Carroway," said the voice. Then the sound system was deactivated, and with a hand to the mouth, one figure shouted, "A little closer, sir. If you will."

  That familiar voice accompanied the beckoning arm.

  Two figures efficiently disabled Joe's weapons. They were big men, probably Rebirth Neanderthals or some variation on that popular theme. A third man looked like a Brilliance-Boy, his skull tall and deep, stuffed full with a staggering amount of brain tissue. The fourth human was small and slight, held securely by the Brilliance-Boy; even at a distance, she looked decidedly female.

  Joe took two steps and paused.

  The fifth figure, the one that spoke, approached near enough to show his face. Joe wasn't surprised, but he pretended to be. "Markel? What are you doing here?" He laughed as if nervous. "You're not one of them, are you?"

  The man looked as sapien as Joe.

  With a decidedly human laugh, Markel remarked, "I'm glad to hear that you were fooled, Mr. Carroway. Which of course means that you killed Stanton and Humphrey for no good reason."

  Joe said nothing.

  "You did come here alone, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Because you took a little longer than I anticipated."

  "No I didn't."

  "Perhaps not. I could be mistaken."

  Markel never admitted to errors. He was a tall fellow, as bald as an egg and not particularly handsome. Which made his disguise all the more effective. The new Homo species were always physically attractive, and they were superior athletes, more often than not. Joe had never before met a Rebirth who had gone through the pain and expense and then not bothered to grow some kind of luxurious head of hair as a consequence.

  "You have my vial with you, Joseph. Yes?"

  "Joe. That's my name." He made a show of patting his chest pocket.

  "And the sealed recordings too?"

  "Everything you asked for." Joe looked past Markel. "Is that the girl?"

  Something about the question amused Markel. "Do you honestly care if she is?"

  "Of course I care."

  "Enough to trade away everything and earn her safety?"

  Joe said nothing.

  "I've studied your files, Joseph. I have read the personality evaluations, and I know all about your corporate security work, and even all those wicked sealed records covering the last three years. It is a most impressive career. But nothing about you, sir—nothing in your nature or your history—strikes me as being sentimental. And I cannot believe that this girl matters e
nough to convince you to make this exchange."

  Joe smiled. "Then why did I come here?"

  "That's my question too."

  Joe waited for a moment, then suggested, "Maybe it's money?"

  "Psychopaths always have a price," Markel replied. "Yes, I guessed it would be something on those lines."

  Joe reached into his shirt pocket. The vial was diamond, smaller than a pen and only halfway filled with what looked to be a plain white powder. But embossed along the vial's length were the ominous words: natural killer.

  "How much do you want for my baby, Joseph?"

  "Everything," he said.

  "And what does that mean?"

  "All the money."

  "My wealth? Is that what you're asking for?"

  "I'm not asking," Joe said. "Don't be confused, Markel. This is not a negotiation. I am demanding that you and your backers give me every last cent in your coffers. And if not, I will ruin everything that you've worked to achieve. You sons-of-bitches."

  Markel had been born sapien and gifted, and his minimal and very secret steps to leave his species behind had served to increase both his mind and his capacity for arrogance. But he was stunned to hear the ultimatum. To make such outrageous demands, and in these circumstances! He couldn't imagine anybody with that much gall. Standing quite still, his long arms at his side, Markel tried to understand why an unarmed man in these desperate circumstances would have any power over him. What wasn't he seeing? No reinforcements were coming; he was certain of that. Outside this tiny circle, nobody knew anything. This sapien was bluffing, Markel decided. And with that, he began to breathe again, and he relaxed, announcing, "You're right, this is not a negotiation. And I'm telling you no."

  Inside the same shirt pocket was a child's toy—a completely harmless lump of luminescent putty stolen from a passing giftbot. Joe shoved the vial into the bright red plaything, and before Markel could react, he flung both the putty and vial high into the air.

  Every eye watched that ruddy patch of light twirl and soften, and then plunge back to the earth.

  Beside the plaza was a deep acid-filled moat flanked by a pair of high fences, electrified and bristling with sensors. And on the far side were woods and darkness, plus the single example of a brand new species designed to bring huge crowds through the zoo's front gate.

  The Grendel.

  "You should not have done that," Markel said with low, furious voice. "I'll just have you killed now and be done with you."

  Joe smiled, lifting his empty hands over his head. "Maybe you should kill me. If you're so positive that you can get your precious Killer back."

  That's when Joe laughed at the brilliant bastard.

  But it was the girl who reacted first, squirming out of the Brilliance-Boy's hands to run straight for her lover.

  No one bothered to chase her down.

  She stopped short and slapped Joe.

  "You idiot," she spat.

  He answered her with a tidy left hook.

  Then one of the big soldiers shot a tacky round into Joe's chest, pumping in enough current to drop him on the wet bricks, leaving him hovering between consciousness and white-hot misery.

  "You idiot."

  The girl repeated herself several times, occasionally adding a dismissive, "Moron," or "Fool," to her invectives. Then as the electricity diminished, she leaned close to his face. "Don't you understand? We were never going to use the bug. We don't want to let it loose. It's just one more way to help make sure you sapiens won't declare war on us. Natural Killer is our insurance policy, and that's it."

  The pain diminished to a lasting ache. Wincing, Joe struggled to sit up. While he was down, smart-cuffs had wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles. The two soldiers and the Brilliance-Boy were standing before the Grendel's large enclosure. They had donned night goggles and were studying the schematics of the zoo, tense voices discussing how best to slip into the cage and recover the prize.

  "Joe," she said, "how can you be this stupid?"

  "Comes naturally, I guess."

  To the eye, the girl was beautiful and purely sapien. The long black hair and rich brown skin sparkled in the plaza's light. The word "natural" was a mild insult among the Rebirths. She sat up, lips pouting. Like Markel, the young woman must have endured major revisions of her genetics—far more involved than a few synthetic genes sprinkled about the DNA. Extra pairs of chromosomes were standard among the new humans. But despite rumors that some of the Rebirths were hiding among the naturals, this was the first time Joe had knowingly crossed paths with them.

  "I am stupid," he admitted. Then he looked at Markel, adding, "Both of you had me fooled. All along."

  That was a lie, but it made Markel smile. Of course he was clever, and of course no one suspected the truth. Behind that grim old face was enough self-esteem to keep him believing that he would survive the night.

  The idiot.

  Markel and his beautiful assistant glanced at each other.

  Then the Brilliance-Boy called out. "We'll use the service entrance to get in," he announced. "Five minutes to circumvent locks and cameras, I should think."

  "Do it," Markel told them.

  "You'll be all right here?"

  The scientist lifted a pistol over his head. "We're fine. Just go. Get my child out of that cage, now!"

  That left three people on the plaza, plus the monster locked inside the slowly revolving crystal egg.

  "The plague is just an insurance policy, huh?"

  Joe threw out the question, and waited.

  After a minute, the girl said, "To protect us from people like you, yes."

  He put on an injured expression. "Like me? What's that mean?"

  She glanced at Markel. In an acid tone, she said, "He showed me your history, Joe. After our first night together. . . . "

  "And what did it tell you?"

  "When you were on the Demon Dandy, you saved yourself by leaving a Rebirth behind. And you did it in a cold, calculating way."

  He shrugged, smiled. "What else?"

  "After joining the security arm of the corporation, you distinguished yourself as a soldier. Then you went to work for the U.N., as a contractor, and your expertise has been assassinations."

  "Bad men should be killed," Joe said flatly. "Evil should be removed from the world. Get the average person to be honest, and he'll admit that he won't lose any sleep, particularly if the monster is killed with a single clean shot."

  "You are horrible," she maintained.

  "If I'm so horrible," said Joe, "then do the world a favor. Shoot me in the head."

  She began to reach behind her back, then thought better of it.

  Markel glanced at both of them, pulling his weapon closer to his body. But nothing seemed urgent, and he returned to keeping watch over the Grendel's enclosure.

  "I suppose you noticed," Joe began.

  The girl blinked. "Noticed what?"

  "In my career, I've killed a respectable number of Rebirths."

  The dark eyes stared at him. Very quietly, with sarcasm, she said, "I suppose they were all bad people."

  "Drug lords and terrorists, or hired guns in the service of either." Joe shook his head, saying, "Legal murder is easy. Clean, clear-cut. A whole lot more pleasant than the last few weeks have been, I'll admit."

  Markel looked at him. "I am curious, Joseph. Who decided you were the ideal person to investigate our little laboratory?"

  "You don't have a little lab," said Joe. "There aren't ten or twelve better-equipped facilities when it comes to high-end genetic research."

  "There aren't even twelve," the man said, bristling slightly. "Perhaps two or three."

  "Well, you wouldn't have found this item in any official file," Joe said. "But a couple months ago, I was leading a team that hit a terror cell in Alberta. Under interrogation, the Rebirth boss started making threats about unleashing something called Natural Killer on us. On the poor helpless sapiens. He claimed that we'd be wiped out of exi
stence, and the new species could then take over. Which is their right, he claimed, and as inevitable as the next sunrise."

  His audience exchanged looks.

  "But that hardly explains how you found your way to me," Markel pointed out.

  "There was a trail. Bloody in places, but every corpse pointing in your general direction."

  Markel almost spoke. But the creak of a heavy door being opened interrupted him. Somewhere in the back of the Grendel's enclosure, three pairs of goggled eyes were peering out into the jungle and shadow.

  "It's an amazing disease," Joe stated. "Natural Killer is."

  "Quiet," Markel warned.

  But the girl couldn't contain herself. She bent low, whispering, "It is," while trying to burn him with her hateful smile.

  "The virus targets old, outmoded stretches of the human genome," Joe continued. "From what I can tell—and I'm no expert in biology, of course—but your extra genes guarantee you wouldn't get anything worse than some wicked flu symptoms out of the bug. Is that about right?"

  "A tailored pox phage," she said. "Rapidly mutating, but always fatal to sapiens genome."

  "So who dreamed up the name?" Joe glanced at Markel and then winked at her. "It was you, wasn't it?"

  She sat back, grinning.

  "And it's going to save you? From bastards like me, is it?"

  "You won't dare lift a hand against us," she told Joe. "As soon as you realize we have this weapon, and that it could conceivably wipe your entire species off the face of the Earth. . . . "

  "Smart," he agreed. "Very smart."

  From the Grendel enclosure came the sharp soft noise of a gun firing. One quick burst and then two single shots from the same weapon. Then, silence.

  Markel lifted his pistol reflexively.

  "So when do you Rebirths make your official announcement?" Joe asked. "And how do you handle this kind of event? Hold a news conference? Unless you decide on a demonstration, I suppose. You know, murder an isolated village, or devastate one of the orbital communities. Just to prove to the idiots in the world that you can deliver on your threats."

  A voice called from the enclosure: "I have it."

  Joe turned in time to see the reddish glow rise off the ground, partly obscured by the strong hand holding it. But as the arm cocked, ready to throw the prize back into the plaza, there was a grunt, almost too soft to be heard. A terrific amount of violence occurred in an instant, without fuss. Then the red glow appeared on a different portion of the jungle floor, and the only sound was the slow lapping of a broad happy tongue.