Driftmetal V

by J. C. Staudt

  “Gross,” I muttered.

  These thugs were about to get what they had coming. I was strapped to the gills and ready to dole out punishment on the purveyors of my near-death experience. The more I thought about how great it was going to be, the more I felt the medallion’s dark influence whispering through my consciousness. It was so disturbing I couldn’t get enough of it.

  The effect seemed to feed on itself, a snowball of wrath and vengeance. I held Gilfoyle’s thugs in the highest contempt, and the medallion seemed to support my sentiments with its pseudo-chemical rush. “Take us up, Mr. Sarmiel,” I said, seething with rage.

  Sarmiel gave the command. At the wheel, Braylan Jigson eased up on the clinkers, and we began to ascend. Thorley and Chaz met me at the railing, which had been less of a railing than a row of splinters ever since the battle in Seskamode.

  “You guys sure you’re up for this?” I asked them.

  Yet again, Blaylocke had begged me to come. I told him he was in no fit shape for it—not yet. He’d griped about it, but I knew he understood.

  Chaz was, of course, along for the sole purpose of unlocking things. Or blowing them up, if the unlocking thing didn’t pan out. “I don’t see why we have to approach the house all clandestine and aggressive,” he said. “Last time we met with Gilfoyle, I was on Yingler’s side. I could try talking to him first.”

  “Gilfoyle’s thugs aren’t the talking type,” I said. “Besides, Yingler screwed Gilfoyle over just as much as I did. We need to disarm those thugs if we want to get to Gilfoyle, and the only way to disarm that many thugs is to take them by surprise.”

  “Why don’t we just bluewave him?” Thorley asked.

  Chaz agreed.

  “Because he can hang up. And then he’ll know we’re coming. The only way to get his compliance is to make him give it to us.”

  “That sounds inconsiderate.”

  “That’s why we’re doing it. Gilfoyle isn’t stupid. He’ll see the benefits of a new gravstone deal once we explain it was Yingler who double-crossed him and not Pyras.”

  Chaz looked doubtful.

  “Right. Let’s get moving then. Remember: disable and detain.”

  “Got it,” they both said.

  They were each carrying a pulserod and a hand pulser, along with dozens of plastic zip ties for restraining the thugs once they’d done the disabling part. I was equipped with the same loadout, plus a bunch of brand-new augments. This was going to be fun.

  There were no precisely weighted driftmetal ingots to carry us down to Gilfoyle’s house this time; just plain old-fashioned rope. I tossed a coil overboard and descended through the night air to land on the highest peak of Gilfoyle’s roof.

  I didn’t wait for Chaz or Thorley. When my feet hit the shingles, I slid down and landed on the nearest balcony, kicking the thug beside me in the ribs to send him stumbling into the sidewall. I activated the pulserod and cracked him across the jaw, moving aside as he fell stiffly to the floor. After checking his wrist ports for cutting weapons, I bound him with zip ties and conked him on the head.

  “Ow,” he shouted. “Gods, what was that for?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I thought that would work. Promise me you’ll shut up and I won’t have to try it again.”

  He said nothing.

  “Say you promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now if I have to come back here because you’ve started hollering—”

  I was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot, followed by a pained scream that came from the other side of the house.

  “Behave,” I told the thug. I launched myself onto the roof and scrambled over.

  Thorley was slumped against the balcony wall, a growing spot of blue blood on the sleeve of his shirt. The thug standing in front of him was saying something, his wrist port smoking. Where does Gilfoyle find these amateurs? I wondered, taking aim at the thug’s forearm.

  “Yeah, Oakland? I’ve got an intru—” was all the thug had time to say before my plasma shot punctured his arm and ignited the gunpowder-based ammunition within.

  He went off like a bag of popcorn, screaming as the errant weaponry ripped itself to shreds and took his arm along for the ride. What an idiot. I hopped down onto the balcony behind him and noticed he was wearing my necknet, a hands-free bluewave receiver with a subdural antenna. It made me so angry I grabbed him by his waist and collar and dumped him over the railing.

  “What happened?” I asked Thorley, crouching beside him. “I would’ve expected something like this from Chaz, but not from you.”

  “I got tripped up,” Thorley said, gritting his teeth. “He must’ve heard me. Once he knew I was coming, that was it.”

  “Are you okay to keep going, or do you want to stay here?”

  “I think I can—” he cut himself off in a pained grunt as he tried to put pressure on his arm and realized he couldn’t.

  “Alright, stay there. I’ll bluewave the ship.” I turned on the eavesdropper. “Irkenbrand. You there?”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Thorley’s hurt. I need an evac.”

  “I’ll notify Mr. Sarmiel right away.”

  “Thanks. Sit tight, Thorley. They’ll be here for you soon. In the meantime, shoot anything that comes through that door.”

  I climbed to the roof and crossed to the next balcony. The thugs down there would be waiting for me, thanks to the noise of their cohort exploding like a fireworks display. This balcony was larger than the others. It was more of a deck, really; an open terrace with adjoining exits from the kitchen and master bedroom. I picked out three thugs in the darkness below me—one on each end and one in the middle. They were no slackers, augment-wise. This wasn’t a pulser-and-zip-tie kind of situation.

  I fired a plasma shot at the far thug before dropping to the terrace between the other two. I shot a throbweb dart at one and a pulser burst at the other. The former raised a pronged pulser sword with an insulated rubber grip, which halted the throbweb and fried it like a bug in a zapper. The latter thug opened a flecker shield and let the pulse wash over its surface. Okay, so we’ve graduated little league.

  I looked past the shielded thug to find the third man hurtling toward me across the terrace, the back of his armored head smoking from my plasma round’s near-hit. This was a bad idea, I realized.

  Something hit me in the back, shoving me forward into the terrace’s glass-and-metal handrail. A fourth thug’s foot, I saw as I spun around—the woman who was wearing my digitprops. Great. This is going to end up like the mining platform all over again. Except this time, they won’t stick me in a hovercell.

  I could see I needed to give this plasma thing a real test. I shot the guy holding the flecker shield and watched in delight as the plasma blazed through the metal like a flame through paper and punched him in the face. The thug to my left swung his pulser sword. I feinted aside with the medallion’s help and shot a low-aimed throbweb dart at the thug running toward me. The web wrapped itself around his left shin, and he tumbled over.

  The female thug kicked me in the face. I fell back against the handrail and nearly spilled over the side. Stunned, I could do nothing to prevent the sword-wielding thug’s second blow, which landed hard on my chest and rocked me stiff with a strong pulse. I arched my back and felt the medallion surge as blood spilled from the wound.

  Both thugs stood back and waited for the sword’s pulse to finish washing over me. The woman grabbed me by the collar with my own digitprops and delivered a sharp headbutt. My head snapped back, but I’d already found her waist with my outstretched hand. I snapped my wrist back to puncture her abdomen with a plasma bead. She stumbled backward, eyes widening at the crater in her stomach.

  The thug with the sword let out a breath when he saw what I’d done to her. He lifted the blade to deliver me another blow, but I was already aiming in his direction. I had one arm wrapped around the handrail to hold myself up. My vision was spinning, and I could feel warm blood streami
ng from the break in my nose. The thug paused with his sword behind his head, removing one hand from the hilt to form a stop sign. “Wait.”

  I didn’t wait.

  Cavities opened in the thug’s face and chest, burning with blue light. I staggered to a stand and tried to shake my vision straight as the thug stumbled backwards. He caught himself on a patio chair, which tipped over and sent him through the glass dining table. I gave myself a mental high-five as I knelt beside metal-dome, waited for the throbweb to die, and snapped his neck like a bundle of telerium-coated twigs. So much for disable and detain.

  My next stop was Gilfoyle’s bedroom. After restraining the thugs who were still alive, I walked through the glass patio door and into the darkened chamber, a room large with opulence and silent with slumber, save for the explosion of shattering glass. Gilfoyle and his wife were stirring, thanks to the noise.

  I shone my eyelight first on her, then on him. “Hi there,” I said.

  Gilfoyle sat against the headboard, squinting. His face had healed after the beating I’d given him months before, but a few telltale scars remained. “You again? How did you—”

  I sniffed blood up my nose. “Get past your bodyguards? Because they suck, that’s how. They’re a bunch of tech-stealing lowlifes, and I owed them a thank-you.” Talking with a stuffed-up nose made me sound like a socially awkward scientist.

  “Tech-stealing, is it?” he said. “And what of the tech you stole from me, Mr. Jakes?”

  “That’s what I came to talk to you about. You’ve worn this medallion long enough to know how screwed-up it is. And I mean that in a good way. Where’s it from? Who made it? Why is it so good at doing what it does?”

  “It’s a family heirloom,” Gilfoyle said, “and I should very much like to have it back.”

  “Then one of your ancestors was a major butthole. I should’ve guessed. It runs in the family.”

  “Very droll, Mr. Jakes, though I’m not sure I catch your meaning. You’ve terrorized my family, given my daughter nightmares, robbed me blind of gravstone, stripped me of a valuable part of my family’s legacy, and caused me to triple my security budget. What more could you want from me that I haven’t already been forced to give you?”

  “A business opportunity,” I said. “I’ll admit I’ve given you a rough time. I’m trying to make amends for that in whatever small way I can.”

  “You can start by giving back my medallion.”

  “Nope. But what I am going to do is deliver that law-loving skunk Yingler into the hands of Pyras’s two councilors, Malwyn and DeGaffe.”

  Gilfoyle scoffed. “What’ll they do with him?”

  “I’m leaving that up to them. What you should know is that it wasn’t Pyras who betrayed you.”

  “I know that,” he said. “It was Yingler. He ended the contract and took the money for himself.”

  “So then let’s say you had the chance to sign a new trade contract with Pyras.”

  “I’d do it in a heartbeat, if not for the legal risk.”

  “Yeah, well, that risk has been mitigated. You’ve heard about the Regency’s overthrow by now, I’m sure…”

  “Are you telling me you had something to do with that?”

  I ignored his question and forged ahead. “That’s irrelevant. The high seat on Roathea is in flux at the moment. You shouldn’t have to worry about the Civs breathing down your neck for a while.”

  He turned up a corner of his mouth in thought. “And you have the power to reinstate this contract? You’re a thief. Why should I trust you any more than Yingler?”

  “You said it yourself… I’ve got nothing left to take from you. I want to help my friends and fulfill the promise I made to the people of Pyras. Without trade, all that beautiful gravstone goes to waste. If they’re going to sell it to someone, it might as well be you. Right?”

  “Of course. But I’m out several million chips already, and that was your doing.”

  “I sold your gravstone. I only got two million for it.”

  “You sold all of it? To whom?”

  “Again… irrelevant. But I’ll pay you back what I got for it. Two million. In notes.”

  “Notes?”

  “They’re as good as gold. So says the Regency.”

  “The same Regency who has been overthrown and is unlikely to return to power any time soon?”

  “It doesn’t matter when they return to power. They’re not in power right now. Get it while you can. And by the way, if you don’t want to assume the legal risk, there’s a simple solution for that. Pay your taxes.”

  “So says the thief.”

  “Hey… we’re cut from the same cloth, you and me.”

  Gilfoyle looked at his wife, then back at me. “Notes are traceable, Mr. Jakes. If you have some ulterior motive, you’d best spit it out now.”

  “Pyras is my ulterior motive. Pyras and the medallion. You have no reason not to take the two million, Gilfoyle. The notes I’m giving you are squeaky clean. Take them as a gesture of goodwill to smooth things over between you and the primitives.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  I smiled. “Tell me everything you know about this medallion. If you can tell me something especially useful, I’ll pay extra. Call off your dogs and let’s talk.”

  Gilfoyle lit the lamp on his nightstand. “You can stop shining that light in my eye now,” he said. “Charlene, give us a moment.”

  When Gilfoyle threw back the covers, she grabbed him by the arm. “Alastair,” she said in cautionary tones.

  “I’ll be fine, pumpkin. We’re going to have a quick word and I’ll be back shortly. Isn’t that right, Jakes?”

  I smiled at her. “That’s right, ma’am.”

  “I want to check on Judy,” she said.

  “I trust you haven’t harmed my daughter this time, Mr. Jakes?”

  I hadn’t. I shook my head to tell him so. I was getting worried about Chaz though, so I turned and whispered into my eavesdropper. “Chaz. You around?”

  No answer.

  I turned back to Gilfoyle. “Tell your henchpersons to leave off. I’ve got some friends outside, and you and I won’t be doing happy things if another fight breaks out.”

  Gilfoyle opened the drawer of his nightstand and retrieved a comm. “Oakland?”

  “Yes, Mr. Gilfoyle.”

  “Stand down, if you please.”

  “Are you sure, sir? If you’re being held hostage, just say so and I’ll—”

  “I’m fine, Oakland. I’m not in any danger… at the moment. Stand down.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  We stepped onto the patio through the broken glass door.

  “This is the third pane of glass on my house you’ve broken,” Gilfoyle said.

  “You can afford it.”

  Gilfoyle was distraught when he noticed the grisly scene beyond, where four of his thugs lay disabled. He stood there in shock, breathing hard. “What have you done?”

  “It’s more about what I haven’t done,” I said. “These boneheads are a little high-strung, don’t you think? You should tell them to take it easy.”

  “I can’t afford to keep replacing bodyguards every time you show up. They don’t come cheap, you know. Reliable ones are hard to find these days.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Alright, Mr. Jakes. As you seem to have ascertained, the medallion is the human consciousness in mechanical form. It is, quite literally, a mind of its own. It has all the functional capabilities of a thinking brain, only without the messy distraction of emotions to get in the way. It is pure, unimpeded thought.”

  “I’ve known this was something special from the moment I saw it. Now tell me the rest. Who made it? Where does it come from? How old is it?”

  “I don’t know who made it or how old it is,” Gilfoyle said. “It was passed down to me by my father, who got it from his father, and so forth. I was told it’s the reason for our family’s continued success, generation after generation. Its chief purpose
is to allow its host to perform at peak mental efficiency. It removes the cloud of limitation; eliminates distraction; hones instincts. In essence, it acts as a filter for one’s cerebral processes.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “The whole time I’ve been wearing this thing, it’s been influencing me. Almost like it’s trying to… take control. The scientist who analyzed it told me it hijacked every artificial intelligence he used it on. He told me the simpler the intelligence, the faster it takes over.” I thought of the Galvos logic drives, onto which Chaz had spliced a minute portion of the medallion’s functionality.

  Gilfoyle smiled. “You’ve had the medallion analyzed, have you?”

  More than analyzed. I used it to take over the world, I might’ve said. “Yes. And he thinks there’s something inside this thing. Something that changes you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jakes, but that’s entirely incorrect. There is nothing inside that medallion but perfect mental competence. If you felt an influence you were unused to, it wasn’t the medallion’s influence. It was yours.”

  I laughed. “You’re telling me I’ve been influencing… myself.”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed the quickening in your reflexes,” Gilfoyle said. “Maybe you’ve even experienced, as some do, flashes of the near future, or visions that seem to transport you to other places. And the whispers… the whispers, Mr. Jakes. Those are not the voice of some other being. They are your voice. Your own unadulterated guidance. The medallion learns you. It learns who you want to be, and it guides you along that path. Tell me… what exists in the absence of human emotion? What remains in the void where empathy, love, anger, and hatred no longer exist? I’ll tell you what, Mr. Jakes. The self. Larger than the skies, harder than mountains, more devastating than the most profound truth. The self. It is a remarkable experience—possessing the clarity of thought to do what you must, when every feeble emotional response persuades you toward the contrary. That we are techsouls has brought us nearer the ideal form of existence than anyone before us. This device brings us closer still. Through its power, you are learning who you really are.”