by Jaxon Reed
She said, “How can we stop someone like that? Someone with that much power?”
Bryce said, “Like you said, the Army is going to be our best shot.”
-+-
“This is Alexa Caldwell with a Texas news alert. I am onsite at the State Capitol where a large mechanized force from the United States Military is reportedly headed this way. All of this is going on while four Texas National Guard tankbots went rogue from an armory west of the Bee Cave suburb about an hour ago. Now one of those tankbots is heading west, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake along MoPac . . .”
Captain Kim’s voice cut through Bryce’s newsfeed as he and Parker floated high above the city. She said, “Detective, I have Colonel Clark from the Pentagon trying to patch through. I’m letting him in on my line.”
Clark’s voice came through Bryce’s neural implant.
“Detective? You were right. We’ve been doing some research, and essentially it appears the subject is a male harpy like the one your department took down years ago. Only it appears he is much stronger than the one you faced. Our people are saying that harpies are attracted to sources of power. So, it makes sense he’s heading toward the Capitol.”
Bryce nodded his head, then realized they were speaking with voice only and Clark could not see him.
He said, “That is correct, Colonel. We also have an unofficial precog’s report indicating he will be approaching the Capitol, too.”
“Alright. I don’t know anything about a precog report, but we are taking full steps to meet the threat head-on. Before he gets there, do you have any insights for us as to how to proceed?”
“The way to take out a harpy, Colonel, is to distract them. Throw everything you’ve got at him and try to get him off guard. He’s got some kind of psychic shield up that blocks bullets, and presumably energy bolts and explosions, too. If he gets distracted enough, that shield might go down. Every projectile he has to concern himself with, every weapon, every attack . . . they all require psychic energy. If you can create enough distractions, something should eventually get through.
“Also, be prepared to lose a lot of equipment. And don’t be surprised when some of your weapons are used against you.”
-+-
The tankbot ran through downtown streets between tall buildings gradually giving way to lower ones. Police diverted all traffic in the air and on the ground. Pedestrians were warned to stay indoors, a reverse-911 going out through the neural cell network.
Jacques looked up and around at the buildings as the tankbot sped through deserted streets, his head moving in rhythm with its metallic steps.
Earlier, for a moment, he felt someone might try to blow the bridge on Mopac over the Colorado River. But he crossed it without incident. Evidently cooler heads had prevailed.
After the bridge, he followed his nose and headed down 6th Street for a while, recalling what he could of the city’s layout during his brief flight above it. He cut over on Rio Grande Street, then took a right a few blocks later on 12th Street.
The buildings grew progressively lower before giving way to a wide open green space. Before him the Texas State Capitol appeared in all its majestic glory. Larger than the United States Capitol, its dome gleamed brilliantly in the afternoon sun.
Jacques smiled and brought the tankbot to a halt in the middle of the street. It squatted down on its legs to stabilize the cannon’s platform and he mentally synced with the electronic aiming system.
The atmosphere around the Capitol seemed to ripple as drone after drone appeared, dropping out of the sky. The air darkened with hundreds of military aircraft as they fell into place, unrolling like a metallic quilt between Jacques and the building.
Each gunmetal gray craft floated in the air, roughly twice the size of a squad car. Missile tips poked out from stubby side wings, and large cannons jutted from the nose of each drone. The sensor arrays above the guns looked like angry sunglasses staring back at him.
Jacques said, “Wow!”
He reached out with his mind to explore the new weapons of war. The twenty closest ones fired missiles almost simultaneously.
Fifteen of the missiles hit the tankbot. Jacques turned five of them back toward their respective aircraft, sending explosions through the sky and hurtling tons of metal down to the ground.
A far larger explosion lit up the ground at the tankbot’s feet, obscuring the view of all the cameras aimed at Jacques. Smoke and flames blotted everything out for several seconds.
When it finally cleared, the tankbot lay smoldering on the pavement, knocked over to one side, its remaining ordnance burning up in bright orange flames. Jacques stepped calmly through the smoke and walked forward.
Bryce’s neural link crackled. Kim said, “How is that possible?”
Bryce said, “His psychic shield is incredibly powerful. They’re going have to do better than that.”
Jacques spread his hands in the air and mentally commandeered ten of the drones. He seemed to quickly figure out how they operated, easily overriding their security systems. He turned them around, and they began firing on other craft.
The remaining drones went into autonomous mode, returning fire on the rogues. Thirty more flew to one side and launched a new round of missiles and automatic cannon fire on Jacques.
He twirled his fingers, sending some of the missiles back and letting the others explode harmlessly all around him.
Through it all, Jacques kept walking toward the building. Within seconds the number of drones were reduced by half.
Parker said, “We’re gonna need more drones.”
Bryce said, “They’re not distracting him enough.”
“Well, what are they supposed to do? They’re already giving him everything they’ve got.”
They watched on their virtual monitors as Jacques twirled his fingers again and sent ten more drones attacking the others.
Bryce said, “I’ll have to distract him.”
“What? Are you out of your mind?”
“Captain, ask the Colonel to hold his fire. I’m going in.”
Kim said, “Copy that, Detective. And, God bless you.”
Bryce angled the steering down and swooped the car toward the ground at breakneck speed.
Parker said, “Was this in Melody’s dream, or are you just making it up as you go along?”
“Actually,” Bryce said, “I was in the dream. On the ground, talking to him. But you weren’t.”
He landed the car fast, popping open the door. The acrid smell of smoke flooded the car’s interior.
He crawled out and looked back at Parker. He said, “Stay out of range until this is over.”
“Jerry, listen to me. You can’t just—”
He ignored her and addressed the car’s computer. “Hover above at 500 feet, one half mile back.”
The computer beeped and the door closed. The car shot up in the air. Parker stared at him through the windows as it lifted away. He could feel her anger and frustration. Personally, he felt grateful they had taken his car today instead of hers.
Bryce jogged into the smoke, zigzagging through flaming debris and destroyed drones to catch up with Jacques. Several had crashed into nearby buildings, starting fires. Five drones were left in the sky. They raced high above, trying to get out of Jacques’s psychic range.
One was too slow and Jacques pulled it back with a jerking motion. It spiraled downward and crashed into the street in front of Bryce, sending chunks of debris flying everywhere.
Bryce ducked and shielded his face with an arm.
He concentrated on his neural link and said, “Captain, tell them they need to keep something nearby. I’m going to provide a distraction. When he lets his guard down, that’s when they need to strike.”
“Copy that. I’ll let them know. I’ll try to keep them from shooting while you’re close. No promises, though. Be careful.”
He jogged around the new wreck. A few seconds later as he came closer to Jacques, her voice crac
kled over the link again.
“They say more of the cavalry just got here, Detective. Look up.”
Hundreds upon hundreds of military drones flew into sight. They crowded the airspace between Jacques and the Capitol.
Bryce’s feet scuffed the pavement as he jogged up behind Jacques, finally drawing near to his son.
Jacques looked over his shoulder and smiled. He said, “You’re just in time! The fools think they can stop me with drones.”
Bryce pulled up close and Jacques turned completely to face him.
He said, “They don’t know how powerful I am!”
The boy’s eyes flashed red, blue, yellow, white.
Bryce felt a huge wave of psychic energy building up within Jacques. He gave one nervous glance at the floating armada, with all its destructive power aimed at them. The entire force of the United States Army was prepared to unleash an incredible amount of explosive fury. Jacques would probably survive it. Bryce felt certain he personally could not.
He swallowed hard, and sweat broke out on his brow. He tore his eyes from the armed flotilla and stared at Jacques.
His eyes, Bryce thought. They’re the same as Desiree’s.
He said, “Son, I want you to know about your mother.”
Bryce felt the psychic energy winding down as Jacques blinked and focused on his words.
“My mother?”
“Not Phoebe. Your real mother. Your biological mother. Come on, son. Let’s talk about her. I think I may have a way to share my memories with you.”
The boy locked eyes with him, and Bryce could feel his probing, poking at his emotions, trying to probe his thoughts. Bryce stood there, open and inviting. He let Jacques probe.
“You’re not on Hexenhammer?”
“No, son. I’m not on any drugs. It’s just me. Come on, let’s talk.”
Bryce made a follow motion with his hand. He turned and headed back toward the buildings. Jacques walked up beside him. Together, side by side, they moved away from the Capitol.
Kim’s voice came over the link and said, “Great job, Detective!”
Bryce’s attention snapped. Jacques’s head jerked toward him as if a bubble popped. The deception underlying Bryce’s mental veneer shown through, plain for the boy to see.
His eyes flashed red and he reached out to take over Bryce’s mind.
Kim said, “They can’t shoot, Bryce! Not without killing you too! All they’ve got are missiles up there and big guns! They—”
Time seemed to stand still. Jacques’s mental control felt like a red haze overtaking his mind. It seeped into the nooks and crevices of his conscious thought, squeezing everything out. And Jacques felt very, very angry. With him. Bryce could feel murderous thoughts coursing through his son’s emotional core, seeping into his consciousness with the red haze.
In that moment, just before the boy gained full control over him, Bryce sensed something else: a familiar pattern of annoyance.
On the rooftop of the nearest building facing them, a swirl of metallic chips flew around in a miniature tornado before coalescing into the shape of a man.
The figure knelt and picked up a suppressed sniper rifle somebody had placed on the roof earlier. He brought it up to sensor chips serving as eyes, and aimed it carefully across the open space between the rooftop and Jacques and Bryce.
Bryce was in the way. The annoyance Bryce felt came from the sniper. For him.
In his last moment of conscious will before Jacques took over, Bryce dropped to his knees, giving the sniper a clear shot.
Thup!
Jacques’s head popped open like a melon, spraying blood everywhere.
14
Finally discerning a target they could shoot, the drones launched a dozen missiles at the metallic figure on the roof, obliterating it and taking out half the building.
From his knees, Bryce fell down beside Jacques and looked for any sign of life. Too much of the boy’s head was gone, though. A squad car descended nearby, lights flashing. Then a SWAT van landed and the team exited, quickly securing a perimeter on the ground.
One of the SWAT team members approached him. Bryce stood up and walked toward the officer. He recognized MacLeroy, the man from whom Diaz had borrowed a rifle.
MacLeroy looked down at the body and Bryce felt a surge of satisfaction from the officer. Bryce looked over MacLeroy’s weaponry as a thought occurred to him.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it, Detective.”
“The boy’s body . . . it can’t remain intact. Otherwise . . .” He tilted his head in the direction of the drones still swarming above them.
MacLeroy said, “You think they can use his body? What will they do, try and make someone like him again?”
Bryce nodded. He said, “It’s happened before. If not our people, somebody else will. It’s too tempting. These powers he had . . . they’re genetic.”
MacLeroy’s eyes grew wide with the realization of what Bryce said.
“I understand, Detective. I’ll take care of it.”
He unslung his rifle and approached the group of officers beginning to coalesce around Jacques’s body.
He said, “Okay, people. I need you to step aside! The Detective tells me there’s still a threat until we are absolutely certain the suspect is neutralized!”
He activated the grenade launcher under his rifle and everybody scrambled out of the way.
FOOOOM!
Bryce watched Jacques’s body toss up into the air then fall back to the pavement with a splat. Flames from the explosion caught the clothes on fire, then flesh.
“Think that’ll do it, Detective? I can hit him again.”
“I think that’ll do it. Thank you.”
-+-
Sophie Charvet looked out the window of her autocab as it sailed over to Cybershot’s hotel above the virtual recreation of the city. Here in Metro-X, things were not mirrored exactly as in the real world. The destruction near the Capitol, for instance, had yet to be replicated. Perhaps it would never be. Despite all the fires, only one building had been severely damaged. Would the programmers take the time and trouble to recreate it in-game? Charvet doubted it.
But an accurate representation of the real world was not why people came here, she thought. They came to live out their fantasies without repercussions in the real world.
Well, there might be repercussions to your pocketbook, she thought. The company makes sure of that. But then, engineers of fantasy always got their cut, whether through the price of a book, a movie ticket, or even a game.
The autocab landed on the hotel roof, shaking her out of her thoughts.
She approached the guard and stood patiently while he made the call down to Cybershot’s suite. Her recent kill count still showed the fatalities she had inflicted at the nightclub. She was determined not to play by Simon’s stupid rules. These scores would be enough.
The guard pressed under his ear, ending the call. He looked at her and said in his cartoon voice, “You can go down.”
She could have sworn he smirked as she passed, and she wondered if his double entendre had been programmed.
If I kill him, will they replace him with someone with a better personality? Or are all NPCs in this game jerks?
Moments later she knocked on Cybershot’s door, and it opened for her. She let out a little of sigh of relief. He would not be making the meeting difficult, after all.
“Sophie! Come in!”
Cybershot held the door open for her. He wore a European-style bathing suit, covering just enough but not much. She ignored his near-nudity as he walked out to the balcony and sat down. He picked up a drink, some fruity concoction with a pineapple wedge.
“Would you like anything, Sophie?”
He gestured toward the poolside bar. She shook her head.
“I see that the Courts have deposited my fee for carrying out the edicts.”
She snorted and said, “The United States Military almost carried it out fo
r you.”
“Ah, but they didn’t, did they? I was directly responsible for the deaths of both Renard and her son. The Courts obviously agree, as the money is now in my account.”
Charvet frowned at him. He seemed so smug. It made her sick.
Well, this should wipe that smile off his face, she thought.
“Yes, about that. It seems that hacking in and commandeering four tankbots put the entire military establishment on high alert.”
Cybershot shrugged, his elegant locks swaying with the motion. Charvet found herself wondering how much he paid for the hair alone on that avatar.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Sophie. They should be grateful I exposed a security flaw they were unaware of.”
“Yes, well, all it has done is piss them off. There’s a huge forensic digital investigation going on right now.”
Cybershot raised an eyebrow at the news. Then he shrugged and took another sip from his drink.
He said, “I’ve been hacking into the US Military since the end of the Second World War, Sophie.”
“Yes, I know your people have. But, I’m here to inform you that they are coming after you personally. In the event of capture, we expect you to remember the promises you made to our organization . . . Is something wrong?”
“I’ve got to go, Sophie.”
His avatar winked out of existence.
-+-
Bryce and Parker stood on a rooftop with half a dozen FBI agents in what was known locally as a slum district. Here, buildings looked dilapidated. Many were abandoned. Little glass could be seen intact in the windows, and the streets below held layers of trash. Even the sides of the buildings looked beaten and weathered, covered by a grimy patina.
Bryce knew that over time neighborhoods like this tended to be rehabilitated. Developers would come, tearing down or refurbishing everything. Young people would move in, injecting new blood into the community. A couple decades or so, and the entire neighborhood might even become desirable to the middle class again. Meanwhile, some of the older communities elsewhere in town were sinking, as those with jobs and opportunity moved out. They would become future slums and start to look like this one. Such was the American urban cycle.
