Root of Unity

by SL Huang

  My leg muscles spasmed again.

  Nobody had fired—they must be trying to take us back alive—but my body was giving out on me faster than I had expected, and I’d breathed a lot more smoke than I’d meant to. The mathematics wavered in melting lines around me, and the AK wavered in my hand. I wasn’t sure I could fight them all and win.

  Through the smoke, through my streaming eyes, I caught sight of something snaking up the wall.

  Hey, I’m working on the foundation, the insane D.J. had said. You gotta see what I’ve put together. It’s balls-out cool…

  He’d been setting this base to implode, for the walls to crack and crumble and bury themselves, just like the other one.

  A bullet wouldn’t set off plastic explosives. But the detonation mechanism—if someone happened to be a very good shot—

  I mustered all my strength, brought the AK up, and fired.

  The explosion tore through concrete and stone, and I jerked Halliday with me, running, running, every minute expecting a 7.62 round to punch through my back. But men were screaming all around us, dashing to save themselves—even the ones who’d been closer to the exit than we were needed precious seconds to lurch around and figure out what was happening, to turn and race for the outside, and we sprinted past them toward light and freedom. Concrete blocks smashed down as the ceiling began to cave in. We were so close to the door—we would make it, we could make it, we had to make it—

  We burst out into the sunlight, the overgrown weeds slapping at our shins. I yanked Halliday along with me, away, away, the building collapse a thunder on our tails. I flipped the selector switch on the AK back to full and sprayed it behind us without looking, dissuading pursuit.

  No one fired back. Most of the goons had been way too far from the door.

  We ran.

  Thoughts skittered through my brain in a jumble. We had to get to a vehicle; not everyone would have been killed and the rest could keep coming after us, shooting at us as we ran. But I didn’t see any sign of their vans or SUVs. Where would they be keeping them?

  We kept running, the sky vast and blue and too bright above us, and we almost ran right off the bluff into the Pacific.

  Halliday yanked me back, stumbling herself. I’d glimpsed the surf crashing against the rocks far, far below.

  Tires screeched behind us, and I pulled Halliday down. We hit our bellies in the dry grass and peered back the way we had come. But the SUV wasn’t gunning for us; it was haring away, skidding in its hurry.

  Another followed, and another, swerving and careening as if they fled from the devil.

  “They’re running,” said Halliday, her voice hoarse and scratching. She coughed into her shoulder.

  That they were. And it hit me—if we were anywhere near a single other sign of civilization, this explosion would attract the authorities, no question. This area might be fairly deserted, but nowhere in Southern California was the middle of the Yukon, and unlike some people I’d tangled with, these guys didn’t have law enforcement in their pockets, couldn’t afford to bring attention to themselves when a federal investigation was already barking against their heels. They didn’t have time to stay and hunt us down and murder us, not when it might mean their own skins, not when they didn’t know if law enforcement had caught wind of this.

  Their overzealous explosives expert had screwed them.

  I prodded Halliday, and we belly-crawled until we were behind a rolling knoll of the bluff, right on the edge of the cliff with our feet practically dangling over the edge. We sat there and breathed, the sun in our eyes, while the bad guys ran. I kept the AK ready just in case, but to a man, our captors put their own preservation first.

  We sat for a long time after we’d heard the last engine peel away, the sun dipping toward the ocean in front of us. Then I clawed my way to my feet, grabbing onto the tough grasses behind us to steady myself. “We’d better get going, Professor. They might come back if they determine no one called this in.”

  She nodded and rolled onto all fours, crawling away from the edge before attempting to stagger upright herself.

  I limped over to join her, and we started back the way we had come, a weaving, drunken stumble back toward the bunkers. With the adrenaline receding, my legs shook and threatened to buckle at every step, and I was pretty sure the wound in my side was bleeding again. A lot. “You might have to drive,” I said, my voice scratching as badly as Halliday’s, each word barely making it out whole.

  “I’m not sure they left any vehicles,” she answered, scanning our dusty surroundings. We’d hiked back beyond the building we’d blown up, to where tire treads gouged their way down a dirt track away from the shore, but none of their transportation fleet was in sight.

  “Oh. Well then. I suppose that makes things easier.” A strange sort of giddiness pecked at my consciousness. I wondered if that should worry me.

  “We don’t know where we are,” Halliday pointed out.

  “It’s Southern California, not the Yukon,” I said, giving voice to my thoughts from before. “How far from a main road could we be?” Bad question, considering the state we were both in, but for some reason I found that funny. I bit my lip to keep from smiling and turned to orient myself down the tire-tracked road. “We should keep moving. I don’t want you to collapse from low blood sugar. Speaking of, eat something.”

  Halliday limped after me, obediently tearing off some of a roll from her pocket and chewing at it. “What if they come back before we make it to a road?”

  “That’s what I’ve got this for,” I said, hefting the AK. A small, embarrassingly weak heft, but I ignored that. “They’re not going to get us again.”

  Halliday hesitated, then nodded. She didn’t look particularly happy with my methods. That’s gratitude for you.

  We started trekking down the dirt road. The sun was behind us, but it was still too bright out, the sky searingly clear. My wound oozed with every step, the rifle becoming more leaden in my hand.

  We hadn’t even made it out of sight of the bunkers behind us when a dozen black SUVs tore up the slope.

  Oh, God.

  Shit. Halliday was right. They’d come back.

  I steadied my stance and leveled the AK, making sure the selector was back on semiauto and counting how many shots I had left. I’d want to take out the driver of the lead SUV, to time things to cause the ones behind it to crash, maximum possible casualties per shot—

  “Wait!” shrieked Halliday. “Wait, wait, don’t shoot!”

  I hesitated an instant, my finger already on the trigger, and saw the lights.

  Red and blue. Police lights. Flashing out of the SUVs.

  And another thrum came up on the edges of my hearing—helicopters.

  Holy shit. The Feds really had found us. Or maybe someone had called in the explosion as the bad guys had feared. Whatever the reason, they were here.

  The AK suddenly felt excessively heavy, and I let the butt end thud into the dirt. There was something wrong with my legs. I sat down hard after it, the weapon falling across my lap.

  Well-armed agents were pouring out of the vehicles. Halliday thrust her hands in the air. Someone pointed and shouted. Halliday started calling out, babbling about how no one was left here but us.

  A figure detached from the ranks and strode over.

  The same fucking DHS agent who had captured me. Of course she had to be here.

  “What’s the status here?” she demanded.

  “They rabbited,” I said. “Or died. Most of the bunker blew up when we escaped.”

  “Escaped?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not elaborating. No need to tell her getting caught had been the plan. “I wouldn’t send people in there before the bomb squad.”

  “I’m aware of that,” she said with a good dose of sarcasm. “Do you need medical attention?”

  “Not from you,” I said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” It was dawning on me that she was pissed. Nice. “We’ll have EM
S check you out,” she continued to Halliday.

  “I—I think I’m fine—”

  “Nevertheless.”

  “Arthur!” said Halliday.

  I looked. Arthur had pushed through the crowds of troops and was jogging toward us. Damn. I’d almost shot him.

  “Go,” I said to Halliday. I avoided looking toward Arthur myself. Best not to let the government know I was connected with him in any way, if I could help it.

  Apparently only having been waiting for someone to tell her it was okay, Halliday took off at a hobbling run for her friend.

  “You don’t have any authority here, you know,” said the DHS agent from above me.

  “I don’t see why not,” I said. I was still sitting on the ground, but whatever. “Considering I did your jobs for you and all.”

  “Did our—we were trying to catch the Lancer! Put him and his men behind bars. Contain the proof. Do you have any idea what you’ve done here?”

  Wow, she was really pissed. “I rescued the woman I’m working for,” I said. “I’d call that a win.”

  Her face twisted in contempt. “You’re a shortsighted idiot. And you’re under arrest.”

  “What for?”

  “Interfering in a federal investigation.”

  “Because I dug out your tracker?” I said. “Do you really want to try me in a court for that?”

  “Who says this would ever see a courtroom?”

  Well, it wouldn’t because I wouldn’t let it, but still, that assumption from her was just a little bit terrifying. “Your bosses, then. You really want make a report saying you had me, tried to strongarm me into playing things your way, and then promptly lost me? I wouldn’t want to look that dumb if I were you.”

  Her lip twitched. I really think she wanted to punch me. Or, well, arrest me.

  I adjusted my grip on the AK. Just in case.

  “Besides, I did save your partner’s life,” I said.

  “And if you think that gives you license to rampage off and destroy—”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m really fucking tired. Can we do this later?”

  “We’ll do it from a debriefing room,” she said. “After which I’ll decide whether to charge you. Get up. Leave the weapon.”

  I supposed there was no getting around having to talk to them, at the very least. Maybe I should try to stop pissing her off enough for her to want to arrest me out of spite.

  I let the AK tumble into the dirt and pushed myself up. My muscles were starting to stiffen and seize in odd ways, making it hard to stay upright. I forced myself not to sway. I’d lost track of where Halliday and Arthur were.

  Shit. I’d forgotten to warn Halliday against telling the Feds any details about me.

  Okay, that could complicate matters. “I want to talk to my client,” I said.

  “Not a chance.” The DHS agent took out a pair of handcuffs. “I really won’t object to using these. Come with me. Now.”

  The rest of the agents had dispersed, the bomb squad inching forward first and sending in their robots in advance of the humans. My agent friend, proving she had a shred of humanity, took me to their on-site medical staff first. I watched like a hawk while the paramedics patched me up, and I checked the area mentally afterward. Fucking NSA and their fucking microchips. But apparently field EMTs weren’t qualified to implant tracking devices—that, or they just didn’t fancy doing it while I was awake.

  The agent put me in one of their SUVs along with several Feds who were geared to the teeth. I tried to demand to talk to my client again, and she slammed the door in my face.

  Fuck.

  Well, whatever was going to happen was going to happen. If I had to break out of federal custody again, I would.

  I should have cared a lot more about getting taken in, but I just didn’t have the energy.

  Chapter 19

  My hard-faced agent friend had said her name was Jones. I didn’t know whether to suspect that of being an alias or not—she didn’t look like a Jones, but then, would a Fed pick such an obvious fake name? I didn’t suppose it mattered.

  She left me to wait locked in a small room sitting at a metal table. The place lacked the classic one-way glass so popular on television and in police stations, but I was sure hidden eyes were watching from cameras I couldn’t see. I put my head down on the table and tried to sleep, but every time I started to drop off, I jerked awake with the sensation that something large and dark was watching and waiting for me. Fucking unconscious mind.

  I supposed I should have been spending some time figuring out how to escape, but I was too goddamn tired. And besides, with Arthur and Pilar and Halliday and Checker all snarled up in this, I rated the probability of being able to walk anonymously away at something very close to zero.

  How had we ended up working with the government? Oh, right. Arthur.

  After leaving me to sit and glaze over for a few hours, Jones came in and leaned against the wall across from me. “Cas Russell,” she said.

  Well, fuck. Not that there had been much chance they would miss that. Even if Halliday had kept her mouth shut, which she probably hadn’t thought to do, it was a very small leap for them to start making a few phone calls about me to certain disreputable people. If only I were a six-foot-tall white guy—they would’ve had a list of names way too long to check. Being a foot shorter, brown, and female meant a few questions in the right corners would get them a correct ID, even from people I’d never met.

  Unfortunately for me.

  Jones blew out a breath. “Now what’s your real name?”

  Okay, that wasn’t what I had expected. “What do you mean?”

  “You must think I’m an amateur.”

  “It seems you’ve been asking around about me,” I said with pleasant sarcasm, mentally upticking the likelihood that she wasn’t really a Jones herself. “I don’t know what I can possibly contribute.”

  “You really want to do this?” Her stance became more aggressive. “Right now we don’t give a fuck about you or what you get up to in your spare time. But you’re a fingernail’s width away from going from ‘witness’ to ‘perpetrator.’ So how about we begin again, and either you start acting like we’re on the same side in this Halliday mess, or I’m going to go ahead and say we’re not.”

  I measured my breaths, thinking as the landscape shifted. I’d assumed I was about to have the book thrown at me. But if Jones was telling the truth, I was in a lot better shape here than I’d presumed. If the Feds only cared about me in reference to Halliday, that might be a very good thing indeed. “Cas Russell is my real name,” I said cautiously.

  “Bullshit.”

  The instant denial was a slap to the face. “Fuck you,” I said. “Hook me up to a fucking polygraph if you don’t believe me.” I could control my physiological responses enough to fool the machine anyway, but in this case I was telling the truth. “You want me to cooperate, maybe you want to keep those accusations to yourself.”

  She leaned back, evaluating me, pressing her lips together.

  “I know you guys are stupid,” I said, too annoyed to be polite, “but you know the type of work I do. If I burned an alias every job I’d never be able to build up a client base.”

  “So ‘Cas Russell’ is your business name.”

  I was out of patience. “Fine. My name is Bridget Twitwaffle. Stick that in your fancy computers.”

  Her stare was getting intense. I pretended not to notice and studied the ceiling instead.

  “What happened in there?” Jones asked. Demanded, really, but at least we were off the name thing.

  “I tracked down Professor Halliday and rescued her,” I answered.

  “And your wise ass is going to give me a detailed account of every aspect of that statement, or I’m throwing you in a hole so deep light can’t hit the bottom. You read me?”

  Yeah, I understood, her sloppy physics metaphor notwithstanding. “And if I do that?”

  “Then we’ll see.”


  I gambled. “I want some guarantees.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Rich.”

  “I bet I can find who stole Halliday’s proof to begin with,” I said. Remarkably efficient, she had called me. “You said we can be on the same side. I’m willing to give that a go.”

  Her cheek twitched. “Because you were such a team player the first time around.”

  “You implanted a tracker in me!”

  She shook her head. “Here’s how this is going to work. You tell us everything you know about Halliday, and you give us your real identity and any aliases. If we feel like you’d be an asset at that point, we’ll talk. If not…we’ll have a different talk.”

  My mouth had gone dry, but the part of my brain that controlled speech didn’t seem to have registered that this could be some real trouble. “What, did your superiors give you a lot of shit when I cut your leash? Or did your idiot partner get fired for being dumb enough to step on something that should’ve gotten you both killed? Maybe they’ll fire you, too, for not being quick enough at finding the very smart woman you were supposed to be rescuing and possibly dooming the global economy in the process—”

  “You should be behind bars,” she interrupted, so viciously I sat back, mute. “We’d be doing the world a fucking favor locking someone like you away, and if I have anything to say about it, that’s exactly what will happen. The only thing that’s saving you right now, the only thing, is that we’re in a fucking national security crisis that you don’t seem to give a rat’s ass about.” She paused, breath heaving, contempt writ through every line of her face. “You disgust me. The world might be ending for the rest of us, but you, it’s your goddamn lottery ticket. And you don’t even give a shit about it.”

  The accusation stung, deep inside where this DHS agent who didn’t know me, didn’t know a thing about me—where she couldn’t see. And I would eat crushed glass before I would let her. “I give maybe two shits,” I said glibly.