“He was the best friend I had,” Alphacon said.
And Jack’s own fragmented past, always filled with blank spots, suddenly presented itself in one complete whole. Jack understood where he had come from. How he had come to be. He was part of that man in the 2Dee. His connection to the past. And suddenly he felt an anchor with life.
“What was his name?” Jack asked.
“Titus.”
“What happened to him?”
“It is a Synthate story,” Alphacon said. “We fought together for many years, not just in the Games. They sent us secretly into Iran. Syria. Saudi Arabia. Your father saved my life many times. He was very brave. Very fierce. And then he met your mother.
“She was one of the doctors who tended to wounded Synthates. Back then, medical students worked on Synthates during their schooling. That’s when a miracle happened.”
“What?”
“She became pregnant.”
“I thought Synthates couldn’t have children,” Jack said.
“They can’t. This is why your birth was a miracle. I don’t think you realize how important you are. You’re the only one of your kind. Half-Synthate. Half-natural. You are proof that we are as human as they are. That we’re their property no longer. And this gives us all hope.”
“So my stepfather knew I was a Synthate?”
“Of course. Your stepfather did what he could for us. But he was still a natural. We need to be led by a Synthate. We need to be led by someone like you.”
Jack shook his head. Now was not the time. He wasn’t ready to give up his hate. All he had left was his hatred. That’s what made him strong. And that’s what he needed now.
“My wife was taken from me. Murdered. When the men responsible for her death are also dead,” Jack said, “then we can talk again.”
“I understand.” Alphacon grasped Jack’s shoulder. “Your stepfather created your genetic line. The same line your Synthate father passed on to you. So in some ways, the head of Genico was as much a father to you as your Synthate father. He did everything he could to protect you. But now he’s gone. And everything he feared has happened.”
“How did he die?” Jack said.
“We don’t know that.”
They walked back down the arcade to where Night Comfort waited for Jack. As they reached the end of the path, Alphacon said, “If you continue with this investigation, they will kill you eventually. Maybe here you could find peace.”
“I will have no peace until this over.”
“Take this.” Alphacon handed Jack a sync. “You can always reach me. Genico seeks to enslave even naturals themselves. Enslave them with disease.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at their Ituri project. Something there is making naturals sick,” Alphacon said and shook Jack’s hand. “Good luck. It has been good to see you. It is like seeing your father again.”
Jack rejoined Night Comfort, and they walked together between the cypress trees down the length of the dirt path. The air was warm as the sun dropped toward the horizon, a shimmering ladle dipping down between distant buildings beyond the dome.
Together they sat on rocks by the edge of the pond.
Night Comfort turned to him. “The greatest trick the genetic industry ever pulled is convincing the world that Synthates don’t have a soul. If you believe that, you’ll never feel equal to naturals.”
Valentino had been right. If Synthates weren’t human, then what were they? Certainly something more than reflections on water, something that dissolved at the touch.
“You know . . . I haven’t much time here,” Jack said slowly. “Tomorrow the Games begin again.”
“You could stay here. With me.”
Jack shook his head. “I have to go. Eventually the naturals will win. They always win. And I’ll be dead. I just want to make things right before that happens.”
They were all dying, a little bit each day, and there never seemed to be enough time. For them, for the naturals, maybe there was a heaven. But for us, Jack thought, there was what? In time, death comes for us all, but it only takes them to that place beyond. What was left for Synthates? And if Dolce were truly a Synthate, then where had she gone in death? Jack could not imagine her in a cold place. Dark and lonely forever. He would not believe it.
After a time, they walked back to Night Comfort’s home. The cottage was cooling in the evening air and she hung paper lanterns until the trees glowed with candlelight. They sat together on steps that led down toward the lake. The water was quiet and shimmered with moonlight. Boats were moored along the edge, and further back lights in windows reflected out over the water.
“It’s strange,” Night Comfort said. “My life has been filled with such horrible moments that I’ve learned how to tune them out. Like I’ve taken a dose of Amnease. But now the only thing I want is to stay here, soak myself in this moment of peace, like a tree putting its roots to water.
“The water flows through the roots into the leaves, like I want this moment to flow into me. But if I have no soul, then I have no place to store these times. Everything flows out of me.”
And when you leave, will I be able to remember these feelings?
Night Comfort closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder.
In the dawn, she walked him to the gateway out of the Ramble.
“The Games are tonight,” she said. “It’s going to be a tough battle. They made the announcement, fourteenth-century weapons. That favors the heavier, more physical Synthates. You’re not favorited to win.”
From a canvas bag slung on her shoulder she pulled a sword, a long, heavy blade almost three feet in length. Patterns were engraved on the metal, with an inscription in Latin.
“And so I seek justice,” Night Comfort read aloud, and passed the sword to Jack. She also presented a helmet, beautifully crafted, embossed with scenes of a battle between a fierce tribe of ancient Greece and their mythical half-man, half-horse enemy. “These were once worn by great kings and warriors.”
“How did they end up here?”
“Liberated from museums.” She closed her arms around him and put her mouth to his ear. “May God protect you.”
“I thought there was no God for Synthates.”
“There is. And he knows everything.”
“You sound like Dolce.”
Night Comfort took his hand. “A transport will take you back to the Synthate holding zone on Governors Island. Arden will meet you there. You must survive. Whatever it takes.”
“I will see you again. I promise,” Jack said as he returned the sword and helmet to the bag. “In this world or the other.”
CHAPTER 37
In the Synthate Zone on Governors Island, the air was cooler along the harbor, the water crowded with wave farms and slowly moving aqua bots. Arden waited for Jack near the harbor’s edge, as a storm broke over the water and heavy thunderclouds sailed across the sky like ships. A deep gray hung over Wall Street. The Games were tonight.
Jack handed the leather-bound portfolio to Arden. “This is from Valentino. I did my part. Now tell me how to get back to the natural world.”
The detective handed binoculars to Jack and pointed across the water. They were slightly south of Manhattan. The line of the collapsed Brooklyn Bridge and the jutting piers of the Seaport wave farm jumped into view.
“Look north,” Arden said. “See anything familiar?”
Rising above the Manhattan skyline was the slowly rotating sky turbine of the Genico corporation.
“We’re going to break in,” Arden said.
Jack lowered the binoculars and looked at Arden. “Why would I do that?”
“I think Reynolds’s murderer was a Genico Synthate. The only way to prove that is to access the Genico vidDrive, inside the building.”
“Why would you help me?”
“Because I need to get into Genico, too. And I need your help to do it. You’ve been inside before. You know your way around. My da
ughter is dying. I think Genico has the cure.”
“How do we get inside?” Jack asked. “I don’t have access anymore.”
Arden held up the packet Rudolph had given them. “Everything we need is in here. Access codes. Security details. Collected by Synthate cleaners and construction workers who make the building operate.”
“But I can’t leave this island. I’m restricted.”
“I know a way. During the battle with Baltimore tonight, look for the black stone castle. At its base you’ll find a gate. Beneath the gate is a tunnel. Someone will meet you there.”
“And the tracking chip?” Jack said. “They’ll know the moment I leave the island.”
“So we’ll take the tracker out.”
“But I thought it never came out.”
Arden sighed. “That’s not exactly true. There is one time . . .”
“What time is that?”
“When you’re dead.”
Long armored transports brought Jack and the rest of the Synthates into the stadium. Lines of crushers formed as they exited the vehicles deep below the structure and entered the armorer’s room. From above, the sound of the crowd pulsed through concrete like distant waves. Regal Blue walked with Jack past the line of crushers. “Cowards,” Regal Blue said. “All of them. Think they’re big men with their stun sticks and their armor. Let them go in and fight.”
The armorer’s room was a vast open space filled with medieval weaponry displayed on heavy wooden racks. Swords of all lengths were surrounded by maces, crossbows, and bows. Nearby, lined along the floor, were helmets, shields, and chest plates.
Coach Sharp stood with the team of armorers. A map of the field 3Deed in space from his sync.
“Take your pick. Synths trained as archers take bows, everyone else hand weapons,” one of the armorers called out. “Step up now.”
The Synthates moved in a line, taking up weapons from the rack and testing them out with a few short swings or pulls of a bow. Jack saw Sky King heft a large ax, too heavy for any normal man, and swing it easily in a long arc, the blade whistling through the air. Jack moved to the corner of the room, removed the equipment and weapons Night Comfort had given him and set them carefully to the side. One of the armorer assistants moved through the crowd, passing out blue coats of thick wool, the Braves emblem emblazoned on the front. Regal Blue joined him. He carried a heavy, spiked mace in one hand, a long, battered shield in the other.
From above, an air horn sounded.
“Let’s go now. Be brave. It’s almost over,” Coach Sharp called out. The armed Synthates moved at a double-time step to the base of the entrance ramp leading up to the field. The noise of the crowd was thunderous. Jack felt the familiar butterflies in his stomach. He gripped his sword to stop his hand from shaking.
Around him were a hundred Synthates. Jack wondered how many of them would die out there. He scratched the tip of his sword blade across the concrete. Soon the weapon would be red with blood. Tonight they fought the Baltimore Raiders, the only undefeated team in the Games.
A priest walked the ramp, sprinkling the Synthates with holy water, giving benediction in Latin.
“They say I have no soul,” Regal Blue whispered as the priest passed by. “So what then are they blessing?”
Jack put on the helmet Night Comfort had given him, raised the visor, and looked out between the iron eyeholes. Sky King met Jack’s gaze.
“If I knew of a way to escape, would you come with me?” Jack whispered.
Sky King looked at him. “That’s impossible. There’s no escape from here.”
At the front, the big door began rolling open. Light and sound streamed down. Then a whistle sounded and the Braves moved up toward the battlefield.
The noise outside the gates was now deafening.
To their left rose a large sandstone castle, five stories in height, a city block in width, with six turrets. Atop them, Braves’ banners whipped in the wind. The New York mascot rode hard toward the center of the field, waving the Braves’ flag overhead as the crowd cheered. Coach Sharp and his assistants jogged toward the sideline bunkers. Jack scanned further across the field. On the Baltimore side, two hundred yards distant, rose another castle. This one was black. Black stone, like Arden had said. That was how they would escape.
The escape route was on Baltimore’s side.
As the loudspeaker announced the arrival of Baltimore, the Raiders poured out onto the field. Both teams took off their helmets as the first notes of “The Star-Spangled Banner” sounded.
Then the lights went out. Jack looked up through the open dome, considering the night sky, still peaceful. There was a burst of sound, the call to battle, harsh and irrevocable.
The Braves ran over the grass, mounted ladders up the side of their own castle and ascended the walls. Directly below, at the base of the wall, were large pools of water.
“Watch the surface of the water,” Regal Blue said. “If it ripples, a tunnel is being dug beneath us.”
From the top, Jack could see the breadth of the battlefield. On the opposite side, their opponents mounted the black castle. Each Raider held a flaming torch, making their position on their wall resemble a trail of fireflies moving across the rough stone. A Baltimore drum played, its beat deep and insistent across the dark field.
Jack felt nauseous warmth spread through him. He dived deep inside himself, swam into the black hatred. He needed it now. He thought of Dolce, alone in that dark place. Dying because of them. And this fed his anger.
Torches were spread along their walls along with large cauldrons filled with black oil. Handed a long bow, Jack took it and tested the strength of the line. The ends of the arrows were wrapped in rags and soaked in gasoline.
Everything around Jack seemed to be rolling. The shadows on the walls undulated in the flicker of the torches. The crowd rose and fell in waves of color. The smoke wafted and spread across the field. Everything moved with flames and sound and the furious preparation of violence.
“Ladies and gentlemen of New York . . .” The announcer’s voice pierced the darkness. “Are you ready for war?”
There was no turning back. It was what the crowd demanded, and their thirst for brutality flowed into Jack like electricity. A buzzer sounded.
Jack saw a mass of movement on the Baltimore side. The Raiders streamed down the side of their castle wall. Their torches advanced over black ground.
“They’re going to attack,” Regal Blue said.
The crowd cheered, “Defense! Defense! Defense!” Inside the chain of torches, a long dark shape stretched out menacingly. Then slowly the mass began to move across the field toward them.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“Battering ram,” Regal Blue replied.
Soon its outline was clearer to discern. Jack saw that the weapon had two parts. First was a long wooden shed, topped with animal skins and mounted on wooden wheels. Beneath that defensive structure hung the smooth trunk of a massive tree. Its end had been tapered to a point and capped with iron, then suspended by thick chains from a support beam running lengthwise on the shed’s roof. Pushing together, twenty Synthates, straining against the weight, edged the weapon over the field toward the Braves.
“When they get within a hundred yards of us,” Sky King instructed, “fire flame the arrows and use the longbows. Burn them!”
A sense of suspended time now took over, with the New York Synthates leaning against the parapets watching the attackers’ progress.
“Here they come!” Sky King shouted.
The giant ram picked up speed. The rest of the Baltimore cohort, behind on their castle wall, cheered while the drums beat faster.
“Archers ready!” Sky King shouted.
Jack took up the longbow and notched one of the arrows.
“Flame your arrows!”
Small flames from the fifty bows lit up all along the New York castle wall.
“Aim!”
Jack pulled back on the longbow,
felt the wood go tight against his hand, bending against the force of the line. The arrow was notched and against his ear, the flaming tip hot against his gloved hand. He sighted down the shaft, aimed high over the approaching enemy. The battering ram moved up an incline and he could see the attackers looking up at the rows of archers’ flames. Moving in tighter against the ram, they gathered under the protective roof of the shed.
“Fire!”
The air filled with the whisk of arrows. Flames cut across the darkness like tiny meteorites, trailing smoke and fire. Jack heard cries and calls of “Take cover!” from the crew of the battering ram below them, now only yards distant. Stopping short, the Raiders sheltered beneath their massive burden. Rapt, the crowd rose in expectation as the arrows reached the pinnacle of their ascent and began to fall back to Earth.
Waiting. Waiting. Now!
The arrows pierced wood, earth, and flesh in an assembly of sounds, the ground lit with the flames of burning points. Then the ram began moving again, even as small fires broke out across the top shelter.
Jack and the rest of his team notched flaming arrows and fired once more. The fiery points again breached the night. Still the battering ram came forward until the heavy wood structure settled against the castle’s two doors. Jack could see the opponents massing for their assault.
Cauldrons of heated oil on the Braves’ wall began to boil. From below came the first crack of the ram against the wooden doors. As the assault gained in force, the impacts became louder, followed by the creaks of timbers beginning to snap.
“Give them the oil!” Sky King said.
The cauldrons went over, spilling blackness down the wall and onto the already-burning battering ram. First came a rushing explosion as oil turned to flame when it struck wood. Molten liquid fire spread out across everything below. Then came the screams. Fire was everywhere below, and even five stories up, Jack could feel the heat against his face.
Now the booming sounded again. The remaining Raiders still manned the battering ram and pounded again at the castle doors.
“No matter what we throw at them,” Regal Blue said, “they’ll come at us, again and again. They’ll break the door down before we can burn them out.”
Black Rain Page 20
