Black Rain

by Matthew B. J. Delaney

  Jack gripped the edge of his seat as Night Comfort shoved the controls hard left to compensate. They spun counterclockwise, the turbines whirring as they narrowly avoided a wind farm that floated off toward Battery Park.

  “Trouble coming,” Night Comfort said, and glanced toward the north. Two helisqualls skimmed down Broadway toward them, moving fast between the valleys of buildings.

  “What do we do?” Jack asked.

  “Try to make it to Genico. They won’t want to damage the building.”

  The helisqualls separated, skimming across the plaza. One of them opened fire, the twin guns blazing starbursts of flames. Metal impacted their craft, and Night Comfort banked the machine down. The ground seemed to bound upward toward them. Jack let out a startled choke before they leveled off and whisked along the plaza.

  The two helisqualls followed behind. They banked sharply upward again, the façade of the Genico building sliding past them at an alarming rate. Their craft climbed vertically, the glass side of the tower blurred past.

  “Why aren’t they shooting?” Jack asked over the roar of the damaged turbine.

  “They can’t. Like I thought, they don’t want to damage the Genico building.”

  They soared up past the line of the roof, the Manhattan skyline a panorama around them. Then the craft twisted and stalled as its engine finally gave out. Night Comfort fought with the controls as a warning alarm sounded inside the cabin.

  “I’m going to try to land it there!” Night Comfort indicated the gardens that layered the Genico roof. The craft dropped quickly and hovered for a moment before the engine died and they plummeted down. Their helisquall crashed through a solar panel, black glass splinters flying away, then severed a stand of cherry trees along the edge of the roof before burying itself in the base of a statue. The belt pulled tight across Jack’s chest, as the helisquall spun, its momentum carrying it toward the edge. They teetered for a moment, ninety stories above the pavilion, before finally coming to a rest.

  Overhead, the two helisqualls circled the roof.

  “Anything broken?” Night Comfort asked.

  Jack rolled his neck. “Not so far. You?”

  Night Comfort unbuckled her belt and rolled out onto the roof. Jack followed her. As their weight left their helisquall, the aircraft tilted forward. Then, with a shriek of metal, it fell over the edge of the roof.

  CHAPTER 58

  Phillip had watched the damaged helisquall rise up from outside the Custom House and then be attacked by two other craft over the pavilion. The machine had risen up the side of the Genico tower, and as it turned, Phillip had caught sight of his brother in the passenger seat. Then the craft rose out of view, the sound of an impact coming minutes later from the roof. His brother had arrived.

  “He’s here,” Phillip said, turning away from the window.

  Lieberman’s face was pale. “We need to get some guards up now.”

  “I’m not hiding anymore. I’m better than him. I can beat him.”

  “No. You can’t.” Lieberman backed slowly away, then turned and rushed out the door.

  Phillip watched the man go. Below, another explosion rocked the Custom House, two columns collapsing from the front of the façade. This was going to change everything. The naturals would never again trust the Synthates. They could no longer exist as a species together.

  He turned from the window and slowly walked along the edge of his father’s artifact display cases. Weapons stretched back to the beginning of man. The first in the case were two of the Schöningen Spears, over 300,000 years old, the oldest known weapon ever found. Next to that, a pair of Sumerian maces, then another case with Khopesh swords and Mamluk scimitars and Greek tridents, each in sets of two.

  Every weapon was in a pair. And for the first time, Phillip knew why.

  CHAPTER 59

  Jack and Night Comfort ran toward the elevator. Overhead, the two helisqualls hovered like giant dragonflies before they turned and spun back toward the pavilion. Jack watched them fly off, as below, a detachment of crushers turned and headed back toward the Genico building. They didn’t have much time before the place was crawling with crushers.

  “Lieberman’s office is below,” Jack said. “Take the elevator.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “After my brother.”

  “Need help?”

  Jack shook his head. “This I do by myself.”

  They stood in the center of the rooftop garden. Manhattan spread around them, pillars of smoke still rising from Midtown. Light from the setting sun glittered on the Hudson. Jack couldn’t help feel how much change this island had experienced. Long ago there was nothing here but farms and woods and settlers as far as the eye could see, and now the city was burning and its inhabitants were sick.

  Night Comfort took his hand. Then she kissed him.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  She stepped into the elevator and disappeared from view. Jack took a last look across the skyline, then headed toward the stairs down to his father’s office.

  CHAPTER 60

  The door was already open. Quietly Jack stepped into the familiar space. The sky turbine had begun to spin again, and through the windows, the view slowly rotated. The office was clear, segmented by a wall that closed off the rear of the space. Centered in the wall was a large oak door, a single tree carved in the center. The door opened and his brother stepped out.

  Phillip wore a dark blue suit. His eyes looked sober.

  “Welcome back, brother,” Phillip said. “You’ve had quite a journey.”

  Jack stepped into the room. He expected some kind of security. Some for-hire Synthates lurking in the corner waiting to attack. But the room seemed empty.

  “There’s no one here except you and me,” Phillip said. He slipped off his jacket and folded it onto his father’s desk.

  “You would face me alone?”

  “The great and powerful Jack Saxton?” Phillip said. “You think I’m that afraid of you?”

  “You’ve always been afraid.”

  “Not anymore,” Phillip said. “Have you made your decision?”

  “About what?”

  “If you’re going to kill me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Now that I see you, I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

  Phillip shook his head, then rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His forearms were bulbous and muscular, with veins running their length. Jack was taken aback.

  “You see this room. Our father’s museum?” Phillip indicated the glass display cases. “All these weapons. There are two of everything. Did you ever stop to think why?”

  “It’s just a collection.”

  “No. It’s not. These are real weapons. One for you. One for me. It’s always been this way. Our father always planned this moment. Planned for us to end things this way.”

  “That’s your imagination.”

  “You think our father was a good man? You think he was a kind man?” Phillip said. He pushed a button beneath the desk and the fronts of all the glass cases in the room slid open, exposing the weaponry inside. “Our father was evil. He was twisted. You had no idea who he was. What he was capable of.”

  Phillip moved toward one of the weapons cases. Inside were two wicked-looking Gladius swords. They had sharp-edged metal blades about two feet in length with white bone handles. Phillip took one of the swords and tossed it toward his brother. Jack snatched the blade out of the air and gripped the handle.

  “What if I don’t want to fight you anymore?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, you do,” Phillip said. “That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.”

  “You made me this way when you sold me out. When you took Dolce from me.”

  “I didn’t make you this way. Our father did,” he said.

  Phillip advanced with surprising speed, spinning the Gladius around and driving the blade down with tremendous force. Surprised,
Jack stepped to the side, brought up his own blade, barely parrying the blow. The metal clanged loudly. Phillip stepped back, circling his brother.

  “Be careful,” Jack said. “You might get hurt.”

  Phillip thrust the Gladius forward. Jack sidestepped and the blade shot past him. Phillip quickly recovered, dropped low, then brought the blade up in an arc. The edge of the sword sliced toward Jack’s head. Jack brought his own blade up and the two swords slammed together. He felt his arms vibrate from the blow.

  “I’ve made some enhancements,” Phillip said.

  “You’ve taken Samps!”

  “Just trying to level the field between us.”

  Phillip lunged forward; his Gladius cut through the air. Jack stepped back, the blade whistling past his face. Their blades clashed again, and Phillip brought up an elbow, catching Jack in the face. Stunned, Jack backed up, his eyes watering. He could feel a trickle of blood from his nose.

  “You know, you’ve killed before,” Phillip said.

  “Only when I had to. You forced me into the Games.”

  “No,” Phillip said. “You were the one who killed Reynolds and his wife.”

  “That’s a lie,” Jack said, and attacked. The two swords met as the brothers swung viciously, moving in a circle around the floor. Jack could feel his arms beginning to weaken. His brother seemed unmoved. His swings were measured and powerful, with no sign of faltering. Jack wondered when Phillip had developed such skill and assurance. Their weapons met overhead, and Jack felt his wrist give way as his sword shattered. Jack backed up, still bearing the handle, a jagged shard of metal protruding like a small dagger.

  Phillip turned his back to Jack and returned to the weapons case. He dropped the Gladius to the ground and pulled a pair of bronze Greek tridents from their mount. Phillip flipped one toward his brother. Jack caught the weapon.

  “You think I took Dolce from you?” Phillip said.

  “You brought the crushers down on us. They took her from me because of what you did.”

  Phillip advanced toward Jack, the evil-looking trident extended in front of him. “The crushers didn’t kill Dolce. She took her own life.”

  Jack felt a surge of anger. He charged Phillip and thrust the trident forward. His brother moved quickly, but not fast enough, and the edge of the blade caught his shoulder, slicing through fabric and skin and drawing blood. They separated again. Phillip finally appeared to be breathing heavily. He glanced down at the gash on his arm.

  “I deserved that,” Phillip said. “I know you loved her. I am sorry for her death. But she took her own life over what you had done. What our father had made you do.”

  “Enough lies!”

  “Our father chose you.”

  “To run the company, and that made you jealous. You couldn’t bear it.”

  “No, not to run the company. To lead the Synthate revolution. He used you from the beginning. He knew all about you. He wanted you to suffer. He wanted you to go to the Games. He wanted you angry. Because he knew this is how things would turn out. I didn’t turn you in to the crushers. It was our father.”

  “What?”

  “Our father was a god. He gave birth to a new species. He created Synthates. Created new life. And he was determined that his creation would rule the Earth.”

  “How?”

  “Genico designed the Black Rain attack. It was a test case. To see how many naturals we could infect. Reynolds was working on the project. He developed it, along with our father, in a lab underground somewhere. A secret lab.”

  An image of the underground laboratory in the old subway station flashed in Jack’s mind.

  “Reynolds wouldn’t do that. He was working to help Synthates.”

  “Our father pressured Reynolds into the Black Rain project, but Reynolds wanted to back out. Wanted to expose everything. And our father had him killed. Had you kill him.”

  In a rage, Jack pressed forward with the trident. They clashed across the length of the floor, swinging the long blades at each other. An explosion on the street below rattled the building, throwing Jack off balance. Phillip jabbed the trident forward with murderous intent. Jack barely parried the three-pronged spear, but couldn’t step away fast enough and the weapon buried into his thigh. A flash of pain shot through him as his leg went numb.

  Phillip pulled the bloodied trident away, then moved back to the weapons case. He tore a Frankish throwing ax from its placement and whipped it overhand toward Jack. Jack saw a flurry of metal in motion and ducked down. The ax buried itself into the wall behind him. Jack dropped the trident and pulled the ax from the wall. He hefted it back and forth.

  “The only person from Genico I’ve killed will be you,” Jack said.

  Phillip backed up, the other ax in his hand. “Think back. Try to remember a black box. A coffin-shaped box. About the size of a man.”

  Jack did remember such a box. He had seen it twice. Both times it was as if he had awoken from a dream. He thought back to the hotel during the crusher attack. A box had been in the room with him. He remembered thinking it was strange. But he hadn’t had time to think on it. His only thought then was to escape.

  “You’re a Genico product. Part natural, part Synthate. But did you ever look at your code?” Phillip said. An eyeScreen flashed in the corner. A series of DNA coding flashed on the screen. “Your code is defective. Your mind is destined to break down over time. To become violent. And that’s what it’s been doing. You killed Reynolds.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “You just don’t remember it.”

  “How could I not remember murdering someone?”

  “Because you died, too.”

  CHAPTER 61

  The elevator doors opened and Night Comfort moved silently onto the Genico trading floor. Rows and rows of eyeScreens sat blank and silent, filling the large space. She hated these men who bought and sold life. She hated their sense of entitlement. She burned to be the instrument of their destruction.

  A single light was on in the rear of the floor. An office door was open, and someone passed in front of the doorway. Night Comfort shouldered her M-16 and moved quietly down the hall. Something smashed and broke inside the office, and she heard the sound of furniture being overturned. She reached the open doorway.

  Inside was a wood-paneled room with leather-bound chairs and oil paintings on the wall. One of the paintings was swung away from the wall, revealing a wall safe hidden behind. The safe was open, and a man was busy pulling out stacks of currency and stuffing the blocks into a duffel bag.

  Quietly, Night Comfort placed the M-16 on the floor, then flicked open a wicked-looking blade of a knife.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Harold Lieberman spun around, a terrified look on his face. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “You don’t remember me?” Night Comfort asked. “I’m not surprised.”

  Lieberman glanced down at the knife. “What do you want?”

  “I’m going to cut your balls off with this knife. Then I’m going to slit your throat. And if I can break the glass, I’m going to throw you out the window.”

  “Jesus. Who are you?”

  “Your reckoning. Look down there.” She glanced out the window. “A plague has arrived for your sins.”

  Still clutching the bag, Lieberman glanced back toward the elevator.

  “Nobody is coming to help you,” Night Comfort said.

  “There’s millions in this bag,” Lieberman said. “It’s yours. Take it.”

  “I don’t want your money. I can’t be bought off. I’m going to kill you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Lieberman backed up. His foot caught on an edge of carpet and he tumbled backward. He scurried along the floor, crab like, before he backed himself against the wall.

  “The feeling you’re experiencing now, that mix of fear and powerlessness. An overwhelming sense of dread. Of death,” Night Comfort said as she advanced toward him with the knife. “Now imagine
that feeling every moment of your life. From the instant you’re born until the instant someone else chooses for you to die.”

  Lieberman shook his head. “Please . . .”

  “Now you can almost begin to feel what it’s like to be a Synthate.”

  Night Comfort stood over Lieberman, then slowly bent down toward him with the knife and began to cut.

  CHAPTER 62

  Because you died, too.

  “You’re a clone,” Phillip said, still brandishing his ax. “Father never told you.”

  “That’s impossible. You’re the clone. I’ve seen it. You’re a Synthate.”

  “I’m not,” Phillip said. “Genico cloned a Synthate model of me. It’s true. In case something happened to me, there was someone else with my face who could step in. But I’m still me. I found that Synthate and I removed him. You are the clone. Not me.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Father picked you to lead the Synthates. But you’re too unstable. You become violent too easily. He had you kill Reynolds and his wife. Only Reynolds was ready. As he was dying, Reynolds shot you. You died too that night in the mansion. And your father’s trusted Synthate Regal Blue came and got you.

  “Your clone was prepared. Memories downloaded into your brain. You were left at your apartment and you awoke with no recognition of what had happened. No knowledge of the shift in time. The blips. Remember your dizzy spells? They said it was from your car accident when you were sixteen. What do you think really caused that?”

  “You’re telling me you knew about this?”

  “I suspected. But Dolce knew. She knew you weren’t the man she’d fallen in love with when we were kids. A clone is never perfect. Oh, it can pass superficially. But someone that really knows you. Someone you share a bed with night after night. Imagine what a torture that must be for them. She married you the first time, even after you were killed in the car accident. But I guess she couldn’t take it anymore. And after you killed Reynolds, well . . . that’s why she did it.”