Syn City- Reality Bytes

by Bard Constantine

  Somewhere in a guarded warehouse in San Bernardino, my pores break out in a cold sweat. Somehow, I feel the sensation in my synoid body as the casual menace of her words hit home.

  "You can wipe her from existence. Completely erase her coding from the backup cloud."

  Smart boy. Continue being smart and make sure you're waiting for me when I get there.

  She turns, swift strides taking her into the forest. As Keno and his squad follow, dozens of other figures silently emerge from the shadows, covered in black and armed to the teeth. They fall in around Keno's crew without a word. Keno turns and looks back at me; his expression speaking without words. Probably wondering what would have happened had we refused the invitation.

  I have a pretty good idea. But Dabria is right. I would have let Keno and his men die before surrendering myself over. But now it looks like I don't have that choice.

  I focus my mind and sever the connection with the synoid. The last images I see as the body falls to the asphalt are bright lights approaching swiftly from the air: reinforcement drones and manned airships on the way. A part of me hopes they catch Dabria and take her out. But my luck has never been that good, and I'm pretty sure Dabria is an expert on evading the authorities. There's nothing I can do except make my exit.

  Everything fades in a rush of blinding light as my projected mind rushes back to my body, traveling the distance at the speed of thought.

  My eyes open. I remove the neural interface helmet with shaky hands, feeling nausea from more than the disorientation of core-jacking. I've been in many dangerous situations in my life, but I've always been confident in my ability to get myself out of them. This is different, though. No one has ever targeted Hel before. We've lived our lives carefree because of her non-physical state of being. Any danger or threat has been toothless at best, overcome by a simple respawn in any of the countless encounters we've experienced.

  Until now.

  My feet are killing me. Sitting down for so long made them go numb, and now that I'm awake, I immediately feel stabbing pains. I grit my teeth and slowly work my ankles, trying to get the circulation going again.

  My holoband buzzes. Of course it's Hel, her concerned face gazing from the screen when I pull up the screen.

  "What happened back there, Dean? I've never seen you look like that before."

  "Dabria. She…said she tracked you. She talked to me through some kind of mind contact. Like telepathy."

  "What? That's not possible. Telepathy or tracking me. We've taken precautions."

  "How else can you explain how she found us? We have to assume she's telling the truth."

  Hel's eyes widen. "If she's that good then we have to be as far away from her as possible. We need to run, Dean. Get the hell out of here and figure things out. We can cloak my signal—we've done it before. We just need to find the right person."

  "That costs money. Something we don't have much of." I rub my temples, grimacing. "And we can't run, babe."

  "Yes, we can. Are you worried about Keno? Forget that loser. He almost got you busted. It's just you and me, baby. Remember? Nothing matters except us."

  "I know. That's why we can't run. Dabria hit me with something else."

  "What are you talking about? I didn't hear her say anything."

  "She was in my head." I gesture frantically. "I don't know how. Maybe she's like me. You know—she might have some sort of extrasensory ability. But here's the point: she says she installed an erasure virus to your root code, Hel. She claims she can…kill you."

  Hel's expression goes still; eyes quivering as she processes the information. The screen background darkens, and her face alters, softening into a childish, frightened version of herself that nearly tears my heart in two. I feel my resolve harden, knowing I would do anything to protect her from harm.

  A single teardrop glimmers like a liquid crystal and slides down her cheek. "What are we going to do?" she whispers. "You can't let her kill me, Dean. I…I don’t want to die."

  I bite my lip, trying to stay strong for her. "We do as she says for now. See what kind of game she's playing. She said something about a job. Something that pays big."

  "What are you saying? You want to work with this woman after she threatened me like that? We can't trust her, Dean. I know her type. She'll use you and get rid of you after the job is done. She'll kill both of us. Put your Sensync gear on. I can't talk to you like this. We need to be face-to-face."

  I place my fingers on the holographic screen, wishing I could. But I know the same as she does that if I see her like that, smell her scent, feel her touch…she'll talk me into doing whatever she wants. And both of us will pay the price for my weakness.

  "I can't. Not right now. I need a clear head, Hel. I can't focus on the problem if I can't think straight."

  She stares disbelievingly. "What are you saying?"

  "I have to protect you, Hel. Wait for me at the safehouse. I'll call you when I have something to share." I place a finger on the END CALL button.

  The darkness thickens around her like something alive, claiming all of her except her tearful face, pale with fright. "No. Don't leave me, Dean. I'm scared. I need you to—"

  Shutting the call down feels as painful as cutting off my hand. My chest heaves and hot tears spill from my eyes. But I have to do it. For both of our sakes, I have to face this on my own.

  The entire warehouse rattles as an aircraft drops from the sky. I stand up, powdered by chalky dust that falls from the rafters. Keno's guards shout to each other in confusion, but I know what’s happening. I walk past some of them and exit out into the humid outdoors, where the air is still thick with stirred-up dust. I embarrass myself right away by succumbing to a coughing fit.

  Dabria's airship has just landed; sharp, gleaming, and dangerous, just like the woman herself. It is fashioned like a bird, complete with wings equipped with slim panels that replicate feathers. She is the first to exit, walking with sinuous strides straight toward me as I bend over, hacking my lungs out.

  "I'm glad to see you made the right choice, Specter."

  I try to salvage my pride, straightening up to look her in the eye.

  "One thing from the start. I’m not a killer. I won’t jack a synoid to assassinate anyone. That’s not who I am."

  She regards me with a cold expression. "I know who you are, Specter. You’re an addict. And like so many others, you support your addiction by theft and robbery. But don’t worry. I don’t want you to kill anyone."

  "Then what do you want from me?"

  She reaches up, taps the side of her helmet. The lock disengages with a whirring sound, and the dome and visor retract and slide back into the neck guard. Her ageless face is chiseled and statuesque with large, dark eyes that glimmer with anguished pride. Her shoulder-length hair, slicked back from the helmet, is black as fresh ink. The scar on her face runs from eyebrow to cheekbone. She has the face of a warrior. A survivor.

  Her fierce eyes lock onto mine. "I don't need you to kill for me. I need you to save someone’s life."

  Chapter 8: 3N16MA

  "Let me guess," Agent Rogers says. "Another dead end."

  We're back in the jet chopper, flying in low altitudes over tangled thickets and steaming, mist-enshrouded woods that look more like a primordial jungle than the San Bernardino National Forest. Once in a while, a rooftop or building is briefly visible, relics of civilization reclaimed by nature after the Cataclysm. Rogers sits with his five-man squad on the other side of the chopper, looking sour as usual.

  I smile at him. "Not really. Deep Sleep gave us access to their records."

  "Great. More data to scroll through."

  "Yeah. But more importantly, we have a visual on our guy. His real face. No synoid, no avatar." I pull up the holo-pic and cast it in the air, where it rotates to give everyone a view.

  "Ladies and gents, meet Dean Gray, aka Specter."

  Rogers leans in for a closer look. "This is the guy we've been hunting? This half-starved
punk kid?"

  "He's twenty-seven, Rogers."

  "I said punk kid, didn't I? He doesn't look like any master criminal to me."

  "And you don't look like a top agent, but here you are—blessed to be on this mission with us."

  He grunts. "Blessed with a Scyther, a tiny goth-hacker, and a giant teddy bear. What the hell did I do to deserve this gig?"

  Zen removes her holovisor. "You botched your last op and got two of your men killed, from what I can tell."

  His head snaps up, eyes widening. "What? That's not true."

  "It's all right here." Zen helpfully projects the file into the air and points to a few lines. "Says your leadership was 'highly incompetent,' your tactical plan 'disastrous,' your poise under pressure 'severely deficient,' your—"

  "Okay, shut it down," Rogers snaps. "You're not supposed to have access to that file, anyway." He throws a nervous look at his squad, who stare back with newfound contempt on their faces. It seems the data was new to them too.

  Zen grins, shutting the page down. "Lots of stuff I'm not supposed to have access to. I keep stumbling across it for some reason, though."

  While Rogers looks duly chagrined, the monitor on the wall flashes on. Any amusement I feel evaporates when Kage's face appears on the screen. He gazes at me without expression, as if the earlier torture session never happened.

  "I have new intel, Scyther. It appears your earlier deductions have paid off. An attempt was made to hijack a shipment of prototype interstellar soldier synoids while in route to the station in Haven Angeles. Surveillance feed places Oliver Corbyn, aka Keno at the scene with a crew of his associates."

  Zen pulls up a datasheet from her holoband, displaying a photo of Keno along with a list of pertinent info. "Oliver Corbyn, aka Keno. Arrived on US shores eleven years ago after fleeing London, where he has outstanding warrants for robbery, hijacking, assault, and murder. Since then he's pursued mostly the same activities across the Territories. Most recently he's settled into running drugs and contraband through his rave clubs in San Bernardino. And of course, he is a known associate of a mysterious man named Specter."

  "Bingo," I say, studying the video feed. I pause it and point. "Looks like one of the synoids was activated, which means Specter was there on the scene."

  The video crackles and winks out. I glance at Kage. "What happened?"

  "That's what you're going to find out, Scyther. Someone took out functions of the drone ship. When they restored control, everyone had vanished, leaving the shipment behind. We're working on possible scenarios for where they could have gone, but I want your team on the ground right now."

  "How close are we?"

  "You can get there in minutes. I'm sending the coordinates now."

  "Okay. We're on it."

  Kage's smile is mocking as he ends the transmission. I shiver inwardly, trying not to think back to the hotel room. I concentrate on the mission. Can't worry about what I can't control. Have to stay calm, and my thoughts focused. Can't let the pain show. Can't let the fear show.

  I nearly think I'm successful, but when Brutus turns his grizzled head and looks at me, I know I haven't fooled him at all.

  Dead bodies sprawl on the roadside, dark splotches around them where the blood soaked into the ground. I've seen plenty of death in my life, but that doesn't stop it from being unsettling. The bodies have been decimated by close-quarters gunfire, and what remains is barely recognizable as human.

  Agent Rogers has his squad fanned out, assisting the military and investigative units, but there isn't much they can do except gather evidence and profile the area. United Havens military has command of the scene, so I approach the lead investigator and flash my credentials. Sergeant Mills looks at the Scyther emblem and frowns. But to her credit, she has nothing rude to say.

  "Cyber Corp on this one? Figures. I have a few IT guys looking at it, but they can't figure out much other than what we already know: hacker took over the driving controls then somehow activated one of the units and took out our security mech. That's the what. The how is what I want to know, but they haven't been able to figure that out yet. Guess your people are more equipped for this sort of thing."

  "We are." I blink in sequence, mentally activating my cybernetic eye and adjusting it to Investigative mode. Data scrolls across my vision, gathering the evidence at the scene and arranging it in a simulated playback mode.

  "Okay, we have Keno's crew in the cargo truck for transporting the synoids. Then we have the sweet Lambotron speeder modified with ion turbine guns, and an aerocycle armed with a rail gun. Both remote-operated. One of them had to be Specter. But who's his partner?'

  "Thought he was a lone wolf," Zen says, eyeing the scene with her enhanced vision activated via her info-lenses. She works her cy-gear glove, adjusting the variables in her simulation. Brutus shadows her, looking suspiciously into the heart of the dead thicket nearby.

  "He is. That doesn’t mean he won't partner up if the has to. Any way to trace the link from the vehicles?"

  "Working on it."

  I follow the highlighted footprints, which get muddled as the men scrambled to fight the mechanized spider. Stepping over the remains of the mech, I note a single set of tracks coming from the woods. I motion Sergeant Mill over.

  "No footage of the latecomer to the party?"

  She opens her holoband and pulls up a video file. "We were still miles off, but our cameras were running. I've enlarged the recording as much as possible, but the feed is still grainy. They were gone by the time we landed. Had an airship in the woods not that far away. Probably in another Territory by now."

  "Yeah, maybe." I squint at the video stills. The figures of Keno, his squad, and Specter's synoid are barely visible, along with another person with her back to the camera. Sleek, black combat armor. Her stance is instantly familiar.

  Dabria.

  Sergeant Mills looks up from the photos. "Anyone you recognize?"

  I slide the video back to her. "I'm afraid not. Please forward the files along with any other pertinent data to my inbox." I tap my holoband against hers to sync up.

  Her eyebrows rise. "That's it? You're leaving?"

  "I think you've got the situation well in hand, Sergeant. We're going to follow up on other leads."

  Rogers joins me as I head back to the jet chopper. "We just got here, Enigma. I hate to chase my own tail, but there has to be something we can use from the evidence."

  "I have a better idea, Rogers."

  "Yeah? What's that?"

  "I'm tired of playing this game from behind. Keno runs a ring of clubs in Downtown San Bernardino. Feel like knocking down some doors?"

  He smiles for the first time since I've known him. "Definitely."

  Minutes later we're hovering high over Mad Dawgs, Keno's most popular club. I approach the open door of the chopper, glancing at Agent Rogers, who gives his squad last-minute instructions. He's armored, armed, and ready to go. I'm pretty sure he wants to make up for his last mission's total disaster. Works for me, so long as he follows my orders.

  I tap his shoulder. "I'll start at the top of the club. Your squad takes the front and rear. Target armed security only. No civilian casualties."

  He slaps the side of his helmet and nods. "Understood."

  I nod to Zen, who straps herself into a combat exoskeleton. "Let the soldiers take the lead. Stay behind them."

  She adjusts the chassis, working the mechanized arms. Two additional limbs snap out from the backside, offering extra support and offensive options. She grins. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm not the super-soldier. More than glad to let you guys have all the fun."

  I tip my fingers at her. "See you on the ground then." Leaping out the door, I launch myself into the air, fold my arms at my sides, and dive toward the ground. The wind whistles in my ears, the air cocoons around me. For a moment, I close my eyes. Imagine that these few seconds will be the last of my life. It's almost a peaceful thought. Falling feels weightless, peaceful. I could b
e in the ocean. I could be adrift in space.

  My eyes snap open.

  The world below rushes at me faster than seems possible. There are only lights at first; then buildings become visible. A second later, bodies are discernable. Milling crowds caught up in a throbbing beat that grows more audible as I approach. They rock back and forth in the light of flickering torches, bonfires, and laser lights, oblivious to the doom coming from above.

  At the last possible second, I flip over and activate the retro-thrusters in my boots, slowing my fall just enough to avoid injury. If I were an average human, I'd still shatter my bones on impact at that speed.

  But I'm better.

  My boots smash through the skylight, shattering the glass into powdery shards. My vision switches to combat mode, highlighting heat signatures and immediate threats. I'm already firing my inferno blaster before my feet hit the ground. The incendiary rounds explode on impact, engulfing the targets in flames. The three guards on the top deck were practically sleeping, and they pay for their lack of discipline, rolling on the ground screaming and trying to pat the fires out. I roll, flip to my feet, and fire a few more rounds until the screaming stops. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear a voice whisper that these men aren't my enemy. They're just people, men doing a job.

  I ignore it.

  I've been a soldier all my life. First in Dabria's ranks, now in Cyber Corp. And I can't deny what I know to be true. I don't feel more alive than when in the heat of battle, when the stakes are ultimate, when my life is on the line. The thrill of being faster, smarter, stronger than the enemy in front of me. I was good as a soldier, but I'm nearly unstoppable as a Scyther. And as much as I hate to admit it, I get a rush every time I go into combat. Sometimes I think it's the only thing that keeps me going. Like I was made for this.