by Anthology
Cayman stood, and suddenly he seemed to fill half the room. "When you're dealing with a Yak, it's not a good idea to make things personal. They can make it personal right back, which isn't good. This is business. We're being hired – and paid nicely – to do a job. That's why we're doing it."
"That's why you're doing it," X-Prime said (Alex would never talk back to Cayman). "World would be better if we took this guy's arm off, so let's take it off."
Cayman rolled his eyes. He did that a lot when Alex was around. "World would be better," he muttered. "Save us."
Tuesday, 10:12 pm
Alex – X-Prime, for the moment – walked out of the Body Mall with extra energy. He saw people looking at him, and he glared back. He wasn't an out-of-town, unemployed runner anymore. He was part of the scene. He belonged.
Sort of. He knew that Alex wasn't gone for good. He'd probably come back in the morning, filling X-Prime's head with all sorts of worries and second thoughts about the job. For now, though, he felt confident – cocky even – and he was going to enjoy it.
He walked across the Barrens for a while, experimenting with a strut for a block or two and failing miserably, then sauntering until his destination was in sight. The sign for Crusher 495 blinked red neon, except for the burned-out "u" and "9." Back in Oakland, Duster had told him she thought the owners were careful to ensure that at least a few lights on the sign were always broken. It kept the customers who thought they were slumming happy.
X-Prime nodded at the hostess when he walked by her. She didn't acknowledge him.
The club was pleasantly noisy, a content buzz filling the air. The people who had come to drink so they could forget their troubles had succeeded and were settling into the good-natured stage of inebriation. It would be a few drinks more before they moved on to loud and obnoxious.
He walked up to the scarred but clean bar and slapped his hand on it three times, just like in the trids. And what do you know, a stein of ale flew down the bar and into his hand. He whisked it off the bar, spun on his stool, and lifted the stein to his mouth in one smooth motion. He would have felt really good about himself right then except for his dangling dwarf legs, which weren't quite long enough to reach the stool's foot rest. They'd grown shorter about half a year ago (thanks to that fragging comet flyby), and he still didn't know what to do with them half the time.
He drank, and pleasant haze filtered into his brain almost immediately. He remembered he hadn't eaten in about eight hours, then resolved to drink that much more to fill himself up.
An hour and a half later, X-Prime discovered that a normally simple task like listening took real exertion. Words came out of the mouth of the guy next to him – he was sure they did, he could almost see them sliding off the guy's tongue – but instead of going in X-Prime's ears, they slipped this way and that, and he couldn't seize them. He tried to focus, really tried, because the last remaining logical part of his mind told him he should be listening to what was being said.
"Just got beat up, you know, an incredible job," the guy said. He was short and wiry, bouncing around on his stool like a metal spring. His pointed nose twitched as he spoke. "I never seen nothing like it, he was one big bruise and had a few cracked ribs and fingers, but he was still alive, you see, that's the whole point, he was still alive, conscious even, and he felt every bit of the beating, that's the whole thing, he could feel the pain on every inch of his body. It was like art, that's what I'm telling you, this job was so perfect, it should be in a museum somewhere, except, you know, bruises fade, so it'd be tough to preserve. Maybe take a trid of the guy, but I don't know if that would do the whole experience justice." The guy shook his head. "Simply amazing."
X-Prime noticed that the guy had stopped talking. He tried to focus on his face, but his eyes would only squint, and the only thing he could see clearly was the glass in front of him and the thick, greasy black hair of the man across from him. He thought about trying to remember his name, but that was far too difficult. So he said something and hoped it made sense.
"I'll bet it really hurt."
"Yeah. Yeah. You got that right, chummer. You know what it was? You know what did it? It was the mercury."
"Mercury?"
"Yeah. In the arm. The guy that did the beating, see, he's got an implant. Cyberarm, Yamatetsu, top-of-the-line drek. It's got some of the usual equipment – you know, gun holster, shock pad, all that – but they also put in this hollow tube inside and put a glob of mercury at one end. So what happens, see, is he takes his arm back" – the guy made a fist and cocked his arm at his waist – "and some suction pumps pull the whole glob to his shoulder, then he swings" – the guy moved his arm toward X-Prime's chin in an uppercut – "and the mercury shoots forward, and if he times it right – and let me tell you, this guy always times it right – the mercury comes into his fist right when his fist hits your chin, so you get the punch and it's backed by a pellet of metal moving way faster than the guy's hand. Can you believe this drek? It just lays you out! And it works on other swings, like a hatchet motion, coming down on you, whomp, I'll bet that's how the ribs got broken, the sap was lying on the ground and the Yak comes up with a hatchet swing and the mercury flies forward and pow! Guy's lucky his lungs weren't crushed!"
This was penetrating the haze in X-Prime's mind. He tried to say several things at once, but only three words came out. "Burt the Toad."
The guy slapped his knee three times, his small pupils dancing in the middle of his wide-circle eyes. "That's the guy! That's him! Works for Kawasaga, right? You've heard of him?"
X-Prime tried to smile slyly. In truth, it looked like a corner of his mouth somehow drooped upward. "Yeah. You could say that."
The guy's eyes narrowed. "You know something. Yeah, yeah, I seen that look. You know something! What?"
"Nothing," X-Prime said airly. "Nothing much, really." He paused, milking it, savoring it. "Well, maybe a little."
"Oh, you've gotta tell me. What do you know about this Toad guy? Come on, come on, you're killing me here, killing me. What's happening?"
X-Prime looked one way, then the other, then leaned forward. "The Toad won't be hopping for long." He found that unaccountably funny and started giggling. The guy politely waited for him to finish.
"What are you saying?" the guy finally asked.
"That arm?" X-Prime said. "The one with the mercury and all that? Between you and me, it's coming off."
"Get out of here!"
"No. Really."
"Coming off?"
"Coming off."
"Wow." The guy puffed his cheeks and whooshed out some air. "Wow. Cutting off Burt the Toad's arm. Who's putting you up to it? Triads?"
"I don't know."
"Mafia?"
"I don't know, I said."
"Wait, wait, I've got it. Kawasaga himself. He knows the Toad is out of control, and he's reining him in. That's it, right? Right?"
"I don't know. Really, I don't. They don't tell me that sort of things. I just got a job to do."
"You're going to do it? I'm talking to the man who's gonna cut off Burt the Toad's arm? Unbelievable!" The guy was bouncing on his stool. "How're you gonna do it?"
X-Prime shrugged, assuming a cool, controlled look. "Cleanly. That's all I can say. It'll come off real clean. Still in working order."
The guy threw his head back and whooped. "You're gonna take the arm off in working order? That's great. That's great! It's gotta be Kawasaga, then. Probably wants it back so his investment isn't an entire loss. Get control of the Toad, get some money from the arm, cut his losses as much as possible. That's the only thing that makes sense."
"I don't know. I swear."
"Yeah, yeah, of course you don't. Kawasaga wouldn't want to let that out. Couldn't have people know he was cutting the arm off of one of his own guys. Doesn't look good."
X-Prime suddenly felt troubled. The guy sounded too knowledgeable about all this. Too interested. Had he said too much? Maybe it was time to go home.
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"I gotta go home," he said.
"You do? Aw, it's only 2:30. Night's still young. Come on, stay awhile."
"No. I'd – better not." X-Prime stumbled to his feet. "I'd really better get out of here."
The guy accepted this. "Okay, all right. Good chatting with you. Don't always meet good talkers here."
X-Prime nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He shambled away.
The guy watched him go, running his finger around the rim of his glass, then licking a drop of scotch off his nail. He smiled, grabbed his glass, and raised it in a silent toast. To alcohol, he thought. The greatest tongue-loosener ever invented.
Wednesday, 11:47 pm
The next night, X-Prime was Alex again. The cockiness, the swagger, the attitude had all last been seen at Crusher 495.
Cayman's little speech to the group earlier hadn't helped any.
"A good team's like a body," he'd told them. They nodded. They'd heard this before, plenty of times. "We have to be completely together, working in sync, balancing each other. No part of the body survives alone. You need a brain – that's me, and no smart remarks. Savini's the eyes, Spindle's the legs, Leadhead's the fists. We all work as a whole."
"What am I" Alex asked.
Cayman flicked a scowl. "I dunno," he said. "The appendix, maybe."
The day had gone downhill from there. The night was humid, they'd been on surveillance so long he hadn't had any real food to eat for half a day, and the long coat he was wearing was hot and unbalanced, tilting him to the left where the cutter was sheathed.
The cutter. Every time he thought about it he wanted to pull it out for another look, but simply carrying the thing was enough to get him arrested.
The cutter was two Cougar fineblades mounted on three-foot long handles with bolt cutter action. The blades would open slightly wider than a thick shoulder. If Alex placed them just outside the shoulder joint and pulled them closed with enough force, they would pass through the arm like a falcon cutting through air.
But he couldn't take them out now. He was on the clock.
A few squatters scurried from one abandoned warehouse to another, but other than that the streets were empty. You live in the Barrens long enough, you develop a sense that tells you when to stay inside. You don't develop that sense, you don't live long. Alex was the only person loitering on the street, sitting hunched on a scooter like he was drunk or hung over. He didn't have to do much acting.
Savini's resonant voice came in the headset, sounding like a sportscaster. "He's working the upper body now. Boy is he working it."
"Any signs that he's tiring?" Cayman asked.
"Naw, naw. He's having fun. He may be getting stronger."
"Drek."
Alex half-hoped Cayman would abort, but nothing further came through the transceiver. He reached into his inside pocket and rubbed the grips of the cutters.
Savini came in again. "Okay, the vic's coughing blood. He's meat."
"Conscious?" asked Spindle.
"Yeah… ummmmm, wait, wait, he's going, he's fading… no. Unconscious. Good for him – he needs the rest."
"The vic's not our concern," Cayman said curtly. "What about the Toad?"
"Checking out his work. Standing over the vic, looking at the cuts and everything and… drek! He just zapped him! Vic's body's twitching like a landed fish. That was mean! "
"It's good, it's good, let him get it all out. Then we'll let him calm down. Then he's ours."
Alex appreciated Cayman's confidence, but he wasn't sure that a man who electro-shocked unconscious people for fun could ever be considered calm.
"Okay, okay, he's taking a few steps away. Looks like… yeah, his chest is heaving a little. He's breathing heavy. He's feeling all that work he just did. You were right, C, you were right."
"We're set, then. Two minutes, then we go."
In those two minutes, Burt the Toad slowly strolled south away from his victim, who was still lying on the street, unconscious and twitching. The Toad looked like a cube, as wide and thick as he was tall. His face was buried in the warts that earned him his nickname. If he noticed Savini watching him from above, he showed no signs.
He covered a block and a half and then was hit by a taxi.
It was a precision blow, 25 km/hour. Wouldn't kill him, probably wouldn't do any kind of serious damage, but would take him to the ground.
The rest of the plan would take 23 seconds. Leadhead and Cayman jumped out of the back of the cab as Spindle prepared to gun it backwards. They threw looped ropes over Burt the Toad's wrists, pulling them tight, then stretched his arms out by pulling hard against the Toad's considerable strength. Slowly, his arms raised. The butt of a machine pistol poked out of the end of the Toad's arm and loosed a few rounds at Cayman, but his armored vest absorbed them.
Alex pulled his scooter to the curb right after the taxi ran into the Toad, and he ran up just behind Leadhead and Cayman, holding his cutters in front of him, jaws wide. His eyes zeroed in on the shoulder joint. His knees felt wobbly, but his hands were firm.
The cutter was two feet from Burt the Toad's shoulder when the knife blade flashed out of the arm. Alex only saw it as a deep shine in the night, twisting into the rope Cayman held, slicing it easily. Cayman fell backward, and the precious arm was free.
"There's a knife!" Cayman screamed angrily.
"Yeah, yeah," Leadhead said, straining to hold the Toad.
"There wasn't supposed to be a knife!"
"Yet there it is," Savini said dryly. "Hold on, I'm coming down."
Alex jumped backward as the arm came slashing toward him. He parried with the cutter, and the power of the Toad's arm swept the tool out of his hands. It clattered on the street, ten feet away.
Alex glanced at the cutter. Burt the Toad saw it, Alex saw him see it. He feinted toward the cutter then leapt backward, flipping, landing upside-down on his hands, pushing off, landing again on his feet, out of the Toad's range. Duster had tried to teach him a half-dozen gymnastic moves, and that was the only one that had taken, thanks to his newly powerful legs.
The Toad surged forward, raising his arm above his head, letting the mercury drop to his shoulder. Then, suddenly, he stumbled to his right. Leadhead had let go of his rope, and the sudden lack of a pull forced the Toad off balance.
Two voices spoke in Alex's mind. Alex told him to keep moving back; X-Prime told him to go for the cutter.
He didn't know he had made a decision until he was stooping to grab the cutter. He snagged them just as the black tower that was Leadhead ran by, charging the Toad. Alex turned in time to see that the Toad had his balance back and was swinging his arm.
Leadhead saw it, too, and skidded his heels to reverse his momentum. But he was too late. The Toad's arm swung in an underhanded punch. Alex could almost see the fist gain speed as the mercury flew the length of the arm. Leadhead was bent backward, almost falling, when the fist caught him in the stomach. Leadhead's shape abruptly shifted from convex to concave as his whole body collapsed around the Toad's fist. The Toad lifted him more than a foot off the ground, then Leadhead flew back, landing on his back, skidding on the pavement.
Alex was so fixed on the cybernetic right arm that he almost missed the left coming at him in a roundhouse. He ducked, rolled, and thrust the cutters in the Toad's direction, slamming the handles together. The Toad yelped and jumped backward. Alex had sliced the Toad's pants and taken a little skin, too.
Then Cayman was there, behind the Toad, working his kidneys with both hands. The Toad grunted and whirled, leading with his right arm, knife blade extended. Cayman was ready, though, and evaded easily, ducking as the arm passed over his head then leaping forward, leading with his head, trying to tackle the Toad.
He bounced off him like a rubber ball hitting a cinder block.
The knife at the end of the Toad's arm flashed down. Cayman tried to roll but couldn't move fast enough.
Alex got the cutters under the Toad's arm and swung up, catching him near t
he elbow. The blow was strong, but Alex held on to the cutters this time.
The cyberlimb slid down the length of the cutters, still moving down, but diverted. It dug into Cayman's leg, but shallowly. There was a flap of skin, there was blood, but no real damage.
Cayman got to his feet, Alex drew the cutters back for another blow, Leadhead tried to get to his feet, and Savini finally emerged from the warehouse across the street. The Toad retracted his knife. A gun barrel pointed out instead.
"Gun, gun!" Alex yelled. Cayman took two running steps, leapt, and grabbed the lowest iron rung of a ladder set into a brick wall. He pulled up, bending his knees, getting himself as high as possible. Two shots entered the wall below his feet.
Alex saw his chance. He opened the cutter, aimed the blades, thrust them toward the Toad's shoulder, then pulled them shut, all in one quick motion.
But the Toad was moving, spinning back toward Alex. The blades closed on the limb's armor, and slid off. Alex's hands shook with the force of the impact.
The Toad's foot then caught him in the chest. Alex hadn't even seen him raise it. His breath left him and he fell back.
Leadhead jumped forward, grabbing the Toad's left arm, twisting. Even though Alex was gasping for breath, he still heard something snap.
The Toad roared, pulling his right arm back, squeezing off three shots. Two caught Leadhead in his chest armor, pushing him back. The third hit him in the leg. Leadhead went down.
The Toad's left arm hung awkwardly, his right turned toward Alex, his mouth snarled, his eyes scowled. He drew a bead on Alex's forehead.
Then there was a sharp whip crack, the Toad's right arm jerked back, pulled from behind. His eyes widened, then bulged as a sword, filed to diamond sharpness, swept through his shoulder.
The arm hit the ground with a clatter. The Toad hit with a thud.
Savini, thin and nearly invisible in a black bodysuit, ran toward the suddenly detached arm. Cayman dropped back down off the ladder, moving quickly, but he was too late. A short man, the wielder of a whip and diamond sword, scooped up the arm and ran off.
