Asimov's SF, March 2008

by Dell Magazine Authors

Eileen popped up on the right end of the barrier just as he was hammering the other end of his arc. He swung the gun back with his finger glued to the firing button and held it on target until he had exhausted the last drop of propellant in his fuel tank.

  The communication system relayed a gasp from Francesca. Jason jerked his head to the right and saw her stumble to the concrete two steps from the barrier.

  Eileen was leaning against the barrier staring at the water. A dark stain smeared the front of her lab coat. She wiggled her neck as if she was trying to shake something off and slid behind the barrier.

  Jason shoved his gun into its pocket. He hauled himself out of the water and sprinted down the walk.

  “Francesca! Can you hear me? Can you still hear?"

  Jason had trained with military combat suits that were equipped with state-of-the-art automated first aid systems. The wet suits they had chosen for this operation were standard civilian issue gear, but they housed functions that were supposed to protect you against possibilities like shark attacks or serious cuts. The suit couldn't broadcast a condition report or stiffen around a broken bone, but it could seal a hole and reduce the hemorrhaging from an open wound.

  None of the shots he had fired could have ricocheted. The bullet that had brought her down could only have come from one source—the gun Eileen Levar had been firing at full lethal load since she had first started shooting at them.

  The door in the rear wall swung open. A young man in a Jersey Guard uniform stepped through it with his palms raised in front of his chest.

  “I think a parley might be in order,” Kelly McMay said. “We seem to have reached an impasse."

  Jason lurched to a stop. Kelly McMay carried himself with a smiling self-confidence that always seemed infinitely more threatening than the mass and muscle displayed by the kind of body Jason inhabited. He was wearing the same dress jacket Byron Traine had sported, but he had discarded the shoulder holster and the weapon belt.

  “From what I can see from here,” Kelly said, “Mrs. Gratzhausen appears to be in no immediate danger. I can also give you my assurance your twin is still alive. Dr. Levar invited me to carry out her little threat before she succumbed to her wounds but I felt a delay might benefit both of us."

  “Kill him,” Francesca said. “...now."

  Jason's head snapped toward the other side of the pool. Francesca's pronunciation was almost incomprehensible but he had heard all he needed. She was alive. She could hear them talking.

  She obviously didn't understand the situation. Kelly had left the door open behind him. He could slip through it long before Jason could pull out his gun and replace the fuel tank. Even with his enhanced physical abilities, Jason would have to move several steps closer before he could rush the barrier and stop Kelly's escape unarmed.

  “Think about it, body double. I still have your alter ego in my dastardly clutches. Is there any reason why you and I can't arrange things so you remain in your present position indefinitely? Wealth. Power. A ravishing consort."

  Jason held up his own hands to show they were empty and took a quarter step forward. “With some kind of reward for you, I suppose?"

  “I'm offering you an incredibly desirable package. Didn't your masters give you any training in the art of haggling with the less idealistic members of the opposition? It's a vital skill."

  * * * *

  Jason's first encounter with Kelly McMay had taken place minutes after he arrived at the Gratzhausen weekend retreat and discovered Michael had disappeared and Byron Traine and Colonel Wolsner were lost in a drugged stupor. Michael's stepbrother had been the instigator of the plot to kidnap Michael but Kelly was the desperado Fredrick Gratzhausen called on when his intrigues turned violent.

  The big moment that first time had been a leap from a second story window. A mobile security camera had seen the tall stranger enter the cottage and Kelly and three of his confederates had raced back to the grounds while Jason was waiting for Francesca to respond to his Mayday call. They had cornered Jason in an upstairs recreation room and he had arced across thirty feet of open air, grabbed the lower branch of a tree, and hit the ground with a perfect knees-bent landing before he sprinted for the helicopter hovering over the tennis court. And his first meeting with the woman manipulating the controls.

  The second episode had been an ambush on the open sea—a surprise nighttime rush from a speedboat with Kelly leading a reckless attempt to capture Jason before Byron Traine and the crew of the Gratzhausens’ second largest party boat could organize a defense. There had been no wonderful moments that time. The battle had degenerated into a confused nighttime skulk and shoot amid the furniture and fittings on the upper deck. Jason had been content to force the boarders to withdraw, but Francesca had been taut with anger when she had realized Kelly's boat was turning into the night with only one casualty belted into its seats. To Jason, Kelly was the kind of athletic, high-testosterone swaggerer he might have been if the virus had left him alone—an accomplished high diver, an aggressive speedboat racer, and a ballroom gallant who could be just as charming, in his way, as Byron Traine. Francesca had been watching Kelly ever since he had joined the Jersey Guard and she considered him a self-centered, unpredictable cynic with no values or loyalties anyone could count on.

  Jason shook his head. “It's an interesting idea, Captain. But I'm afraid my masters could be a difficult obstacle. They have rigid feelings about people who break their oaths."

  “You don't think they would be just as happy with their own slightly revised edition occupying the Gratzhausen mansion?"

  “They want the real Michael. They feel he has virtues I seem to lack."

  “Suppose we kept Michael alive? As a kind of permanent hostage? How would they react to that? Wouldn't they bargain with you the way they bargained with Dr. Levar?"

  “Kill ... him ... that's ... an ... order..."

  Kelly had seen Jason in action, but he seemed to be underestimating Jason's ability to cover distance and clear an obstacle like the barrier. Jason had managed to close the gap by two more half-steps.

  “They might be willing to strike a deal,” Jason said. “But they wouldn't stop looking for a way to rescue Michael. I couldn't face a single day without wondering if I was going to live to see the end of it."

  “But wouldn't it be worth it to spend more time with Mrs. Gratzhausen? Am I supposed to believe you don't feel a prize like that is worth any risk?"

  “She's the first person who would turn against me."

  “You're sure of that, body double? You don't think your manly charms have lured her from the path of virtue?"

  Jason turned his head toward Francesca. And hoped the gesture would draw attention from another forward movement. One more half-step should get him close enough....

  Kelly McMay's right hand leaped toward his left cuff. He swung his arm to his right, in a short, deadly arc, and Jason dropped to his hands and knees. The air over his back cracked.

  The object in Kelly's hand had been a laser sword—a weapon with an effective range of approximately eleven feet. Kelly hadn't been misjudging Jason's abilities. He had been holding off until he was certain Jason had entered his killing zone.

  Jason ripped open the pocket that contained his own sword. There would be a five-second lag while Kelly's weapon recharged. He couldn't draw his gun and reload it in that interval, but he could jerk out his sword and bring it into play.

  The term “laser sword” was an obvious misnomer, but it had appealed to the customer base and the original manufacturers had indulged their market's romantic fantasies. You obviously couldn't fence with the thing, in the sense of using it to parry your opponent's attacks. The only resemblance to real fencing was the tendency to use big sweeping arm movements, like the slash of a saber, or the kind of small, precise wrist movements foil fencers mastered. Other than that, “fencing” with low-powered practice weapons was a picturesque sport that encouraged energetic jumps and split-second dodges.

 
The sword was essentially a short range self-defense weapon. Its power unit could only deliver six pulses, with a five-second buildup between pulses. An assailant could always evade an attack by backing up—provided, of course, he had room to retreat.

  A quick leap backward would have given Jason time to position himself for an attack. Instead, he jumped forward while his hands were still removing his sword from its pocket.

  Kelly McMay stood his ground. He brought his arm down and to the right, like a conductor starting a symphony, and Jason's augmented reflexes responded with a sideways leap that raised him off the ground just before Kelly's second pulse swept across the space his ankles had occupied.

  Jason brought his own arm up as his soles hit the floor. He glided through another step with his arm extended in front of him.

  Kelly had shifted to a crouch. He was focusing on his opponent with the intensity of a soccer goalie preparing for a penalty kick. Jason's thumb pushed the firing switch and Kelly dropped toward the floor behind the barrier.

  Kelly had timed his move like a world class athlete. The beam sliced through empty space. And Jason was holding, once again, a tube that couldn't do anything useful for another five seconds.

  Jason had reveled in the hours he had devoted to practice bouts with non-lethal lasers. He had leaped, rolled, and ducked with the abandon of a boy who had suddenly been given the opportunity to live out all his swashbuckling fantasies.

  But that had been a game. He could engage in high-risk maneuvers knowing he would merely set off a buzzer and sacrifice a point if his opponent outfoxed him. Now he couldn't forget he was facing a weapon that could maim and kill. The energy concentrated in that narrow beam could pierce his wet suit like a knifepoint and sever tendons and muscles. It could mangle his internal organs as effectively as a small caliber, high velocity bullet.

  Kelly, on the other hand, could hide behind the shelter of an armored uniform jacket. The only targets Jason could harm were Kelly's face, hands, and lower legs.

  He might have leaped over the barrier if this had been a game. He might have gambled he could get in a pulse before Kelly could recover and fire. Instead, he dropped into his own version of a goalie's crouch and waited for Kelly's next move.

  Kelly stood up a good three steps out of range. Small, dark goggles covered his eyes. Jason had been concentrating on the door, but Kelly had scurried along behind the barrier toward the other side of the boathouse. Toward Francesca—and the gun lying on the concrete next to her right hand.

  “Michael is on the other side of the door,” Kelly said. “Run down the hall, smash a few locks on the second floor until you find the right room. You don't really think I'd take advantage of your absence and harm such a rare specimen of human womanhood, do you?"

  Francesca was lying on her side, with one leg bent back at the knee. Jason couldn't see any blood on the floor but that was a meaningless indicator. For all he knew, half the blood in her body could be pooling along the inner surface of her wet suit.

  Jason didn't think Kelly was vicious. No one could think Kelly was vicious. But he was erratic. He had bounced from bribery to armed assault without a pause. And Kelly was, in the end, under all that ballroom polish, a hoodlum whose primary value to his employers was his cheerful indifference to the harm he inflicted on others.

  Wouldn't they all be better off if he eliminated Kelly before he ran through the door and started searching the second floor? Michael would be safe, the tucfra wouldn't have to replace Francesca, he wouldn't have to deal with the possibility Kelly was coming up behind him with a gun.

  Jason's legs had started carrying him forward before his brain knew he had made a decision. He charged down the walk with his arm extended. His vision tunneled on the little head and arm movements that would indicate Kelly was about to fire.

  He knew it was an emotional response. He knew he had just been rationalizing. It didn't matter. He couldn't leave Francesca unprotected. Kelly had pressed the right button.

  Kelly rested his hand on the barrier. He swung himself over the top with an agility that would have impressed a gymnastic coach and sank to one knee near Francesca. His left hand reached for Francesca's gun.

  Francesca's head had settled to the floor but she still had some life in her. Her hand made a sudden convulsive movement. The gun slid across the walk toward the water. It reached the edge butt first and hung there for a long moment before the extra weight tipped it over the side.

  Jason thumbed his laser—and saw Kelly roll to the left just as he closed the switch. Kelly snapped off a pulse and Jason responded by sprawling over the barrier and rolling onto the floor on the other side.

  He flowed to his feet as soon as his knees touched the floor. His body was functioning as if it had been lifted out of the most unrealistic daydreams he had played with during all the years he had been a blob.

  He pivoted over the barrier on one hand. His brain ticked off the seconds since Kelly had pulsed his laser.

  Kelly had recovered from his roll and begun to stand up. He lifted his head as Jason came over the barrier and realized he would be outclassed if he tried to go hand-to-hand with the speed and strength of the augmented juggernaut hurtling toward him. He twisted to the left and Jason's switch to unarmed combat ended with a kick that glanced off Kelly's leg.

  Kelly's arm shot out. Jason threw up his hand. An optical needle pierced his wet suit and drove through the tissues of his forearm. The pain only lasted a moment. The neutralizing system the tucfra had included in his physiology kicked in on schedule. But the shock gave Kelly time to back up—toward Francesca.

  “Save Michael. That's an order. Save Michael or I'll recommend they dump you back in the body they saved you from."

  Francesca had turned up the volume on her implant. The anger in her voice seared him more than the laser had.

  Kelly was crouching near Francesca's feet. The light on his laser blinked to green and he pointed it at Francesca's neck. His left hand stroked her leg.

  “What's a seep like, body double? Did they do anything special in that line when they packaged her for our good friend Michael?"

  Jason broke for the door with his left arm dangling by his side. He shoved the handle of the laser into his mouth and pulled off a trick that shot another rush of exhilaration through the fog of confusion and conflicting emotions he was hauling down the walk. His right hand flattened on the top of the wall and he pivoted over the top on his good arm and dropped into a crouch.

  He looked back as he galloped through the door. Kelly was pounding down the concrete after him.

  He wouldn't have heard a sound if Kelly had used the sword on Francesca. In her state, she wouldn't even scream....

  Byron Traine had broken through the jamming once again. Francesca had apparently ordered him to start his assault and his techies were staring at symbols and doing techie things with cursors and menus.

  “I think the fifteen-minute estimate may actually be accurate,” Byron said. “Can you last another twelve minutes?"

  Jason was running down a corridor that ended in a stairway. Eileen had told them Michael was “resting on a bed in a comfortable room” and they had assumed that meant he was confined in a bedroom on the second floor, as Kelly had claimed. The rooms on the first floor were all changing rooms and storage areas.

  His next move was obvious. He had to get to Michael before Kelly did. If he couldn't do that, he had to hold Kelly off until Byron and his squad entered the boathouse. If Kelly got control of Eileen's lethal setup, they would all have to back off and let the situation return to the original standoff.

  He had kicked the door shut on the run but it only held Kelly for a moment. Jason looked back when he was three steps from the stairs and got another look at the grin he had seen on the face of the guard shark. Kelly's right arm was extended in front of him.

  The tucfra combat enhancements had their limits. The pain neutralizers had masked the effects of the awkward stride and the burn on his arm. The d
rain on Jason's energy had narrowed the gap between his speed and Kelly's. Kelly's laser was about to close it.

  Jason's body might be slowing down but his brain was still chugging along at the kind of pace it had started maintaining when it had been the only part of his physical endowment that offered him pleasurable experiences. Should he climb the stairs and make a stand at the top? Should he stay on the first floor and try to change the battery after his next laser shot? With one hand out of action? While he was being harried by an armed opponent?

  His brain apparently decided neither course looked promising. He turned, one step from the bottom of the stairs, and pressed the firing button as he swung the sword into line.

  Kelly was moving too fast to stop himself. He ducked under the unexpected sidesweep and fell into a staggering crouch, with his free hand groping for the floor.

  It was a good enough response for the decision the logic engine in Jason's head seemed to have made. He dropped his own sword and lunged forward. He couldn't outrun Kelly, but he could still take him on hand to hand, even with one arm out of action.

  Kelly's sword flashed. He rolled away from Jason's lurching assault and Jason closed with him as he stood up. Jason's right hand clamped around Kelly's wrist.

  It would have been a simple problem if his left arm had been functioning. Hold Kelly's wrist with his right, snatch Kelly's sword with his left. Kelly was slamming a kick into Jason's lower right leg, but Jason's pain blocking reflexes reduced that to a minor nuisance.

  He let go of Kelly's wrist and grabbed for the sword. There was a moment when he wasn't sure the glove of his wet suit could maintain a grip on the thing. Then it came free. He responded to Kelly's kicks with a kick of his own and Kelly fell back.

  The light on the sword turned green. He turned toward Kelly with his thumb on the button and Kelly scurried out of range.

  Jason backed toward the stairs. Kelly pointed at his stomach.

  “Take a look at your gut. That hole may look insignificant, but you're probably bleeding all over the lining of that suit."