by Ted Cross
Still unable to breathe, Zoya gave up on trying to maintain control and gave herself up fully to the combat card. Her palms planted on the floor, she kicked up hard into Bunny’s groin. He grunted but gave no further sign that it affected him. His right hand grabbed her hair, but it slipped from his grasp and Zoya was grateful that she had cut it short. She finally gasped in a breath and kicked again, this time at his knee. Pain lanced up her leg; she might as well have been kicking an oak tree. Bunny’s left hand made a fist and plunged down at her face. Despite how slowly the swing seemed to move, Zoya was unable to fully evade the blow, and though the full force of his punch missed her, the graze across her cheekbone was enough to send her rolling into the coat rack in the corner of the office.
As Bunny slowly plodded toward her again, Zoya saw Pyotr and Ira hesitating in the office doorway, their frightened gazes turned back toward the assault. “Get out!” Zoya screamed, her voice slurred from the blow to her jaw. “Run!” Then she could see no more, because Bunny was on her, one of his huge, booted feet lashing out at her side. She twisted and managed to catch the blow on her buttocks. Zoya was sure there should be more pain; the combat card must be deadening it in some way. Bunny reared back to aim another kick at her, and the coffee pot shattered against the side of his skull and sent him reeling sideways into the wall. Pyotr stood behind him, a dazed look on his face.
Zoya wanted to yell at him again, to tell him to run, but she couldn’t seem to wrest control of her body back from the card. She got her feet under her again and dove behind the desk, rolled, and came up in an aikido stance. Watching what happened next was horrifying, but she was helpless to stop it—Bunny rebounded from the wall and planted an elbow hard into Pyotr’s face. Pyotr flew back against the filing cabinet, his nose a ruin, blood spattering the off-white plaster of the wall behind him.
For a moment Bunny looked like he would go after Pyotr again, but his flat shark-eyed gaze stopped on Zoya and he grinned again, swiped an arm through the blood in his eyes, and stalked toward her.
Tavik had never been inside the morgue before, so he slowed down as he approached the entrance door. It was an old building, its entry code box long broken, so the wooden door opened at his push. He yelped as he saw a running blonde woman try to skid to a halt to keep from crashing into him. His hands leaped up and grabbed her. “You’re not Zoya. Who the fuck…?” Suddenly he recognized her. “Irina! It’s been a long time.”
Her eyes were wide with fright and she clutched desperately to her purse. “Let me go!” she cried. “Help Zoya!” She pointed back the way she had come, and Tavik saw flashes of movement through a doorway on the far side of the room.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said. He grabbed Irina by the collar and dragged her along as he headed across the room. She kept wailing and thrashing at him until he elbowed her in the gut. The room was lined with plastic chairs, with a small raised area at one end. He was still several meters from the doorway when Zoya came running out and tumbled into a pile of chairs. Bunny was fast on her heels, an insane grin lighting up his bloody face.
“Bunny! Stop!” Tavik yelled. He shoved Irina away and reached for his shard pistol. Bunny’s eyes swung around and met Tavik’s. The grin widened. Tavik brought the gun up, but hesitated as he thought of Viktor. If he shot Bunny here, aboveground, there was no way Viktor would buy any story he had to tell, and Viktor would almost surely kill him. The hesitation cost him. Irina leaped onto his back, and as he tried to keep his balance the shard pistol skittered across the floor beneath a row of chairs. He grabbed hold of her forearms and flung her over his shoulder onto the thick carpeting.
“Here!” It was Zoya who had yelled, her voice sounding funny, as if her mouth was half-full of sand. She was holding up what looked like an overly long slot card. “This is what you want. Take it and leave us be!” She flung it and it sailed past Tavik’s head. Bunny had turned his attention back to Zoya again and was advancing on her. “You’ve taken everything from me,” she cried out. “Everything!”
When Bunny got close, Zoya kicked him hard in the stomach. He gave an ‘oof’ sound but stood his ground, lashed out with a fist, and caught her in the chin. Zoya spun back and landed in a pile of chairs.
Tavik looked toward the place where his shard pistol had vanished, decided he didn’t have time to look for it, and rushed at Bunny’s back. “Motherfucker!” he yelled and rammed his shoulder into Bunny’s side as the big man turned. He landed atop Bunny, their faces so close that their cheeks brushed. Bunny looked into his eyes for a moment, then cracked his forehead into Tavik’s. Everything went gray, then faded to black.
Marcus would have given up and called his father if not for the fact that when he exited the metro station he had caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and seen Tavik running in the distance. With a groan at his own idiocy, he had set off at a jog, the only thing he could manage. He saw the gangster leave the sidewalk and enter a crumbling, gray building with a sky cycle parked in the lot. Now as Marcus drew near, a blonde woman ran from the entrance door. She stopped near the cycle and held her hands up to her face.
Marcus looked from the door to the woman and back to the door. It’s suicide to go in there, he thought, and pushed through the door anyway.
The room was a mess. Plastic chairs were tossed about every which way. Tavik looked either dead or unconscious against the far wall. Zoya was trying to raise herself to a sitting position, a hand on her jaw, but she seemed too dazed to defend herself from the huge gangster who towered over her.
“No!” he yelled, hoping to distract Bunny. He ran forward but got his feet tangled in the legs of a chair and fell flat on his face. Lifting his head up, he was astonished to see the long slot card that he had found outside Zoya’s apartment building lying just under his nose. An odd feeling of déjà vu struck him and he snatched up the card as he pushed himself back to his feet.
Bunny had lifted Zoya up off the floor and was holding her up in the air with both of his hands circled around her neck. Zoya’s legs kicked feebly at Bunny’s abdomen and her face reddened as Bunny’s fingers squeezed together.
Ah, Dios, help me now! Marcus charged at Bunny and leaped up onto his wide back. He latched one arm around the big man’s neck and tried to bite into his neck. Pain jagged through his mouth as his teeth came down on metal, and he understood that he had bitten Bunny on his slot.
His eyes caught Zoya’s, but there was no recognition there. Snot sprayed from her nose as she tried vainly to breathe.
The edges of the long slot card dug into Marcus’s palm as he clung desperately to Bunny’s shoulders. He couldn’t think straight, his mind overcome with panic, with fear for himself and for Zoya, with the sheer helplessness of not knowing how to stop the massive gangster. Several times he jabbed the edge of the slot card into the side of Bunny’s face, trying to catch him in the eye. He saw the bloody teeth marks around Bunny’s slot, and his mind in its desperation seized on one final, unfathomable idea—he jabbed the slot card into the gangster’s neck. It took three tries before he could get the card into the slot and jam it home, but the effect was instantaneous. Bunny’s body went rigid. Unable to maintain his grip, Marcus slid to the floor. Zoya dropped down in a heap, coughing and gasping for air. Bunny staggered to one side and tripped over the dais. His body flopped and jerked on the carpeting, only the whites of his eyes showing. The spasms slowed and Bunny’s big body curled up into a fetal position and became still.
Moscow
Sunday, June 8, 2138
9:30 p.m. MSK
Marcus scrambled across the carpet to where Zoya coughed and wheezed, one hand cradling her throat and the other her jaw. She looked terribly pale to Marcus, except for the raw redness of her neck and…
“Your jaw,” he cried. His doctor training was nearly all theoretical, with just one semester of work with cadavers, so to encounter something like this in reality was unnerving. Her jaw was bruised and swell
ing, and he figured it was at the very least dislocated and possibly broken. He could see the pain in her eyes as she tried to gurgle words at him. “Don’t talk. Let me try to help.”
He gently took her hand away from her jaw and probed carefully with his own. Despite the discoloration, the bone didn’t feel broken to him, and he breathed a sigh when he found that it wasn’t dislocated. There could still be a fracture, though, that I can’t feel. I need to get her to a hospital. Grudgingly, he opened the link to his father. «Papa, I need your help.»
«That’s right, shut me out and then—»
«I don’t need a lecture; I just need your help.»
«Sure.»
«Zoya is hurt. I’ve got to find a nearby hospital or clinic or whatever they use here and get her to it. I’m going to plug into her slot; can you please reprogram some of her nanobots for pain relief?»
«Of course. Tell me the exact problem so I can know what level to program.»
«Her jaw is possibly fractured. She was also nearly strangled and has a badly bruised neck.» As he said this, Marcus snapped the zip-cable into his own slot and then guided the other end into Zoya’s.
«Got it,» Javier replied. «I’ll program some more bots to scan the extent of tissue damage.»
«Thanks.»
«Are you done with this mess? I’ve got what I need, now I’d like to get you to safety. You’ve been altogether too careless with your life in this insane city.»
Having been too consumed with worry over Zoya, Marcus took a moment to look around the room. Under a tangle of chairs nearby lay the wicked looking gun he had seen Tavik brandishing earlier. On the raised platform, the body of the huge gangster curled into itself, apparently lifeless, but beyond him Tavik had raised a hand to his face. Crap! That’ll be trouble!
Beneath his fingers, Zoya’s jaw moved and a hoarse whisper escaped her lips. “Shhh,” he hushed. “Don’t try to talk.” She persisted, so he put his ear close to her mouth.
In a strained rasp she said, “Irina…Pyotr.”
Marcus couldn’t be sure who she meant. Through an open door into what looked like an office, he saw blood spattered on the walls and feared what he might find there. “Is Irina a blonde woman?” he whispered.
A faint nod from Zoya.
“I think she’s all right. Saw her run out of the building. Scared, but she didn’t look hurt to me. Sorry, I don’t see anyone else, unless Pyotr is Bunny’s real name?”
“No,” she rasped, and moved her eyes in the direction of the office.
Marcus shook his head. “I’ll have to check.” He really didn’t want to leave Zoya alone, but he supposed if someone was injured in there…
Tavik groaned loudly and sat up.
Marcus stared at him in alarm. He’d been praying the gangster was too injured to cause more problems, but it seemed his prayers were falling on deaf ears.
With another groan, Tavik pushed himself to his feet and slumped against the wall.
The gun! Marcus thought, disconnecting the zip-cable from his slot. He crawled over and snatched the weapon from the carpet, then stood up to face Tavik. The mobster was rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes and moaning.
«Papa. Can you get an ambulance…or a taxi or something? I need to get Zoya out of here. One of the bad guys is coming to his senses. I’ve got a gun, but I’m not sure I have the nerve to use it.» He examined the gun, hoping any safety latch would be readily apparent, but he couldn’t find one. A cough followed by mocking laughter drew his attention back to Tavik.
“You,” Tavik said, pointing a finger his way, “foreigner. You’re like a lapdog, running around after us, biting at my heels. Where the hell did you come from? And give me my fucking gun back.” He shoved off from the wall and lurched in Marcus’s direction.
Blood pounded in Marcus’s forehead and he had to remind himself to breathe. He lifted the pistol and pointed it, wavering, at Tavik. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot!” The clear note of panic in his voice made him disgusted with himself.
Tavik didn’t stop and was no more than a couple meters away now. He laughed again. “Come now, let’s all be friends!” He held out a hand and gave it a wave, urging Marcus to hand over the weapon. “It’s all over. I won’t hurt you.”
He’s too close! I can’t…I can’t…but Zoya! Marcus pulled the trigger, hoping the wild swaying of the gun wouldn’t cause him to miss. Nothing happened. The trigger wouldn’t budge.
Tavik cackled and snatched the pistol from Marcus. With exaggerated care he hefted the gun and pointed it into Marcus’s face. “It only works for my hand, friend. Bio…something, whatever they call it.”
Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the shot that would end it all. «Bye, Papa. Tell Mama I love her.»
«Marcus! What’s happening!»
Tavik’s continued laughter began to grate on his ears.
“You look so funny standing there waiting to be shot,” Tavik said. He fought to get his laughter under control. “Look, I meant what I said. It’s over. My fucking head hurts too much to deal with all this right now. And this ammo costs too much to waste on you.” He glanced around to where Zoya lay on the floor. “She has what I need. I’ll get her some help. You get the hell out of here. I don’t ever want to see your fat face again, got it? Oh, and you tell that crazy father of yours to leave me alone. Tell him I gave you your life.”
«Marcus!» Javier was practically screaming.
«I’m still here,» he mentally whispered. «Somehow…»
A hand pressed to the back of his head, Tavik weaved over to where Bunny’s body lay on the dais. He bent down and snatched the card from Bunny’s slot. “What the fuck is this?” He turned to look at Marcus, held up the overlong slot card. “This isn’t normal. How can a card do that?”
Marcus shook his head. He had no idea what had happened. How could data on a card do what had happened to Bunny? He wondered if he could push his luck with the gangster. “Please…uh, Tavik. I’ll leave, just like you said. Take whatever you want, but please let me take Zoya to a hospital. She needs help.”
As he glared at Marcus, Tavik’s jaw clenched and released, clenched and released. When he finally responded, it was in a deadly whisper. “She’s my girl. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are. One more word out of you and I’m gonna blow your fucking head off.” He pointed a finger at Marcus. “Remember about your father. He messes with me again, I swear I’ll hunt you down and make your death slow and painful.”
Marcus caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Zoya using both hands to shove herself to a sitting position. He longed to run to her, but Tavik didn’t sound like he was joking. Her eyes met his, and Marcus prayed that she would understand that he had no choice. He took a step back, stumbled against an overturned chair, and lurched around it toward the exit door. «Papa, can you get a car, a taxi, anything?»
«Yes. Got to get you out of there, immediately. Back to the apartment. Back home to Phoenix. Your friend shouldn’t be feeling much pain now, at least. Leave her be.»
«Yeah.» Marcus nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.
Tavik waited until the fat American had gone before turning his attention back to Zoya. She sat with her back against one of the plastic chairs, one hand cradling her neck and the other cupping the left side of her jaw. Her eyes burned into his with a venom he felt was completely unfair.
He stuck the shard pistol into its holster and knelt down near her. “That bastard. Look what he did to you.” Tavik pushed Zoya’s hands down and carefully brushed his fingers along her swollen and bruised jaw line. “If he isn’t dead, I’ll kill him myself, I swear to God.”
Zoya struggled to breathe. He eyes were bloodshot and no longer met Tavik’s, but were instead darting around as if trying to find something to focus on. Spittle blasted from her lips as she vainly attempted to say something.
“Shhh, don’t try to talk,�
� Tavik whispered. “I’ll get you to a hospital.” He reached to the side of her head, fumbling for the tiny button that would eject the card from her slot. “You don’t need this now.”
Something slammed hard into Tavik’s left ear, knocking him to the carpet. Waves of pain radiated from his ringing ear. He thought that the fat American must have returned and blindsided him, but when he opened his eyes it was Zoya standing over him, one leg bent at the knee, her foot aimed squarely at Tavik’s face. Before he even had a chance to scream out a protest, the foot whipped downward and smashed his head into the carpet. Only the carpet’s thickness kept him from blacking out.
“You fucker!” came a terrible shriek. The strangest thought occurred to Tavik, that he had never heard Zoya curse before. He opened his eyes in time to see the foot come crashing down again.
Moscow
Sunday, June 8, 2138
9:32 p.m. MSK
The whole universe was pain. Pounding, pulsating, blinding pain beat at his mind and body in ways he never could have imagined in his craziest dreams. Through the pain there was only one bit of knowledge for him to latch onto and desperately cradle—I am Dr. Artyom Vladimirovich Grachev. Repeating this single fact like a mantra was all that kept him sane.
He tried to say it aloud—I am Dr. Artyom Vladimirovich Grachev—but his mouth wouldn’t work. Through the whirlwind of pain, he narrowed his concentration to his mouth alone. It felt all wrong. Besides the pain in his gums, his teeth, his tongue, and any other part of himself that he turned his attention to, it all felt wrong. His jaw felt enormous. He tongue was so thick it filled his cavernous mouth, making it difficult to breathe. His teeth felt jumbled and clenched together in a manner completely unfamiliar to Tyoma.
