Noah returned three hours later, without Ferret. He didn’t mention her, nor did Mamoru ask. Without word or ceremony, he waved Mamoru to follow him and jogged off along the broken-down streets of the black zone. Six blocks later, he ducked into the hollow shell of a four-story building and headed for the basement, where a pile of debris concealed a hatch in the floor.
The ladder on the other side led below the level of the street, into maintenance tunnels embedded within the city plates. Weak rectangular LEDs along the ceiling gave off barely enough light to identify walls by virtue of faint metallic glints. Noah checked his NetMini every so often, leading the way for what felt like twenty miles of subterranean corridor.
“Where are we going?” Mamoru’s attempt to whisper seemed thunderous in the quiet.
Noah jumped. “Shh. Nasty shit lives in—”
Mamoru smiled.
“Yeah, right. Yell if you want, you’d probably mess the Feeders up. There’s a deck jockey down here, calls himself Flatline. Dude came back from the dead. If anyone can help you, it be him.”
Ten minutes later, Noah pointed at a ladder back to the surface. “We’re here.”
They emerged in an alley behind a hundred-story residential tower. Judging by the sour, metallic smell in the air, a bad part of town. Mamoru grasped the wet traction coating on a surface that hadn’t seen a ground car in a decade and vaulted out of the hole. None of the buildings in immediate view appeared smashed or crumbling. Fringers lounged or roamed about, male and female, from young teens to sixties. The ones who moved kept their heads down and their hands in their pockets. Those who lounged on chairs, trash canisters, or the ground, seemed mentally absent.
Noah kicked the hatch closed and jogged to the back door of a crumbling building that declared itself the ‘Triumph Hotel’ by way of shimmering gold holographic letters. From the look of it, blight had triumphed. Mamoru coughed on the taste of burned meat and trash in the air.
A slender Asian boy, ten years old, in a baggy, dingy jacket and pants glared a challenge at them, daring them to try something, as if he knew he could take them on.
Noah scurried past the kid and went inside. When the boy locked stares with Mamoru, a strange tingle glimmered in his eyes. A sense of energy, of feeding on the misery all around him, empowered him. The boy’s angry glare morphed into a knowing smile. Darkness fed darkness. He shoved off the wall and walked away. Mamoru slithered out from under the eerie presence sharing his mind, haunted by the sight of the boy sauntering into the dark.
“Coming?” asked Noah.
“Yes.” Mamoru lingered a few seconds more, staring at the alley where the boy had vanished, and strode inside.
On the thirteenth floor, Noah knocked on the door of apartment thirty-seven. Two minutes of silence passed before a whirr in the ceiling drew Mamoru’s attention to a metal eyeball watching them from a ventilation grating.
A man’s voice murmured from behind the door, bleary as if he’d recently come out of a deep sleep. “I don’t work for Yakuza anymore.”
“Hey, dead man,” said Noah. “This guy ain’t Yak. He’s some void-walkin’ freak show from planet WTF. Sharded the Titan, and blasted him orbital. Dude ain’t even aug.”
“The hell you dose?” asked the crackling voice.
“Nothin’. Fuckin’ Titan lost his shit and pasted Zak. Almost stomped on Ferret too. Check the vidcap I sent on ahead.”
Another minute of silence passed.
“You are dosed out of your shit to bring that motherfucker to my pad. Get the fuck out.”
“This boy claims you are a man of some supposed skill,” said Mamoru. “I fail to see the truth of it.”
“Hah. Already punched my ticket once. Not lookin’ to do it again.”
“I seek your assistance in the GlobeNet.” Mamoru sneered at the wall for having to say that. As much as he hated admitting it, referring to his last meeting with Nightwing as a draw was at best a stretch of the truth. Mamoru had tricked the AI into fleeing, but if they met again, it would be wise to his trickery. “I wish to slay a dragon.”
Noah tapped his foot for three minutes, casting awkward glances from Mamoru, to the apartment, to the hallway they’d entered from.
The door whipped open with a rush of air scented in beer and underarm. A pallid man in black silk boxers with rows of lime green skull-and-crossbones down the sides teetered like a flesh scarecrow backlit by a rectangle of bright neon. Metal studs emerged from his temples, mounting points for a ViewPane, cybernetic eyes for those who didn’t want to give up their real ones. He leaned his noodle-thin arms on the doorjamb, tilting his head at Mamoru like a dog not quite sure what to make of something. Behind him, numerous holo-panels flashed with a thousand colors, a churning rainbow of epileptic proportions. Short grey-black hair hung at uneven lengths, as if it grew at different rates depending on where on his skull it emerged.
An odd sense of anger washed over Mamoru at the sight of him, twisting his expression. Something about the way this man felt offended him, as if some manner of loathsome energy had saturated him, and he still reeked of it. The other presence inside reacted with primal instinct, urging Mamoru to kill. With great effort, he resisted—for the time being.
“A dragon?” Shadowed grey eyes stared, unblinking. “You’re either Cat-6 or got a death wish.”
Mamoru smiled. “That much anger only comes from a man who has lost.” His mind detached from his outward affect. How can I know this? I am no telempath.
“Lost makes it seem like I was stupid enough to try and take one on.” Flatline rubbed the left side of his neck. “I wasn’t an idiot. I was too slow.”
“I can smell your desire for revenge.” Mamoru moved to within inches of the man. “This dragon has made itself a nuisance. It impedes me.”
“That was you?” Flatline blinked. “The whole fuckin’ city went haywire yesterday. NewsNet’s havin’ a damn feeding frenzy. They’re wailin’ about ACC infiltration, terrorists, corporate takeovers… Why’s a mil-spec AI chasing you down?”
“I almost killed it.”
Breath flavored with cheap synthbeer and peach Nicohaler vapor infiltrated Mamoru’s nostrils as the scrawny figure leaned closer. “Horse shit. You ain’t even got a jack.”
Mamoru’s hand flew to Flatline’s neck. The man grabbed his wrist, scratching and pulling, too weak to dislodge it. Luminous energy exuded from Mamoru’s shoulders, and the world twisted into a blur of color. His power connected his mind to the cybernetics in the man he held. Seconds later, he embodied the suit of floating samurai armor in a dingy office ripped from an old noir detective vid.
Flatline, six inches taller and ninety pounds of muscle heavier, sat behind an old wooden desk lined with bottles of whiskey and shot glasses. He had his feet up and leaned back in his chair like the king of the world. A cigar perched at the edge of an ashtray; the creep of an ember threatened to cause it to tip and roll away at any second. To the right, three women, each the spitting image of Aurora, lounged on a divan. One in red lace lingerie, one in black, and one in only her skin.
Mamoru glanced at the trio.
“Wank bank,” said Flatline, no trace of apology in his voice. “Body’s still a bit weak for the real deal… it’s a tide-me-over.”
“How do you know that woman?” The armor loomed over the desk.
“She asked me to find someone.” Flatline blinked. He sat up in the chair, feet hitting the ground with a sharp clap. One hand on a gun under his coat, he squinted. “How the fuck did you do that? You’re in my NIU’s PVN.”
“What?” Red eyes appeared in the hollow helmet, angling down in an irritated scowl.
“You ‘spect me to believe you almost killed a dragon, and you don’t know what I said? You’re a deck jockey, right? Neural interface unit? Private Virtual Node?”
“I am aware of the concepts, not your abbreviations. I am not a traditional operator.”
He grasped one of the whiskey bottles, lifting it to examine
the small bit of software that simulated liquor. If someone consumed it in cyberspace, a signal passed along a wire to the brain stem triggering the same chemical reactions as real alcohol. Liquid sloshed as he turned the bottle over in his armored gauntlet. Mamoru desired the program to change. It melted into a blob of unrecognizable silver goo, which took on the shape of a pink rabbit. Mamoru set it on the desk, where it hopped around.
Flatline stared at the rabbit. “You changed my JDsoft into a damn Netßunny? Ugh, that bitch is so annoying.” He froze. “Pause. Did you just rewrite a Soft in an instant?”
Mamoru folded his arms in the virtual world inside Flatline’s headware. He released the connection and folded them in the real world. “Yes. Is that enough of a demonstration?”
“Whoa.” Flatline held his head as he staggered back inside. “Fuck yeah, that’s tripped. ‘Mon in.”
Noah opened his mouth.
“You may go,” said Mamoru without looking.
Noah closed his mouth.
Mamoru took one step into the apartment, but stopped, holding out a credstick. “Your payment.”
“Thanks, man.” Noah snatched it and sprinted off.
Six cats hissed in unison as Mamoru entered. Two calicos, two tabbies (one grey and one orange) an all-black, and an all-white cat glared at him for seconds before disappearing in an explosion of furry streaks. Mamoru ignored them, stepping over wires across the rug. In the back of the living room, a four-foot tall obsidian rectangle stood atop a wheeled base. Bright azure lines traced along seams on its sides and at its flattened corners. A nest of two-inch thick wires ran from it to a metal desk. Another pair of the same cables led from a power splice on the wall. Eight net decks, four on the desk itself, formed a ring around Flatline’s throne. Stacked shipping boxes and a rickety wooden nightstand held a pair on either side.
The place held an overall dinge. Powder blue walls had darkened as if someone sprayed them with still-wet tar. Every so often, the smell of beer farts gave way to two-week-old Chinese leftovers lurking somewhere in the trash. Mamoru didn’t even want to touch the air inside this place.
Flatline fell into his chair. The black and white cats leapt into his lap, both staring at Mamoru as their human stroked their fur. “Meet Yin and Yang.”
“I thought you disliked cute.” Mamoru spoke without inflection, examining the hardware. “I will need the use of one of your decks.”
“Well, I don’t let strange dudes lay their hands on my deck.”
Mamoru frowned.
Flatline pointed at a silver box on the floor under the sofa. “You look like a Matsushita man.”
“I was.”
“Had a bad experience? Usually their shit’s top of the line. Bit pricey if you ask me, but… I suppose you get what you pay for.”
“They tried to kill me.” Mamoru stooped to retrieve the box, flipping the lid up to expose a slab of gloss-black technology. On the left end of the otherwise featureless device, the familiar M-in-a-circle logo of Matsushita Electronics appeared in dull black upon the gloss. He traced a finger over the word ‘Ultra’—in katakana as well as English—below the logo. It wasn’t quite an Oni series, but it came close. “This is adequate.”
“Haven’t had time to tweak it yet. Only amateurs plug in out of the box.”
Mamoru chuckled. “You have a strange definition of amateur. Ultra Series grade eight is close to a million credits.”
“It’s my backup. Don’t got an e-mag for it, you’ll need to use wall power. You can plug in over there.” Flatline waved at a tangle of smaller wires at the back end of his desk. “I got a plan. We can’t go hunting that bastard in its home network. AIs are more powerful running on custom hardware. How bad does it want you?”
“Bad.” He ignored the feline hissing coming from under the desk as he took a cable lead and snapped it into the right end of the Matsushita Ultra. The orange tabby wandered back in and sat in plain sight, giving Mamoru a ‘go ahead, try and do something’ stare. Red light glowed in thin strips around the unit as it powered up. “You saw what it did to the city.”
“Perfect.” Flatline cracked his knuckles. “We’ll lure the fucker out. Going to better our odds too. I got a buddy who wouldn’t miss this for anything. Hope that isn’t a problem.”
Mamoru removed his katana from his waist, knelt, and sat back on his heels. He set the blade with reverence to his left, and the deck in front of him, one hand atop its surface. After a moment of concentration, he closed his eyes. The presence inside his mind seemed agitated at the delay and showed no sign of understanding the need for it. Memories of his fight with the dragon AI replayed in his mind, as if to evaluate his tactics as well as demonstrate to the presence with which he had made a deal.
Akuryō, do not interfere if you wish our bargain fulfilled.
“Hey man, you awake? I think we could use his help,” said Flatline.
Mamoru frowned, emitting a grunt of disapproval. “As long as he does not get in my way.”
“Awesome. See you there.” Flatline shut down a small holo-panel with a finger tap and looked over his shoulder at Mamoru. “He won’t.”
26
Ambush
Althea
Wind lofted Althea’s hair in a sudden gust. She smiled and leaned on the broom, closing her eyes to enjoy the air. Late morning quiet settled over the street. Most of the small children were nowhere to be seen. She knew the strange police had been taking them all into a building for a couple of hours a day. Suspicion ruled at first, but when she talked to them later, they spoke of the same sort of annoying things the datapad Father gave her tormented her with. ‘School’ as they had called it, sounded like a far more pleasant experience than having a little slab of plastic call her stupid. Althea wanted to go, but no one had thought to include her. Perhaps they figured she liked that awful device.
The breeze subsided, and Althea resumed her task of sweeping the porch. Each scratch of the bristles over the boards reminded her of the unusual quiet. A minute passed of staring at her feet. She traced lines in the unswept dust with her big toe. Father and Den had gone off with the Watch, Karina working on the field.
I have lonely.
She glanced left, at the corner of the street two blocks away, where Beard’s truck had appeared. It seemed silly to her now that she had been so terrified of it. However, she felt a small twinge of worry at the thought of the giant metal beast. Her grip on the broom tightened and she brushed fear and bad thoughts away as well as dust. She nudged the ever-growing pile of silt to the edge, and off the side to the ground.
Althea set the broom on the porch in the pose of a conquering hero holding a huge sword, and squinted in the direction of the city center.
I wanna go to the school.
Hair and dress flared as she whirled to lean the broom on the wall before racing down the three steps to the street. She didn’t care if most of the kids there were half her age. The stupid machine-thing kept talking to her as if she was six anyway. A real teacher couldn’t be any worse. Elation built up inside her as she ran, matched by a broad smile.
“Althea,” shouted Father.
She stopped and looked behind her. One block past her home, Father and a large group of people from the Watch marched in the direction of the house. A few seconds of staring let her sense worry and anger on him. Without a second thought, she sprinted toward him and leapt into a hug.
“Thea,” he said, no longer yelling. “There was an ambush.”
Her eyebrows came together. “Does it need watering?”
Nervous chuckling emanated from the group of armed men and women. Father hugged her again.
“Un guardia fue emboscado.”
Althea understood and took his hand. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“It is not that simple cariño. Miguel is at the bottom of a ravine. We fear to move him.”
She looked in the direction of the gate. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“It feels like a trap.” He squeezed her
hand. “To bring you out of the walls.”
“I am not afraid.” She closed her eyes and tried to open her thoughts to whatever gave her strange feelings. The scent of Karina’s hair came to mind, followed by an image of her working the field with a smile. The same smile appeared on Althea’s face. “There is nothing wrong.”
He held her hand as they walked across Querq. Her smile faded a little each step, wondering why a powerful sense of Karina’s presence would fill her thoughts when attempting to think about a wounded man. By the time they arrived at the gates, she worried. The vision made her think of someone watching from a distance, hiding.
“Father… You should not bring so many men. It will make the city weak.”
“What if this is the Buffalos attempting to take you?” He glared at the imagined raiders out in the distance.
“I am not scared of raiders anymore. You are right. Something feels wrong. I keep seeing Karina.”
“Alright, alright.” Father waved at the group. “Montez, Estevez, Garcia, Hernandez, and Nelson. You’re with me. The rest of you keep an eye out for an attack.”
Crack.
Everyone jumped at the loud noise echoing over the city.
Shepherd had dropped a large crate. The big man jogged over to the unusual gathering. “Something wrong?”
Althea smiled at him.
“You may as well come with us,” said Father.
Shepherd nodded. “What’s the situation?”
Althea wandered toward the town’s exit, holding Father’s hand while he explained about the patrol ambush. The enormous door had already been pulled open by the new city machines. Warm dirt underfoot became hot metal as she entered the gate tunnel, a ten-ish foot long corridor made entirely of steel that connected Querq’s dirt to the old city’s smashed up roads. Boots clanked above her from more Watch patrolling the metal walkway overhead.
Angel Descended (The Awakened Book 6) Page 29
