Knight in Cyber Armor

by Bard Constantine

  She pulled up the sketch file, based on witness reports from the warehouse. A man in a dark trench coat, face completely covered by a silvery helmet. She stared at the image, face fixed in concentration.

  "So, mystery man. Who the hell are you?"

  Chapter 9

  Jett span around, fired a pulse blast at the assailant crouched behind a desk. Never slowing, he fell backward, skidding across the floor while targeting the second gunman, who held a gun to a hostage's head. Jett locked a magnetic tug on the man's weapon, pulling it out of his hand. At the same time, Jett fired a second blast. The gunman's head snapped back, and he toppled, freeing the hostage.

  Jett removed the headgear, ending the VR session. His surroundings altered from the brightly lit holographic environment to the damp, humid, gloomy hollows of the city sewers. He nearly gagged as the ripe stench seeped into his nostrils. "This isn't right, Proto."

  The virtual assistant's voice buzzed over his datcom. "I don't see why not. You just set a time record on that mission."

  "Yeah, that's just the problem. I knew what to expect from the past times I did the program. Knew where everyone was, knew how much time I had to act. Real life doesn't work like that. Variables shift constantly. You can never have the exact same experience in any given situation. The VR training has to reflect that."

  "I understand. I will upgrade the program with those observations in mind. In the meantime, might I suggest something?"

  "Sure."

  "Rest."

  "Rest? I feel fine."

  "You are unaware of your limitations. Although your biological functions were improved during your stasis, you still need to recharge like anyone else."

  Jett frowned. "What do you mean? They did something to me during hibernation?"

  "You were preserved in a gelatinous, oxygenated liquid that was also enriched with genetic modifiers that improved your physiology to avoid the ravages of cryosleep. To put it in layman's terms, you were upgraded. Strength, endurance, reflexes, all developed to the very peak of human potential. They call your kind enhanced."

  "How many like me are there?"

  "I don't have access to those numbers. What I do know is that you require rest. Even if you don't feel the need yourself."

  "I'll take care of it." Jett tapped the datcom, terminating the conversation. He glanced over at Zip, who had just finished a weld on a pipeline. "That's it for today, Zipster. Let's wrap it up."

  The robot's shell rattled when it hovered over. "Zip did good job?"

  "Great job, Zip."

  "Zip work tomorrow?"

  "Yeah. Back at it tomorrow."

  "Zip happy to work."

  "I know you are, Zip."

  "Jett happy?"

  Jett stopped in his tracks.

  "Jett?"

  He raised a finger to his lips. "Quiet."

  He glanced down. The brownish liquid that sloshed over the toecaps of his boots quivered, ripples widening.

  "Someone's coming. Duck into that pipe, Zip. Stay out of sight."

  "Zip hide." The robot obediently backed into a large sewer pipe until it was just a silhouette. Jett crouched under the pipe, sticking to the shadows. A rumbling sound approached.

  The tunnel brightened from the headlights of an approaching hovercraft. The large skiff's armored hull was rusty, composed of mismatched plating from several different vehicles. Several figures sat or stood at the railing of the craft, faces obscured by various painted masks. Their ragged clothing was overlain with junk, from air hoses to jewelry made from scrap metal. Though some carried metal or wooden staffs, they used them as walking aids, not weapons.

  Tunnelers. Jett had heard of a strange group of people who lived deep in the abandoned sewers of the Neo York, but had never seen them before. He thought they were urban legends, like the rumors of large alligators he used to hear about. Of course, the alligator tales turned out to be true. Now another story had become a reality.

  The hovercraft was followed by a few more on smaller gliding bikes, and many more on foot, sloshing through the muck. Thought most had their faces covered, Jett saw women and children among their number. They trudged along on weary legs, heads downcast, shoulders slumped.

  He heard they dwelled deep underneath the city, rarely seen by residents. Something must have driven them away from their homes for them to come this close to the city.

  He carefully emerged from his hiding place, aiming at the hovercraft with his g-span. A tracking disk fired from its slot, attaching itself to the corroded hull. He waited until the last of them were lost to sight before standing up. He stared down the tunnel, feeling a twinge of sadness. Different time, same hopelessness. He had seen the same, too many times after the Imperial War. The world was upended, and refugees streamed from one place to the next, trying to find a safe haven. Turned out Havens were being built, but not for refugees. They were already forgotten, left to fend for themselves against the unbridled savages of the world.

  Not by me. Jett nodded to himself. I'll come back. Find out what happened. See what I can do to help.

  Satisfied with his resolution, he made his way upward, followed closely by Zip, who hummed a warbling tune that echoed off the cavernous walls as they slogged along.

  Ⓥ

  He tapped the entry code and hand scan when a flash of movement caught his eye. A girl sat on the top of his boxpad, skinny legs dangling over the ledge. She wore a bulky flight jacket, an oversized knit hat, and a gas mask that covered the lower half of her face.

  He recognized her when she removed the mask. It was the girl from the alley, the one he spoke to on the street a few nights past.

  She vaulted from the top, landing lightly beside him. "'Bout time you show up, yo. Getting frost butt waiting."

  "You mean 'frostbite.' How do you know where I live?"

  "Tailed you a couple times."

  "Yeah? I never saw you."

  She grinned. "Course not. You letting me in or what?"

  "You really shouldn't go into a grown man's pad. It's dangerous."

  "Sure." A knife glimmered in her hand and deftly disappeared. "For you."

  He sighed and hit the ENTRY button. The door hissed as it slid open. "Fine. At least tell me your name."

  "Mira." She darted past him, eyeing the place over. "Nice."

  He snorted. "Yeah. Lap of luxury."

  "Better than the streets."

  He paused in the act of opening the cooler. "You live on the streets?"

  "Sometimes. Me and my sister have…had a safe place."

  "What happened to your sister?"

  Her expression saddened, eyes downcast. "Boogeymen took her."

  "Boogeymen?"

  "They take people. Make ghosts."

  His jaw clenched. "That's why you need help. To get her back."

  She nodded, angrily scrubbing away the tear that rolled down her cheek. "I ask questions. Dress like kankibank, try to catch a quig's eye. Quig can lead to boogeymen, but I can't make 'em squeal. Quigs get mad, sic dogs on me."

  "That's why they were chasing you that night in the alley."

  "Ace."

  "What's a quig?"

  "Cunny mack. Ho daddy."

  "Okay. So you're out there, putting your life at risk trying to attract pimps you can squeeze for info on the boogeymen that took your sister. Do you know how reckless and crazy that is?"

  She shrugged, thrusting her hands in her pockets. "Couldn't just give up. Had to do something."

  You see something wrong…you do something about it. No matter what the cost. You do something.

  Jett nodded to himself. "You're going to stick with this crazy plan anyway, aren't you?"

  She nodded.

  "Okay. Let's say I got your back this time. But if it doesn't work, we do things my way. Deal?"

  Mira grinned like he handed her a sack full of candy.

  Ⓥ

  Jett shoveled a spoonful of oily stew in his mouth, trying to chew. The stuff was called grue
l, consisting of a mishmash of any cheap meat and vegetable combination, varying by the day. Usually, the meat was rat. Gruel was greasy and chewy at the same time, but it was also dirt-cheap and filled an empty stomach. But it wasn't the stew that was hard to swallow. It was the conversation from the table behind him.

  They were in the bar section of a cathouse called the Love Below, located in the part of the Warrens affectionately called Cunny Alley by the regulars. Prostitution was perfectly legal in Neo York, with taxes levied against every brothel and sex den. As long as the fees were paid, the businesses were free to do as they pleased.

  Mira hadn't sat by herself for long. Within minutes a quig in a leopard-print trench coat and a lime green velvet suit sidled up beside her at the bar. Ordering her a drink, he leaned in close, speaking in a low, butter-coated voice.

  "Ain't seen a thang like you here before. Bad round these parts. A young filly like you needs a man to look after you. Watch yo back and make you some chedda in the process. Freddy Flava is just the mack to make sure that happens."

  Mira placed her chin on her hand and smiled. "You can do that, daddy? I been 'round the way a few times. Bad men always wanna rough me up."

  He reached out and stroked her face with a hand glimmering with jewel-encrusted rings. "Oh, yeah. You got them heart-breaker eyes, that sweet, moist little mouth…a trick would have to be dead not to want you. How old you is, sweetheart?"

  "Fourteen."

  A golden tooth in his mouth gleamed when he smiled. "Perfect, baby. Freddy Flava knows many a trick who'll fall over for a piece of that sweet, young—"

  Jett tapped him on the shoulder. "I've heard enough."

  Freddy Flava sneered. "You want something, sucka? This jade ain't even trained yet. You wanna slap your sausage, head to the rooms in the back. Got plenty of trickflips to satisfy you if you got the votes."

  "Votes?"

  "V-notes, sucka. You born yesterday? Now get outta my face 'fo Freddy Flava carve a smile in yo stomach."

  Jett's fists clenched at his sides. "I'm terrified."

  Freddy Flava sputtered an exaggerated sigh. "Ain't this a bitch? Freddy Flava can't even handle his bizness without being interrupted. Trick, you know who I'm is?

  "I know just who you are." Jett's fist shot out, connecting with Freddy Flava's jaw with a sharp crack. Mira scooted away as Freddy Flava tumbled backward off his stool, eyes wide with shock. The bartender glanced over in a bored manner, as if it was nothing he hadn't seen many times before.

  Jett ignored Freddy Flava's expression, grabbing the pimp by his fur-lined collar and throwing him to the floor. Heat flared through his veins, radiated from his pores. He dropped down, seized Freddy Flava's polka dot tie and yanked, throttling the man.

  "I know all about you." He followed the statement with another punch. Blood smeared across Freddy Flava's mouth.

  "You're a sorry-ass excuse for a human being…"

  Another punch.

  "—who thinks he's a man…"

  Another punch.

  "—by putting little girls out on the street!"

  He punctuated the shout with a savage kick to the ribs. Mira leaped on his arm, shouting something he couldn't hear. He shook her off. His vision filmed over in red. Blood on Freddy's Flava's broken face. Blood on Jett's fist. Sizzling blood oozing from charred bodies of his Hellrazor team. Sightless eyes, dead faces staring up at him. It wasn't enough.

  It wasn't enough.

  A roar ripped from his throat. His fists pounded flesh like hammers, raining repeated blows. The world span around him in dizzy circles. He didn't care.

  The click of a shotgun hammer instantly brought his world back into sudden focus. The barrel was inches away from his head. The bartender peered down the sights, the same bored expression on his face.

  "Can't let you kill the man up in here. Bad for business. Take your little gal and get the hell out."

  Jett blinked. "Okay."

  He slowly stood up. Patrons of the establishment emerged from their rooms, most in various stages of undress. They looked at him as if he were a snake in the middle of the floor. Even Mira looked shaken, staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  I guess I did. He glanced down at Freddy Flava, whose bloody and swollen was barely recognizable. Don't know what got into me.

  He nodded to her. "Let's go." Pulling his hood over his head, he stepped out into the cold.

  Mira exploded when she followed him out. "The hell was that, yo? You supposed to get him to talk, not beat him to pulp. Knew you was seven-thirty. Fool to trust a gas-brain like you."

  She jumped back when he whirled around. "I blew it, okay? It was a stupid plan, anyway. We'd have to talk to a hundred Freddy Flavas to find one who knows about the people that took your sister."

  She stuck out her chin. "Oh yeah? You got better idea?"

  He folded his arms. "As a matter of fact, I do."

  Ⓥ

  LeBlanc stared at Jett. "Have you lost your mind?"

  They stood in the back alley of Kermit's Bar. Flakes of snash powdered their jackets, accumulating on the blackened concrete. LeBlanc lifted a vape to his chapped lips, eyeing Mira, who squatted down a few feet away, rolling the dirty powder into snowballs.

  "Word of advice? Lose the brat. You start taking charity cases, you make bad decisions. That'll get you killed quick, mark my words."

  "She's just a girl, LeBlanc. Her sister was taken."

  LeBlanc spread his arms. "Little boys and girls are taken every day in this dumpster fire of a city. You really wanna dive into that? You should know how this ends, Jett. I do. I used to take those cases. It's always someone looking for their kid, their brother, their sister. I dig in the muck a while, usually find a dead body. You ever see a dead kid, Jett? After some sick animal has done every filthy thing a person can think of, and worse?"

  Jett met LeBlanc's gaze without flinching. "Yes."

  LeBlanc stared at him. "Hell. You have, haven't you? You were there when everything broke down."

  Jett nodded. "No rules. No civility. Every person for himself. People…changed. Did things. Horrible things because they knew they could get away with it. There was a particularly vicious clan of outlaws. Called themselves Deviants. Led by a psychopath named Holden. They called him the Deacon. Never did catch him. Never laid an eye on him. He had a hold on his…followers. Murderers, rapists, cannibals. Preyed on the weak. Once we found an entire chamber of bodies. Many…" Jett winced, closing his eyes. "Many of them were children."

  LeBlanc shook his head. "Things haven't changed much. The RCE tries to keep some semblance of law and order, but they're a Band-Aid on a festering wound. The citizens are too afraid to stand up for themselves. Haven Core doesn't give a damn what goes on outside their walls. And Troubleshooters like me? Hell, we just wanna get paid."

  "It sucks. I get it. Right now, I just want to know where I can find a little girl who got snatched."

  LeBlanc sighed. "Diabolis."

  "Who are they? Another gang?"

  "Worse. Some sort of secret society. Most of the members of are punks like the average tough, but Diabolis is well-organized. No one knows who their leader is, or how their inner circle works. But they have their fingers in a lot of pies. Contraband, guns, extortion, murder-for-hire, Sensync distribution…"

  "Sensync?"

  "You haven't heard? Hottest drug on the market right now. Only it's not a narcotic. It's mental stimulation via memory insertion. Most Haze clubs specifically deal Sensync to their regulars."

  "Sounds like nirvanic. In my day, addiction to it ran rampant. Turned the eyes electric blue at the point of no return."

  "Yeah, we still got that. But this Sensync is even worse, trust me."

  "Noted. Diabolis also deals in the sex trade, I'm guessing."

  "Yeah. Big underground scene for those wanting to avoid paying the tax."

  "And to perverts looking for underage sex."

  "Yeah."

  "Where?"

 
; LeBlanc took another look at Mira, who stared back at him with accusing eyes. He scrubbed a hand through his disheveled hair and took a long drag on his vape.

  "Look, you get into this, you won't come out clean. Understand?"

  "Where?"

  "Underbelly. Hellhole District. Deep inside. You'll know if it's a Diabolis spot by the marking. A heart with a stake in it."

  Ⓥ

  "I'm coming with." Mira folded her arms and gave him a severe stare.

  "No chance." Jett unlocked his boxpad, held up a hand. "Stay here a minute."

  He went inside, letting the door click shut behind. Moving quickly, he unlocked the hidden latch and removed the carrier bag containing the Vigil gear. Slinging it over his shoulder, he went to the door and reopened it.

  Mira's eyes immediately zoomed on the bag. "What'cha got in there, yo? Guns? Bombs?"

  "None of your business. You get inside and wait for me to get back."

  "No chance."

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and thrust a finger in her face. "I'm not playing, girl. You wanted my help. Well, this is it. You're smart, fast, tough. I get that. But the word is out by now that a little girl is asking all the wrong questions. I can't risk anyone spotting you. And I damn sure won't take you to the Underbelly. Even you know the rep that place has."

  She swatted his hands away. "What you want me to do? Wait around in your smelly ol' box?"

  He sniffed. "It doesn't smell in here."

  "Does too."

  "You said it was nice. So sit tight and wait. Better than the streets, remember?"

  "No. I leave. Look for sister on my own."

  "No, you'll wait." He knelt down to her level. "Listen, I know you're hurting."

  She looked away. "Not hurt."

  He ignored her rebuttal. "I know what it's like to lose someone. To want them back more than anything. I know that ache inside, the pain that won't go away because that person isn't there. I'm trying to make that pain go away for you. But I need you to trust me, and do what I say for once."

  "Fine. I wait." She looked up at him, eyes glistening. "But you better come back."

  "I will."

  "Promise?"

  He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Yeah. I promise."

  For once, she didn't shove his hand away.