Knight in Cyber Armor

by Bard Constantine

  Qhawa toyed with the knife in her hand. "How would you know if you never try something else?"

  "I've tried something else. Ever since waking up in this place, I've tried. It's suffocating. This city is a vise. Every day, squeezing. Crushing. I don't want to be its next victim. Not if I can do something about it. Not if I can fight back. Something Wayne said to me right before he died: 'if you see something wrong, you do something about it. No matter what the cost.' That makes sense to me. That's something I can aspire to."

  Qhawa sipped from her cup. "Wayne was a simple man. The world is complicated. He never learned that."

  "Then let's make it less complicated. When Alexander the Great was challenged with untangling the Gordian knot, he took his sword and cut it in two. An intractable problem undid by a simple solution."

  "The man is a scholar in addition to a poorly-trained fighter." Qhawa's smile was only half-mocking. "So the city is the Gordian knot, I assume. Does that mean you consider yourself an Alexander?"

  Jett answered with a smile of his own. "No. I consider myself the sword."

  She slowly gave an approving nod, exchanging glances with Arthur.

  "This one might do," she said.

  Ⓥ

  "Your cyberdermis combat suit. The complete set this time."

  Back in the underground hub, Jett pulled on the ensemble as Arthur expounded on the details.

  "The inside is layered with millions of nanosensors that bond to your physiology, acting as a second epidermis and protecting you from radiation, extreme heat and cold, chemical attacks, etc. The outer layer is lined with a similar anti-Newtonian liquid armor as the trench coat, able to repel standard firearms and some more powerful weapons. Only this version is smarter, able to sync with the info fed from the epidermis layer to provide additional protection where it's most needed. The harder something hits it, the stronger it gets.

  "The outer layer is fabric mesh armor reinforced with lightweight alloy plates protecting chest, torso, shoulders, knees, and elbows. You already know the basics of your g-span combat gauntlets. Your new pair are upgraded models. Takes less power, making charges last longer. Your combat stealth boots are equipped with antigrav repellers which grant you a limited boost in jumping and can soften your landing."

  "How is it powered?"

  "Good question. Self-charging fusion strips are built into the armor, in addition to a number of small sensors that take in energy from various sources, including heat and light. The inner layer can even retain reserve power from the heat of your own body."

  Jett stretched and flexed, testing the mobility of the new suit. "This is amazing. It fits perfectly. That should be impossible. I'm taller and larger than Wayne was."

  Arthur gave him a wry glance. "That suit is specifically designed to your measurements. While you were healing, I designed and created the suit via our AM."

  "AM? What's that?"

  "Additive Manufacturer."

  "That's crazy." Jett ran his fingers over his armored arm. "You created this using 3D printing?"

  "Most things are manufactured this way now. If you have the funds to purchase a top-level AM, there's nearly no limit to what you can create. The floater that brought you here was constructed the same way. The only real restriction is the cost of manufacturing. As you can probably guess, it gets expensive."

  Jett shook his head. "The technology was just booming when the Cataclysm struck. The main concern was the illegal manufacture of firearms and other weapons."

  "Easy to do now. That's why the gun laws are so strict. Only RCE, HSSC, and other Haven-approved operatives are licensed to carry firearms. Carrying a firearm can cost you a minimum twenty years in the Martian mines. Murder with a gun will get you a life sentence. Using an AM weapon is a federal offense."

  "How can the Havens enforce those laws? From what you told me earlier, it sounds like they can barely hold on to their remaining territory."

  "They can't enforce the law. They don't even try, except to make an example out of someone. All they can do is control the market."

  "Sounds familiar."

  "The more things change, the more they stay the same." Arthur handed Jett a gleaming silver helmet. "Similar to the last one, but with improved alloy to take more punishment. I'd still advise against repeated blows to the head if you can help it."

  "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

  Arthur tapped on his holoband interface. A wall panel slid open, revealing rows of weapons and gadgetry.

  Jett slapped his hands together. "Now we're getting to the good stuff."

  "Don't get too excited. Your weapon access is limited for now."

  "Limited?"

  "Trust isn't an immediately granted process, Jett. You already know enough to destroy all that Vigil stood for. I'm not granting you the ability to wage full-scale war until I see what you're made of."

  Jett folded his arms. "Hey, you were the one trying to turn me into an assassin out there with Kane in the weapons depot."

  A thin smile quirked Arthur's mouth. "That was a test, and you passed."

  "A test?"

  "That's right. Being Vigil is about more than following orders or taking out bad guys. It's about making the right decisions. Having a code of morality that separates you from them, keeps you from becoming what you hunt."

  Memories flashed across Jett's mind. Bodies dropping, dead eyes staring up at him. He shook his head. "Not an easy thing to do. Not when things go south. And things tend to go south when you go into combat, no matter how noble your intentions are."

  Arthur looked as though he understood. "That's why you're not in this alone. We're a team, Jett. Not a military body with orders meant to be obeyed without question. We work together to solve problems in this city. We challenge each other, learn from each other. "

  Jett nodded. "I can deal with that."

  "Fantastic. I'm arming you with the neothermic handgun that packs a wallop with either conventional rounds or a secondary thermal option for armored targets."

  "I thought firearms were illegal."

  "Everything about Vigil is illegal. So you may as well be armed. Proto will brief you on its use on the way out and continue as your digital assistant. I'll provide backup support and watch your back. You sure you still want to go through with this right away? It would be better if you take a break and rest up. Your injuries may have healed, but don't let the accelerated process fool you. It's very easy to re-injure yourself if you don't give your body time."

  Jett shook his head. "I can rest after. I made a promise to someone. I'm a man of my word."

  "Fine. I won't try to stop you. I won't even ask you what in the world you're investigating that led to you to the most dangerous criminal organization in the city. But when this is over…the real training begins. Understand?"

  "Fine."

  "Qhawa will fly you to the drop point. After that, it's all on you."

  Jett glanced down. Qhawa was a silent silhouette waiting for him beside the floater.

  He rubbed his hands together. "All right. Let's do this."

  Chapter 13

  Moisture droplets skittered across the window of the speeding floater, transforming the colossal injured structures into blurry, looming shadows as they whirred by. Jett glanced over at Qhawa, whose face was just as imperceptible as when it was masked.

  "This thing is capable of flying itself, right?"

  She kept her eyes on the command dashboard. "Yes."

  "So why tag along? You going to watch my back?"

  "No."

  "Then what is this?"

  "I wanted to talk to you."

  He smiled. "Could've fooled me."

  "What is your strategy in facing Joe Blow again? Your fighting skills were worthless the first time."

  He frowned. "My power reserves were near-empty the last time. This time I have a fully-powered cyberdermis combat suit and all the goodies that come with it."

  "So you plan just to attack him again?"


  "You have a better idea?"

  "You should know your enemy. The way he thinks, the motivations that feed his actions. 'If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the outcome of a hundred battles.'"

  "Yeah, I've read the Art of War."

  Her mouth hinted at a smile. "Then you should know the ultimate goal is to subdue an enemy without fighting. The first step to gaining the advantage is knowledge about the enemy you plan to face."

  "And I guess you have that knowledge."

  "Joe Blow has been in Neo York for quite some time. He's hired muscle. Works for the highest bidder."

  "He's more than just muscle. He took a full blast from my spanners and hardly blinked. What's he made out of—granite?"

  "He's atavistic. A genetic throwback. Aberrant genes manifest in rare cases, resulting in abilities not seen since the Imperial Age. In this case, freakish strength and near-impenetrable hide."

  "Okay…so how do I defeat him? He has to have some kind of weaknesses."

  "You might try to appeal to his sense of honor."

  "What—like have a friendly little chat with him? Yeah, I don't think he's the one for conversation."

  "Why? Because it's not as exciting or satisfying as getting your head smashed in?"

  He grunted. "Touché. I'll…think about it."

  Her dark eyes flicked in his direction. "Who is Tatsu?"

  He shifted in his seat, turning his face away. The hazy view of the shattered city offered little solace. "She…was a member of my team. She's dead."

  "Just a member of your team?" Qhawa's intonation hinted at the notion of something more.

  He suppressed a stab of irritation when turning toward her. "You seem to be an expert on reading people. What do you think?"

  She remained nonchalant, ignoring the barb in his statement. "I think the two of you were lovers. Close both on the battlefield and in the bedroom. I think you understood one another in ways beyond words. Am I on the right track?"

  He felt the hollowness reopen, the dull echo of emotion he had thought buried. In his mind, he saw Tatsu's face, the raven sheen of her hair, the softness of her skin against his.

  "Yes."

  "And when you see me, you are reminded of her."

  He looked at her, but there was no mockery on her face. He sighed. "I guess. You don't look like her. She was Japanese. Not…" he paused, taking another look at her.

  A hint of amusement twinkled in her dark eyes. "Trying to guess my ethnicity?"

  "Don't want to make a fool out of myself."

  "My people are from the Quechua regions."

  "South America."

  "Peru, yes. From my mother's side. My father…well, that's a different story. Just say I'm a bit of this and that."

  "Aren't we all? Anyway, some of your mannerisms…remind me of Tatsu, I guess."

  "No, you don't guess. You know. I see it when you look at me."

  He looked at her, focusing on her lips. They were full and looked ripe for kissing. "See what?"

  "Longing. Loneliness. Passion."

  Heat flushed across his face. "Sorry. It's not on purpose."

  Her eyes locked with his. "You should know that we will never experience that kind of relationship."

  "Um…okay."

  "Best to get that out the way."

  "Yeah, thanks."

  She guided the floater down, dropping into the darkened innards of the city. "Now to what I really wanted to talk about."

  He snorted a laugh. "Is this the part where you tell me all the reasons that doing this is a stupid idea? Or where you lecture me to not shame the mantle of Vigil?"

  She gave him a cool glance. "Actually, this is the part where I warn you."

  "Warn me? About what?"

  "About the dangers of the life you've chosen if you go through with this."

  "I know a little bit about danger, Qhawa."

  The floater touched down in a narrow alleyway in the shadow of two towering buildings. Fog floated across the street in front of them, reducing the crowds of pedestrians into warped, ghostly shadows.

  "I'm not talking about combat. I'm talking about the balance of power. The structure that exists behind what you see. The establishment you'll be taking on if you put a mask on and fight for the weak and downtrodden. You believe your actions to be heroic. Yet for every gallant act, there is an equally insidious one. You believe yourself ready to be Vigil, but you don't understand the repercussions of your decision. This is not a city that welcomes heroes. It is a city that kills them, either with a swift stroke or by thousands of tiny cuts."

  Jett's mind drifted to a past age when blinding light flashed across the sky; a shockwave of unbridled energy painted the horizon unnatural colors while debris rained down like the ruins of a once glorious dream. He replied in a raspy undertone. "I know all about heroes dying."

  She tilted her head, studying him. "And what did that accomplish? Did this person's death change anything?"

  He remained silent for a moment before answering. "It changed everything."

  He activated the door control and exited as the door slip upward with a whirring sound. Tapping his headgear, he took a last look at Qhawa as the metallic shielding slid into its masked form around his face. The floater's door closed, cutting off his view. Her voice buzzed over the datcom as the vehicle's propulsion jets lifted it skyward.

  "Try to stay alive, Vigil."

  He watched as the floater was swallowed by the murky fog and precipitation. "I will."

  Turning the collar of his trench up, he walked to the corner of the alley and into another dilapidated subway entrance. He descended into the gloom.

  Ⓥ

  "Check."

  The playing cards were small as dominoes in Joe Blow's thick, gnarled fingers. He squinted at his hand, spewing cigar smoke from the corner of his mouth. His beady eyes scanned his opponents. Three other players were in the game, hunched over a table with a v-note counter in the middle. A swipe of the holoband placed the bets, adding to the digital pot. The funds would instantly download into the winner's account.

  The compound lights were dim, the building largely vacant. Dusty crates and outdated equipment corralled the group as they engaged in their game.

  Joe Blow towered above the others even when seated, his bulk taking up nearly half the table. The others were forced to sit closer than they would have chosen otherwise, which cause a lot of suspicious stares and card guarding.

  "C'mon, gents." His baritone voice rumbled, making the tabletop quiver. "Ain't like I got all day."

  Jake the Flake was slim and tall next to anyone else. He gnawed on a toothpick, exposing a gleaming golden tooth. "No need to rush. You going somewhere?"

  "Yeah, outta my mind if you bozos don't pick up the pace."

  Jake flinched as though Joe Blow feigned a punch. "Fine. Check."

  Paul Onion chuckled, jowls shaking while looking his cards over. "Patience, big man." He glanced over at Mister Sister. "Check."

  Mister Sister gave them an easy smile, running a manicured hand through her long, flowing mane of bleach-blond hair before turning her cards up. The rest of them did the same, groaning and grumbling when Mister Sister won another hand. The pot flashed as the funds were deposited.

  Joe Blow grunted. "You've been pretty lucky today, Sister. Makes a man start to raise some questions."

  Mister Sister raised an eyebrow. "Like 'why do I suck at poker?' That's what I'd be asking If I were you."

  He coughed out a raspy laugh. "If you were me, you'd be one second away from throttling you. Don't push your luck."

  She dismissed the threat with a casual shrug. "Speaking of which, I heard someone pushed you pretty hard a couple of days ago. Took your crew out and went toe-to-toe with you for a minute."

  "A minute is about forty seconds too long. And my so-called crew were a bunch of lightweights. More like dead weight. Window dressing. I'm the only protection that counts, and you know it."

  "Still,
pretty bold for someone to come onto your turf and pick a fight. Any idea who might be behind the move?"

  Paul Onion paused in the act of lifting a foot-long sandwich to his mouth. "Yeah, you got a clue who it might be? The Crimson Kings? What about those Warmongers? They're always sniffing around like they want a bigger piece of the pie."

  "Don't know, don't care. I get paid to kick ass. That's what I do." Joe Blow exhaled a trio of perfect smoke rings. "You're the ones who deal with everything else. Unless you feel like taking it up with the head honcho."

  "Not necessary." Mister Sister lifted a martini with elegant grace and sipped. "We're charting it up as an anomaly for now, but you will be a dear and let us know if it happens again, won't you?"

  The lights winked out.

  Joe Blow sat where he was as panicked cries erupted from the others. He grinned. Bunch of pansy babies. If an electric outage was enough to terrorize some of Diabolis' top lieutenants, the organization was a mess.

  A familiar humming noise became audible. Joe Blow's grin widened.

  "It's happening again."

  Paul Onion was a bulky, shambling shadow in the dark. His voice was thick with barely-suppressed panic. "What's happening? Whaddya talking about?"

  What followed took only a few seconds. Jake the Flake shrieked when something snatched him off his feet. Noises like raw meat pounded by a hammer followed before his body struck the ground completely unconscious.

  Mister Sister dropped low, yanking a gleaming pistol from her side. Something whirred across the room, striking her in the temple. The gun fired an errant shot as she fell.

  Paul Onion fared no better. Electric arcs flared across his body with a sizzling sound. He dropped to the floor, smoke wafting from his ruined clothes.

  The lights flickered back on.

  Joe Blow never moved. He still sat at the poker table, massive hands folded on the tabletop. His playing partners were strewn across the compound floor, out cold. A masked figure sat in one of the empty chairs, facing Joe as if waiting for a card to be dealt.

  The man's face was completely covered by a gleaming, silvery helmet with a slash of red as the visor. Sleek, prototype military-standard body armor was barely visible under his heavy trench coat. The gauntlets covering his hands and forearms glimmered with pulsing blue lights.