"But da gurls," Elena mumbled as if in a trance, "day ah wit clients."
"Elena!" Lucy grabbed her old friend and gently shook her. "Throw the damned johns into the street! We have to hurry!"
Elena blinked several times but snapped out of it and nodded her understanding.
"Go! Now!" Lucy insisted and watched the madame take off running, yelling for her girls, banging on doors and ripping open curtains as she went. Turning to her rag-tag team, she made a quick visual inventory.
"What's the plan?" Jon asked.
"We're lucky. This place is the tallest structure in this part of the Shanty. We need to get to the top level and take a look. I think we can hit three towers from here," Lucy explained.
"Perfect. Let's roll," Carbine said, stomping the Mini-Mech over to them.
"You six," Lucy gestured to the resistance fighters that accompanied them up. "Spread out and get to the tops of those containers. Use your rifles and provide cover fire for the big guy. I don't know how long it will take for them to deploy Hoppers, but we need to be ready. Once we start moving, we will need to make a bee-line to that corner of the Zigg. From there, Carbine should be able to get a final shot off. If we are successful, we will shut down this Purge, but it won't shut down the Republic. The Hoppers and Scrubbers and possibly the Heavies are going to keep coming. We can't go back to the Vault, or we’ll doom everyone."
"So, what do we do? Is this a suicide mission?" one of the men asked, his voice slightly muffled by the balaclava that obscured his face.
"If need be." Lucy let the words hang in the air, like a hovering Hopper; the implications were just as deadly. "You all knew what you signed up for."
"But that isn't going to happen," Jon interjected. "We still have much to do before our story is over. Maya still needs our help." He was thinking of the Anvil and the Morning Star, of the promised weapon that would save the world. He didn't know if these rebels knew of those things or not, but he did know that they didn't have time for a full explanation.
"He's right." Lucy nodded. "All we have to do is make it back here. My Lady knows this spot well and can open a two-way door to here from where she is in the Vault. By using this door to return, we cannot be traced back there."
"They'll probably figure it out sooner or later," Carbine added gloomily.
"Most assuredly," Lucy admitted, "but we can deal with that and with what to do with the Republic blow-back after we stop the Purge." Everyone nodded their agreement with Lucy's assessment. "Enough talk. To your places!"
"Lucy." Jon held out a hand, catching her attention. "I won't be any good to you guys up top. I'll hold the entrance at the ground, just in case."
Lucy's eyes flickered down to Jon's hammer and nodded. "It makes sense." Then she turned and began dashing up the rope walkways that led to and joined the upper levels together.
"Carbine," Jon called out to his friend. The Mini-Mech turned to face him. "Good luck."
"You too, bud," Carbine's voice crackled over the external speakers, and the suit's arm twisted, giving Jon a crude thumbs-up. Without another word, Carbine willed the suit into action and began to climb the walls of the stagger-stacked ancient shipping containers.
Jon helped eject the clients from the place, pushing, shoving, and showing his hammer to more than a couple who were upset and belligerent at having their bought-and-paid for companionship session interrupted. But leave they did. I'm sure some of them will run straight to the Ministry and report us. Jon looked up at the armed men and the pre-Storm Mech climbing the structure. Like it matters. In a minute, the whole world will know we are here.
As the chaos of the forced evacuation waned, Jon caught Elena in his gaze. She was stone-faced and stoic. She lifted her chin and then raised a clenched fist in a type of salute to Jon. Letting go of the haft of his hammer with one hand, Jon placed two fingers to his eyebrows and ticked her back a small salute. Armed or not, they were all in this together, all fighting for a better tomorrow. She disappeared along with the last of her girls into the hole Carbine had made in her bar. Soon, they would be safe in the Underground.
It took a good solid minute for Carbine to make the climb. Jon figured his friend was no doubt wishing the suit had limited flight capabilities like a Hopper. Regardless, Carbine was in place even before Lucy and the others had ascended the eight floors of crisscrossed bridges and connex containers. Jon switched back and forth from watching the space that marked the opening to the courtyard from the Shanty at large, to looking up and checking on the progress of his companions. With his hand raised to shield his eyes from the morning sunrise, he could see Carbine waiting for the others to get into place before taking his shot. The railgun was at the ready and trained on one of the towers far off. While he lacked the vantage his friend had, he could tell that Carbine could indeed see three of the four obelisks. There was one off to the southwest, far off, one to the northeast far off, and they were practically next to and underneath a third, the one jutting out from the Zigg's southeast corner. The hidden one, the northwestern one, would be the real challenge. If fighting our way there will be hard... Jon couldn't think about how hard it would be to fight their way back, but he shuddered nonetheless.
Like a cock's crow at dawn, a single shot rang out across the Shanty; Carbine's sonic boom. Jon jerked his head in the direction of the orb that Carbine had been aiming at. It looked as it had before: a single, flawless sphere of opaque glass resting like a crown atop a four-sided, slightly tapered tower. Did he miss? Jon wondered incredulously. How could he miss? Another boom. Jon caught a flicker of something on the surface of the faraway orb. Carbine was hitting it. It just wasn't shattering.
Oh no. Oh, hell no.
"Honorable Chairman?" Matiaba gulped as he waited for a response, dreading the wrath that was sure to come.
"What is it? Must you constantly bother me?" The voice of Accoba Warbak came back as the dim screen of the N-Tab brightened and focused until it showed a close-up of the Chairman's face. "I was sleeping. I want to be well-rested before our guests arrive tonight."
"Of course, Honorable Chairman, sir. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't of the utmost importance." Matiaba held the N-Tab out at arm's length, allowing his liege to view more of his upper body and curtly bowed his head.
"Go on." Warbak sighed sharply and pulled away from the N-Tab after apparently setting it down. Matiaba watched as Warbak turned his back on the N-Tab and walked away. The Chairman was in a state of undress, but before Matiaba could avert his eyes, he caught a glimpse of something—or somethings, rather—that were missing.
"Are you surprised?" Warbak asked, his back still turned and his voice, while farther away, dripping with morbid amusement.
"My lord, I, I..." Matiaba struggled for words.
"A Drop-Beastie did this to me. The day after the Storm ended. Can you imagine? Surviving the Storm, forty days and forty nights of endless earthquakes, tidal waves, the world whipping back and forth as we were plunged into hell. It finally stops. And I have survived, when all those around me have died, most at the hand of the Storm itself, others at mine. Oh yes. Don't think for a second that man is charitable to man during the apocalypse, Matiaba. Many sought to steal what little I had. They quickly learned the errors of their ways, while I... well, I discovered a new-found source."
Matiaba gulped and the thought of his lord eating other humans and shifted his eyes away from Warbak's image in the screen just as Warbak turned back around, naked in all his glory. His eyes pointed like daggers to the ground below, but the image was burned in Matiaba's mind: Warbak's entire abdomen was missing, save for the spinal cord that jutted down from below his exposed ribs and connected to his pelvis. Both his vertebrae and ribs glinted, revealing their steel nature. Warbak had no guts, only empty space around the spinal cord. His lower flesh was sealed off by means of a cap that fit his pelvic cavity like a dental crown. Through the gaps in his ribs, Matiaba could see a metal heart, motionless, yet no doubt pumping vital blood o
r some substitute to the rest of his macabre body. This prompted a thought, and Matiaba braved a second glance at his exposed leader. It was as he suspected. A series of tubes, no doubt functioning in place of veins and arteries, had been carefully woven in and around the Chairman's cybernetic spine.
"You probably don't know the real story of the Storm, do you?" Warbak asked.
"N-no, sir," the aide stammered. Warbak smiled and pulled on a shirt. Its folds were stiff and heavy, hanging down like plate armor, and Matiaba suddenly understood why he had never suspected, let alone noticed the Chairman's deformity.
"Imagine the world is perfectly balanced on a rubber band. Now imagine the hand of God reaching down and pulling that rubber band as far as it will stretch. Then imagine God, that bastard, letting the rubber band go. The world shifted. Hard. And it kept shifting, back and forth, back and forth. Jumping, lurching. A global earthquake. This lasted for forty days, Matiaba. Forty. Days." Warbak finished buttoning his shirt and drew near the N-Tab, picking it back up and staring into it, capturing Matiaba's eyes like a cat to a mouse. "The world was brought to its knees. Those who didn't die in the crumbling cities or were swept away in the tumultuous seas starved to death or killed each other. Only a few, like myself, survived."
"Thanks be to that," Matiaba announced a little too quickly.
Warbak's granite eyes narrowed, accentuating his crow's feet. "The second the Storm ended, the very second, was when the first Drop opened. Right before my eyes, I saw the veil of reality tear itself open and spit out a demon. A beast. An abomination. It gutted me, Matiaba. I felt its claws inside me as it ripped me in half. I would have died that day; after everything I’d survived and struggled through, I would have died right then and there. Ironic, no? Yet I was saved. Saved and granted powers beyond my imagination. Powers and immortality." Warbak's eyes widened again. His face practically buzzed with a drunken zeal. He looked as passionate as a poet completely consumed by his muse.
"Saved?" Matiaba dared. "Saved by whom?"
"Saved by none other than Umbra. Notorious, infamous Umbra. Enemy of Humanity and ruler of the Harvesters. He saved my life and made me what I am today. And for that, I will kill him." Warbak laughed and held his arms out wide, forgetting that he was once again holding the N-Tab. The image of Warbak's intoxicated face swept away in a blur and was replaced by the dull wooden tones of his bedchamber's ceiling.
Sweat pooled on the ridge of Matiaba's eye socket. He blinked, trying in vain to get the droplets to run off. He had never seen the Chairman behave so erratically, so candidly. He didn't know what it meant, or how this new Warbak would react when he told him the bad news.
The news!
"Honorable Chairman!" Matiaba said, meekly at first, and then repeated himself loudly, almost shouting, to gain the undivided attention of his leader.
"What?" Warbak hissed, bringing the N-Tab once more to bear on his face.
"I'm sorry, it's just that I was distracted by your story."
"Spit it out, Matiaba, before I have the Ministers turn your mind to jelly."
"It's the obelisks. The orbs." Matiaba steeled himself as he struggled to give the report. "They are being shot at. Attacked, sir."
"What?" Warbak reeled, and nearly dropped the tablet. "You wretched, low-minded fool! Why did you not tell me right away?"
"Honorable Chairman, I meant to, I just—"
"You just nothing! We will address this later. Now, give me the details immediately!"
"Terrorist forces are shooting at the orbs from a location in the Shanty. We have visual and are dispatching Hoppers presently. It's just..."
"Just what?" Warbak shrieked, his patience with the sniveling aide completely evaporated.
"The attackers, sir. They appear to be the very same persons who broke Lily Sapphire out of the Ministry."
Warbak's face paled. "If that is true... they must somehow know what the orbs are for... The Witch!" Warbak screamed, this time dropping the N-Tab. Matiaba saw the screen shake and a large crack appear across his view of the room's ceiling. Then Warbak loomed into view, standing over the damaged tablet, looking very much like a giant.
"We can't wait until tonight. Activate the orbs now! Start the Purge!"
"Easy now, easy, easy," Ratt mumbled to himself as he lightly brushed his fingers across the sensitive touchpads that controlled the diminutive robotic arms. He sat perched on a red leather-capped stool, the tapered steel tube legs of which each ended in a black caster, allowing the tinkerer to roll about his lab with the push of a foot. He was currently hunched over his specimen table, neck craned and eyes pressed into a fixed set of microscopes that were clamped to the table's edge. The prisoner, Chad, decorated the table and was, in fact, the subject of Ratt's ministrations. The soldier was unconscious, having been injected with a potent but safe drug, and was strapped face-down to the table with four new, two-inch-wide leather straps. To the left and right of the mounted microscope, also fixed in place, were two small robotic arms. Each sported a mélange of even smaller utensils in place of grabbing fingers. A diopter here, a syringe there, even a rare and extremely valuable laser used for cutting and cauterizing. By feel, Ratt touched, tapped and brushed the tips of his fingers across small black textured screens. Each one corresponded to one of the mounted arms and responded to Ratt's taps and drags with alarming sensitivity.
"There we go. Easy now," Ratt cautioned himself and pressed the tip of his twisted tongue out of his pursed lips. If Chad were to awaken, he no doubt would have laughed out loud, despite his situation, for the scene above him was comical. There was Ratt, eyes magnified to goggle-eyed goldfish proportions by the lenses he peered through, all while his lips engaged in sumo-wrestling with his tongue.
At the command of Ratt's fingertips, the left arm leaned down over and dropped a clamping, two-fingered 'hand' onto Chad's lower back. It pushed down slightly into his flesh and then spread itself apart, making his skin taut as a drum. A second appendage from the same arm rotated and extended, telescoping to reveal the laser scalpel. The second robot arm then maneuvered itself into position. The laser beam began to make a tiny incision, while the second arm deployed a spreader to hold the cut open while simultaneously tracing the edges of the incision with an even smaller laser, cauterizing the wound and preventing a single drop of blood from spilling.
"Let's have a look at that nerve cluster now, shall we?" Ratt mumbled as he issued a command to the left arm. The laser scalpel collapsed in on itself and flipped back around to its dormant position. In its place, a probing toothpick of a finger appeared. Ratt abandoned the right arm’s touchpad and reached up to click a button on the side of the lenses, zooming in even further. Now the minuscule cut in his subject looked as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon.
A high-pitched tone rang out three times in succession from behind Ratt.
"Ah!" Ratt said aloud yet continued to stay focused on the delicate task at hand. He recognized the sound for the simple timer he had set to correspond to the centrifuge. One of the first things he had done after securing the sedated Chad to the table was take a sample of the New Breed Hopper pilot's blood. He had split the sample up, putting a portion of it in the refrigerator and the rest into the centrifuge. Before he could understand how the nanobots worked, he needed to find them. "I'll get to you in a second," Ratt said to the vials of blood, coasting to a stop in the centrifuge.
"Hmmm." His tongue twisted another ninety degrees and moved from the side of his mouth to the front as he concentrated harder. Tapping the right pad, he deployed a second micro-finger and, as gentle as a spider connecting two strands of its web, began to sort through the nerve cluster, looking for abnormalities.
"Well, I'm no doctor, but from what I can see here, the nerves look normal." Ratt paused for a breath, and although his forehead was still pressed into the padded face rest of the microscope, his eyes became unfocused and glossy. He was accessing the medical chip he had inserted into his computer assistant before beginning the ope
ration. In his field of vision, holographic instructions and pictures flashed.
"The nanobots must be in the blood," Ratt concluded, eyes returning to normal as he pulled away from the microscope and sat up. "But if the nerves haven't been altered in any way... Hmmm. What is the delivery path?"
Without bothering to get back on the scope, Ratt tapped a pre-programmed sequence on the right touchpad and both robot arms went to work, sealing Chad's lumbar back up. There wouldn't be a scar.
Ratt arched his back, stretching, hands on pelvis, and let out a long, dramatically loud sigh. "This is hard work. I think this holo-lens is dirty or something. Giving me a headache." He shook his head and then tapped the side of his skull with his palm. "Okay then. To the blood." Ratt spun around on his vintage Snap-On mechanics stool and pushed the ground with his dangling toes, gliding across the floor of his lab like a fowl on a lake. "Let's see what we got here," he said as he plucked a vial out of the now stationary centrifuge.
Ratt moved the vial of separated blood to yet another microscope, on yet another table. He swept his arm over it first, pushing the clutter back and out of his way like a snow-plow to fresh powder. It wasn't in his nature to stay organized in any way, shape, or form. Piled on the table was an incongruous assortment of mechanical tools, medical supplies, ancient military technology, a vintage .357 Smith and Wesson revolver—loaded—a picture-book from a pre-Storm rock and roll band apparently called "The Prodigy," a cigar cutter, dice, a plastic toy figurine and a black and white still, signed in barely legible English, announcing the person in the photo as Marilyn Monroe. Cursing himself for not locating the slides before clearing the table, Ratt placed the vial in his pocket and began sorting through the mess. A minute later he fished out a small plastic box with a clear hinged lid from under a fallen stack of pre-Storm magazines. Another minute later and he had the separated blood on the slide and was fixing it in place under the scope. He reached down, flicked the light on and peered down to see what he could see.
The Goddess Gambit Page 31
