by Russ Linton
The surge, a back and forth pull.
Foam tickles my toes.
Mom's there, on the beach. Further out, the cracked bubble of volcanic rock tears through swirling tide. The grotto, the Falcon's Nest, the Tent House, the whole of the Happy Land, bathed in a somber blue light and a bottled stillness on the air. All those new powers and she keeps choosing this same damn vacation spot.
"Mom?"
"Spencer!"
"Where have you been?" I ask.
She rushes forward and wraps her arms around me. Or Charlotte does. The vestige of her true physical appearance has finally been lost, even in this imaginary place. I hope she did this of her own free will. Acceptance and not surrender.
"You!" she says, her eyes smiling. "Where have you been? I'm never far."
I try to explain, and no words come out. Tears flow freely, and I'm suddenly a slobbering mess. Her eyes cloud from bright elation to pain, and she pulls me close.
"I still haven't found him," I whisper. "Somebody has to pay."
Her tight hug becomes an unyielding embrace. Dark clouds gather on the fringes of this dreamscape and flickers of lightning ignite their shadowy depths.
"Oh honey," she says, her hand gently touching the back of my neck. "Stop worrying about that."
Unable to fight, I look out to sea, wondering if a fresh molten dome will appear as the foam recedes and etches the rock. But there's still only Time Slip's, shattered and rent open.
"Mom," I say, and her arms loosen. I step back, but I keep my hands on her. "What did you do?"
"What had to be done." She reaches up and parts my hair. "Just like you have. Don't blame yourself for any of this. Our world has changed. We've changed. It's why I keep bringing you back here," she explains, answering my earlier question without having asked. She spins out of my grip and does a carefree pirouette in the sand. "This place never changes. It's ours." She smiles and the person I've come to know her as, trapped behind an unrecognizable face, melts away. "For all of us!" she shouts, gesturing to the cliffs.
He's a dark presence outside the door to the Eagle's Nest. Tall, broad, and corded with muscles normally concealed under skin-tight suits. Dad's wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts, dressed for a Maui vacation we never took as a family but always spoke about.
"What the fuck?"
"Don't worry. I'll come find you," she says, her words rushed. Her eyes dart to the retreating ocean and flick madly as if she's reading a map in the glistening sand. "I know where you are. You won't get away from me this time."
I stare, stone-faced. I'm not even sure who I'm talking to anymore. Mom? Or Charlotte.
CHAPTER 33
"WAKE UP."
Blurry, sleep crusted, I don't need a clear view. Ayana has arrived. Against the backdrop of the blinding hallway, her hand and the canister she carries passes to her belt. She holsters it then cracks her neck before entering.
"Time to prove your guilt."
"Mom? You still there?" I groan. "Any chance for a brain hijacking?"
Ayana does a double take. Having been away from her security monitors long enough to have missed a few minutes of my life, she seems to take my mumbling as a legit threat. She's still scanning the room as she walks over and backhands my leg.
"Ow." I roll with the intent and swing both feet to the floor.
"Your mother. You saw her? Here?"
There's a subtle change with Ayana I've never noticed. Against the less pliable side of her face, expressions appear amplified. She must be aware of this, so her poker face skills have to be near perfection at all times. In this moment, they aren't.
I've seen the same look a dozen times. The prototype, Drake, he analyzes these along with movement of shoulders, arms, hands, legs, to predict what somebody might be doing in the next fraction of a second. On the cusp of fight or flight, people have a look which could go either way as their brain makes the decision. Fear and anger often intertwine.
Enough discipline, you can fake it. Not forever.
"Strange dreams." I stand and pass by, exaggerating a catatonic shuffle. "Don't suppose a shower fits your schedule? Breakfast?" I'm already in the hall as I mutter, anticipating the answers. Ayana does one last sweep as if she can see psychic ghosts and follows me out.
We don't talk, ever, outside of business. Routine strolls to the lab are no exception. The mention of Mom has left her on high alert. A psychic entity could convince her to put that gun to her head or have her ride the elevator to the roof and take an unauthorized, suitless flight. All Ayana's toughness and she's more like me than she knows. Powerless. Scared.
I got to admit, Mom freaked me out this time as well.
"The armor can't protect us from all of them," I say. This is not a threat, only a fact. We're outside the door to the lab, and I rest my index finger on the reader. "Afraid your security is inadequate?"
"Worry more about your fate. The data recovery is a simple task."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." And as I suspected, she does too. We pass into the security vestibule. "Cracking open the case will take more time than the recovery."
I bend for the retinal scan and pull away with a sharp groan, sleep-o-vision gone from blurry to fried. A blind jab and the door flings open. The push bar mechanism's weighty clang reverberates off the high ceiling. Time to make a plan.
Everything seems as I left it. Wormfood strewn across the tables, mostly repaired. The prototype, Drake 2.0, looms in the armory. Big, hulking, the blurry upper edges of the helmet almost meet the transition between the lab's tiled walls and ceiling. Wait, scratch that.
"Welcome, friend. I trust you slept well?"
Xamse's in the middle of this mess, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up and pushed into angular flares which match the armor strewn about him. Wormfood's the one on the armory wall. The tables are covered in pieces of the prototype, the inner control unit already removed. I'm out of time.
Ayana continues past. Every part of her face participates in a wicked smile. Keep moving, stop looking guilty, all great advice my brain keeps telling my deaf feet.
Only two ways I leave this room alive.
"We took the liberty of starting this diagnostic of ours," beams Xamse. "Ayana was most eager."
I fake a stiff laugh. "Don't you have better things to do, CEO?"
"As you know, this is a joy for me," he responds, perfectly happy in the moment. He gestures to the wall. "I reassembled the original as well." Wiping his hands on a rag, he tosses it to the table and strides toward the armory wall. I ignore Ayana's victorious glare. "You did the best you could, given the damage it received. Perhaps a museum would be interested in the remains? This is historic, wouldn't you say? Like your father, my friend. A slice of history." He turns leading with his dazzling fusillade of teeth. "But do we write more together? Hmm?"
Ayana heads for the tables. She's near where the control unit has been placed, the little black box ready to spill all the secrets. Running through my encounter with Cantor, I try to think of a useful lie. Those have worked before. I just can't say what these two already know. And while I've got hacking, cracking, and all sorts of ranks in technical subterfuge, I've never leveled up in speechcraft. Xamse, that's all he does anymore. Paired with his walking lie detector, I'm sure to lose.
There is no way to subtly crack open Wormfood and climb inside. Think.
"She asked me to work for her," I volunteer.
"Did she?" He checks Ayana before slowly prowling toward me. "And I suppose you told her you were already employed?"
"I didn't say yes."
Truth is a flexible thing. The closer I skirt it, the better.
I move to meet him halfway across the room with the central table between us. Closer to Wormfood. Freedom.
The prototype's guts have been laid out in perfect orderly rows as they would've emerged from inside the suit itself. Directly above the control unit is the travel-sized version of my firewall.
"This is good to hear. But I must ask, why you did not tell
me of this truth before? Why did you erase the video?"
"I wanted to keep my options open. You said there were no rules."
"I said there was one rule," he corrects me, the smile fading.
I shrug a shoulder and turn to find the ant farm at my back. With a finger I trace the vacant tunnels, nonchalantly winding my way out of Ayana's direct line of sight in case the shooting starts early. "I didn't break your rule, but I won't ever blindly follow you either. You haven't been telling me everything."
"You are a friend," Xamse says, restrained. "But you are also an employee. There are operational details which you are not required to know to do your job."
"Story of my life." I point at Ayana who has matched my movements. I've got some temporary cover to duck behind at least. "Does she know? Because if she does, I'd like to. I'd like to know why you're working with Chroma and The Collective to create more Augments."
A gamble, sure. But right now, it's all I've got. If I sound confused enough, maybe he'll see the need to set me straight.
Xamse laughs and trades a knowing glance with Ayana. "Is this what the singularity told you?"
Great. Something else they know about.
"She's not that direct. I had to figure this out on my own. Nanomech appears helpful back home while Augments flush out the U.S. from their global positions and the Collective fills in the gaps. Solid plan, I'd say."
Ayana sidles onto a clear spot atop a workstation, laughing. No gun yet, she appears at ease and why wouldn't she? She's got the upper hand here. Xamse, however, is going for an academy award with his perplexed stare filled with concern. Then he taps the control unit.
"Restore the video if you please."
I'm boned. They continue light conversation, two old friends meeting at an execution, low enough I can't hear. They play these games much better than I do. I'd hoped for confirmation he was involved. Neither appears willing to provide any details.
I slip out my multitool and get to work. A few screws and the drive pops out. Then, it's over to the workstation. Two commands, tops, and they'll see everything I saw, heard, did. I've told them everything, really.
Wait.
I never told Cantor anything of value. He'll find out Cantor is a traitor to her own government, running Augments off the books. He'll find out about Polybius, about Hound and Danger. I guess I deleted the video because I wanted to protect them. Are they really my problem?
"You know that I don't care who wins. You. Ayana. The CIA. The DoD. I want to see Vulkan die. That's all."
"Revenge can be a good motivation, but you cannot let it consume you," Xamse says, trailing me to the workstation. "You mustn't."
Drive plugged in, two shadows fall across the command prompt screen. A hand finds my shoulder. A gun loosens in a holster. I don't know how either will react. My thoughts are still racing, trying to find a solution.
I enter the commands.
As the video plays, my audience crowds closer. At first, Ayana won't let me move. She's waiting for the smoking gun to make one of her own. Her employer watches, unconcerned. He scoffs at the strip club parking lot chatter.
"I've seen this nonsense." Ayana grows impatient and pushes me aside to take control of the replay. I gladly let her.
Video jitters past in quick bursts. Ayana crows her disapproval when Titan escapes while Xamse laughs. More skipping frame by frame on the timeline inset commences. I slip further back into the room. They bunch together as Cantor discusses her plans. By the time Polybius shows his face, they're lost in the playback, and I'm at the center table.
Getting out of the room through the security door before I'm shot isn't a possibility. Even then, I'd guess either of them can shut off the elevators. No, Wormfood or a bullet are my only two choices.
Multitool in hand, it takes one small snip on the prototype's exposed firewall which has been removed from all the protective layers.
Insurance.
Time to head for Wormfood. Whether they decide they want me dead or not, I can still pursue my own plans.
Xamse turns. He finds me at the ant farm glowering into the emptiness. "And Cantor doesn't know who it is that creates these Augments?"
I jerk my head, trying to appear drawn out of deep thoughts. "She suspects you, but no, she doesn't know for certain."
The imperious corporate shark frowns in consideration. "And you believe her?"
"What does it matter? I told you all I want."
"No, no, my friend. I have dealt with many, many greedy men. I am a greedy man. I do not judge you for this, to want more." Xamse pops away from the table, back straight, regal. My opening to hop into Wormfood is lost. "You have other desires. To make the world a safer place perhaps? Or cover up your mistakes? You set the Augments free, a bad decision in your youth, and now you wish to make things right? You have done so much more in my employ than hunt for a single man."
"He isn't a man!" I shout, Xamse's words igniting an inner fuse I didn't know was there. "He's a fucking monster! They all are! Every one of them has brought me nothing but grief. My family, friends, they've been torn apart by these people, people made for destruction! It's all they know. All they will ever know." Xamse gives an almost fatherly tilt of his head full of wisdom and recognition which he's waiting patiently for me to acknowledge. "All I know."
"You've already killed the man who killed your father. Shortwave died in the theater and from our first discussion, I would guess it was by your hand. Without his plans, you, your family, never would have been there." He grabs my loose arm, dragging me, a listless puppet. Until we stop in front of Wormfood. "You wanted this. It called to you. Your own power, not just revenge."
In the shadow of ten feet of pock-marked and battle worn steel, I feel small again. I'm not Spencer the Augment Hunter, or even Spencer the maladjusted adult anymore. I'm the kid on the floor of his San Francisco home, the air thick with plaster dust, my mother floating away with the silhouette of an infernal pact behind her. I could do nothing that day.
Inside the towering abductor, under his metal carapace, was a man who'd felt the same powerlessness.
And he'd done something about it.
Mom's face grows hazy. That memory of her being dragged away which often kept me awake at night in Ultra HD clarity loses data, vital pixels. Charlotte's face replaces hers.
Xamse is right. Polybius and his Utopian nonsense where living weapons and normal people live side by side will never work. I've always believed that. Before Detroit. Before Killcreek. When I'd freed them, it had been for selfish reasons. Maybe less to save my Dad and more to prove I wasn't weak, incapable of living my own life.
"In which case, I have a new mission for you, my friend. One overseas as you expressed interest in during your little chat with our client." Xamse opens the original Augment slaying machine. Inside, the pilot adjustments are all tailored to fit my small frame. "I need you to find Hound and Danger. I need you to kill them. I will take care of our client." Before I can respond, he puts a finger to his lips. "Shhh...shhh. Do not answer yet. Know this is my rule. Break it and she," he indicates Ayana who's on the verge of bursting, "will come for you as soon as the prototype is reassembled. Do you accept?"
"Yes. I do."
CHAPTER 34
FROM THE EDGE OF THE village, Jackie knew they had one choice: make the run across the empty field and back toward the protection of the trees. If they survived the open stretch, they might be able to lose any pursuers in the brush. Danger had other plans.
He'd turned and raced up the slope, deeper into the village.
Jackie gaped at Hound, unable to move. Even the old soldier paused, and she could see uncertainty in the way he scrunched his face. Something won out, and he urged her to follow.
Every shadow became a threat. Narrow alleys and tight buildings focused the cries of alarm, making the source impossible to pinpoint. Jackie stumbled, hoping the invisible man's powers would rub off the closer she kept to him. She couldn't hear the nocturnal cluck
ing of the chickens, but she could smell them, her every sense shoveling in as much information as they could to keep her alive. She stayed close enough to the two Augments she could almost sense their powers bleeding over to her. She wished again for the childhood simplicity when she could simply dye her hair, shave out a mohawk, and erupt into living flame. She smiled at the thought.
Danger ducked and pressed Jackie against a wall with one arm. Her chest pounded against his forearm. Hound crouched small behind them, tucking his chin to hide the shock of white. Two men, armed with AK-47s raced past the alley without so much as a glance.
As insane as it was to think of photography, she couldn't help but frame the picture. A muddy mess of frantic motion and ominous murk would be all she got, but she wanted to have the moment for herself. Riding so close to death, she felt the surge of adrenaline surpass any previous dose. She was close. Close to Ember. Close to her father at the same time.
They were on the move again. Danger led them past a patrol rushing toward the Lady's house. The three of them ducked into the solar farm and wove between the silver-coated panels. Armed men broke away from the village in the same direction, either to flush them out or check for saboteurs. Danger adjusted course.
Jackie didn't question their enigmatic leader anymore. They strode up an open stair made of unfinished boards. No railing, the steps floating slats, they were a dark blot against the starshine. Men with rifles swarmed right below them. Flashlight beams traced the walls and alleys. Hound urged her forward again as she stopped to stare their invincibility in the face.
Cresting the roof, a shot rang out. Mud and brick shards rattled on the steps. Hound practically carried Jackie away from the edge, driving toward the center where more incoming fire whizzed by, too steep of an angle for a clean hit.
"What the fuck, soldier!" He'd set her aside and rounded on Danger.
Danger shrugged.
"Your powers, they workin'? This ain't like Whispering Pines is it?"
Jackie's insides sank. "Your powers can do that? Stop working?"
