Ashes

by Russ Linton

  She's at the wall tucked away under my original angle of attack. Pieces of the reinforced ceiling had burst forward with my momentum, a splatter pattern of rubble of which that corner has become a sanctuary. She's got her hand on the latch of a little metal door set into the wall.

  A desperate, gasping breath escapes Ember. I turn in time to see her eyes go wide, glancing madly in confusion. Her daughter throws herself across her and buries her face against her shoulder even though Hound has tried to hold her back. Cyrus cautiously creates distance. It's impossible to say what the fiery Augment might do. I don't hide as her sights settle on me.

  Ember's flat expression is unreadable. I'm ready for whatever she's got to pay me back. She pulls her daughter tight and keeps dead eyes on me.

  "Way to go, team!" Eric says with a mini cheer. "We can like, get moving and finish the plan. You know, the mission?" Nobody responds. Most of the attention in the room is slowly shifting toward me. Probably waiting for me to drift away as ash. "Yep," Eric says to himself. He makes a big production of crossing to the computer and slinging his bag onto the table beside it. "As long as things aren't too melted, we're good. Or we could always remove the hard drive, right Spence? You can do that. I, uh, left my tools."

  I keep waiting for my own judgment, for Ember to act or everyone else in the room to demand answers. Somebody to hold me accountable. I'm willing to take it. But the inaction, the silence, is more than I can handle.

  "I didn't know." The explanation feels pointless as soon as I start. My throat constricts. Shortwave, he tried to profess his ignorance, even sorrow before I shot him. What is it I don't know? That what I've done has not only ended people, it's ruined lives? Don't I know that?

  Ember's eyes haven't left me. She's still processing what the hell just happened. I wonder for a moment if she's really come back or if she hasn't left some part of herself elsewhere. Any other time, she would've done something by now. Her eyes go to Jackie then listlessly to me.

  I don't get any comfort from Hound. He's on his feet. Wracked with concern, he's still twitching his ears and chasing scents through the haze of destruction. He fixes on me then angles his head toward Eric.

  "They'll sort out the computer mess. Jackie, I need to know where you were to open the door. We gotta close it. That security guard took off, but we'll see police soon, maybe soldiers in a place like this."

  Jackie signals her agreement, fighting through her own hijacked consciousness. She hasn't let go of Ember, and neither are on their feet yet. "There's an office down the hall. Some buttons by the security monitor. Should be the second one."

  Danger doesn't need the order from Hound. He gives Mom one final glance and hustles through the observation room door. I dig out my multitool and make my way to Eric. I don't even look at the mask it's stored inside.

  "Easy peasy," says Eric. The monitor has tumbled to the floor. The computer case is covered in dust, but it looks reinforced, made to handle some surprises. He picks up the monitor and tests the power button, then checks the connections. A broken image fills the screen, green scan lines slicing it up, but it's readable. "Seems to have survived." He announces before scooting in conspiratorially close and lowering his voice. "I think I got this but stand close. Just like old times. Make them think you're key to all this."

  Am I? Suddenly, why I'm here, thousands of miles from home in an Augment hunting suit seems a legit question. So many unanswered questions.

  "Are you behind this?" I hiss. "This Augment spawning bullshit? You and Chroma?"

  Eric's eyelids exceed the frames of his glasses, but he doesn't react while he's hunched over the keys. "Fuck no! You think I need more Augments in my life?"

  "What do you mean, more? How many work for The Collective?"

  "Work for? Shit, I don't know,” he says. “It's anonymous. We don't push for personal details, remember. It's the hacker ethics, something you seem to have forgotten."

  Determination etches his face, and he gives his glasses a sharp prod before diving into the keys. Every so often, he smacks the monitor between his flurry of strokes and the damaged pixels jostle. I try to put our differences aside. If he isn't doing this, who is? Is Xamse really the one? I've got my answer as soon we're past the log in screen.

  "That's a Nanomech Industries interface, through and through," I say. "Xamse." I say his name loud so everyone in the room can hear. "Cantor was right. He's the one behind this." I turn to face Cyrus. He's moved away from the group. "Why? Why create Augments and have me kill them?"

  He doesn't want to answer, I can tell. But Ember's also on her feet now, and I'm not the one whose getting her death stare anymore. She still hasn’t spoken. Hound's not happy either and he's got one hand on his sidearm.

  "Good question. Ya got any answers for us, Cy?"

  "Why else," he says, tossing his hands in the air. "It's good for business. If you silence all the Augments, what will the MANTIS project do then?"

  "There's more to it than that." I move toward him. "You're not a businessman, Cyrus. What reason do you have for being here?"

  Cyrus gives a humorless chuckle. "The Collective. I'm, here for them."

  Immediately Eric's clattering of keys stops. He spins, terrified. "Woah now! No way! No fucking way I'm in business with this guy! I... I don't think."

  "What do you mean, you don't think?" Hound's taken an interest in Eric's sudden denial.

  "Well, like the name says, we're a Collective. We don't answer to anyone. See a problem? You," he says, pointing emphatically at Hound then the rest of the group in turn. "You take the lead."

  "And I did," Cyrus replies. "I saw a problem and made a decision that very day when Detroit went sideways." It should comfort me that I'm not the center of attention. Cyrus has everyone waiting on his words. "Tell me, Eric, how many warships, fighter jets, or bombs has the Collective built?"

  "Like zero. I mean less than zero," Eric says. "People take on projects, but nobody has recruited a conventional army. It isn't necessary to the way we work."

  "Yes," Cyrus says, a fervor sparking him closer to the group again. "But the Collective needs room to grow, to breathe. Those drones you fly to establish connectivity? They might be targets for locals with rifles, but they're fodder for surface to air defenses. Places which need your infrastructure, your message the most, are occupied by foreign armies trying to force them into a change instead of allowing them to take the lead. Don't you see? You'd never make headway unless those who meddled in other countries affairs had been removed."

  I'm skipping the political debate. It's the sequence of events, the motives, I need to understand. Cyrus, fine, he's got his message to preach, but I need the details about somebody else.

  "So you went to Xamse for help."

  He nods. "I did."

  "When?"

  That question has him uncomfortable. His eyes dart to Mom where she still stands, her back to us. "I contacted him the very same day the theater burned."

  Great. Just great. Xamse—that asshole—knew where I was the whole time. He waited to pull me out of prison, just like everybody else. But why?

  "This isn't just business as usual for him," I say, realizing how badly I'd been played. "He's got his own goals." I try to think back over all I've seen and heard working at Nanomech. It's Cyrus' own conviction which leads me to Ayana. She'd said some stuff about Xamse with the same look in her eye. "He wants more, doesn't he? A ruler. A king. He's aiming to crush his competition. Isn't he?"

  Eric has been nodding his head as I speak until his entire upper body seems to shake. "Fucking A, Spence! Megalo! He's building his own little country! Or base to start a country! He wants to leech off me to get going."

  "And run the U.S. off the world scene," Hound interrupts, adding to the picture. "Maybe keep around a few rogue Augments to hold Russia, China in check."

  "The Detroit event," says Cyrus, "was the perfect opportunity. With their finance industry disrupted, only one more pillar of U.S. dominance needed t
o be tackled."

  "So you picked off their military bases, one by one," growls Hound. "Gave up the fight to terrorists."

  "Removed occupiers," Cyrus insists, his zeal returning. "Aided revolutionaries fighting an Imperial force. Nothing can flourish in the shadow of such a vast war machine. I seek to end war, and I had to start at the source. With the enablers, the interventionists." Cyrus is winding up, unable to stop. "Local squabbles over resources and a lack of knowledge? The Collective can heal those problems given time. We cannot heal wounds continually torn open for an outsider's gain. For centuries, western powers have meddled in the affairs of my home. My home! What have they done but brought more grief? More division?"

  Jackie has been watching everything unfold with a quiet intensity. Ember is on her feet now, and the two cling closely. She looks like she's returning to her old self, and she quietly separates from her daughter, moving to box Cyrus in between her and Hound.

  Danger's back too. I watch him step quietly through the blasted glass wall near Eric and I, boots touching cooled shrapnel with barely a sound. He reaches for his Glock, edging it out of the holster.

  I see why. With every syllable, Cyrus has advanced on Hound. The old soldier's hand tightens on his weapon like the flex of his jaw under the shaggy beard, but he hasn't drawn it. They're practically nose to nose when Cyrus ends his tirade. He's skilled at close combat, I know that much. Hound doesn't seem to care. He's practically snarling. I've never seen the cool-headed leader so pissed. So distracted.

  "Hound?" I say.

  His eye twitches. I see an ear wiggle, and he gives a sharp snort through his nose. Without taking his eyes off Cyrus, he finally replies.

  "We got incoming."

  Danger closes his eyes and lets his weapon slip down into the holster. I don't have time to ask why before darkness blots out the freshly made skylight. The prototype Black Beetle drops into the room, rockets arresting the final few feet of her fall.

  CHAPTER 48

  I'VE NEVER BEEN OUTSIDE the prototype in action. The thing is a poetry of death and destruction. Defensive capabilities ready to respond to any conceivable threat, and offensive weaponry hidden under every spare plate, this is the specter of death I thought I'd witnessed only moments ago. Shifting, covered in angled plates, sharp like knives, undulating in response to the most sensitive environmental changes, the bug-headed humanoid weapon glares at us.

  Ayana's inside. Has to be her.

  Wormfood towers above, but empty and wide open, derelict. Most of the room is caught up in the charged moment of an impending collision. If I can get a few seconds, I can suit up, take this fight outside.

  "Hound, Danger...both alive and well. I see you've failed in your mission, Spencer." Ayana hasn't bothered with the voice scrambling. She wants me to know. I can imagine myself in the expansive HUD, just one more targeting reticle outline and her browsing through the many ways to finally snuff out her competition. "Betrayal has one price."

  "Hold on." Ember steps forward. "I've got a score to settle with a fucking bug. You'll do."

  She arches her back and thrusts her chest forward as though throwing out all the destructive force raging inside her, a strident move to call forth the blistering flames.

  Nothing happens.

  Ember goes pale, and she finds Cyrus. "YOU!"

  She releases an inhuman wail and charges. Jackie screams behind her, trying to call her back. Cyrus raises his hands. Anyone else, it might be a defensive gesture, but he's preparing to engage her hand to hand.

  Ayana laughs as the two collide. Ember's ferocity appears helpless in the face of Cyrus' flawless technique. He swats away blows until she's wrapped up, shrieking in his arms. She squirms free, and he strikes her with a crushing blow right above her abdomen. Without the fire and fury, she deflates and slaps hard the ground on her hands and knees.

  "No sense in fighting. My security forces have the building surrounded. The only ones who walk away from here will be those I let walk away."

  Jackie drops. I think maybe she's collapsed from the shock, or maybe in sympathy. But no, she's frantically digging through the rubble, and I don't know why. A girl in a hospital gown? What weapon could she have possibly dropped? She's going to get killed here.

  Hound doesn't wait. His semi-auto is out, anything larger probably left behind so they could cross the city streets. Bullets glance harmlessly off the reactive plating. I search my mind for any weaknesses a nine-millimeter round might be able to exploit, and there are none. Danger watches, unmoving. My first thought is he's realized the futility, but I see him breathing in short huffs. He's focused and tuned out the entire room.

  Hound's clip empties, and he ejects it to the floor, reaching for another. Wordless command, he's shot Eric a glance. Buying time, that's all he's doing. Eric starts to plug in his laptop to the computer.

  Chroma. She can get there fastest, secure the information even if anyone doesn't survive. But would she do that? Are we that fucking desperate?

  Mom hasn't moved. All hell breaking loose and she's absent. Physically, she's in the room, her back to all the chaos, absorbed by the metal hatch in the wall. Fuck, she might not even be here. Gone, on vacation to her beachfront property at the worst possible time.

  Those multi-lensed eyes, they see all. Ayana's likely to focus on me. I've done this before, though. Dodging killer robots. It wasn't an open room wrecked with rubble. I had some cover. Walls, cars, shelves in a home improvement store, but maybe this is our only chance. I've got to do something, and I'm not quite desperate enough yet for my own backup plan.

  I race across the lab right into Hound's line of fire. He doesn't even check the next shot, just aims it where it whizzes right above my scalp, rustling my hair. My foot hits a hunk of concrete, one I'm sure is stable but isn't. My footing pitches. I'm going down.

  Ayana points her arm. This would be the high caliber cannon she's got. It'll end quick.

  Behind her, I see Mom finally turn. The withering stare she gives the prototype has no effect and fear overcomes her. She switches to me. No, not quite, just off my shoulder.

  The cannon fires with an ear-shattering explosion in the lab. I recall Jupiter dropping in the junkyard like just one more discarded thing. I close my eyes and hope it doesn't hurt.

  The next thing to strike feels heavy. All the bullets and ordinance I've fired and I, not once, have been shot, don't know the sensation. A weight crashes down. This isn't a bullet. I've been tackled and brought into the rough concrete and pellets of glass, hard.

  Danger tumbles off me. We're both groaning and wallowing. The individual stings and cuts add up to one vicious skid along the right side of my body. It burns as tiny fragments dig beneath flayed skin.

  "Shhhit," I hiss. I don't think I've been hit. Shock might keep me from realizing it though. And there's plenty of blood. A nice sized spatter fans across my torn T-shirt.

  "Interesting," I hear Ayana say. "The MANTIS platform can kill any Augment it seems."

  I roll to one side, my shredded arm held close, but I don't dare touch it. Danger's on his back. Dark blood seeps from the corner of his mouth, a viscous substance plumbed from deep inside the body. He's gritting his teeth and clutching at a hole in his chest.

  Past Ayana, Mom faces the room, impassive. Hound skids through the rubble to Danger mid-reload. Eric has even frozen to gape, the laptop he uses to connect to Chroma out and open. Jackie's hands are covered in gray dust, wrist to elbow. She's no longer digging in the wreckage, just poised on her hands and knees, her gown forgotten. She looks almost feral, trapped in instinct.

  I don't have a choice but to do this.

  "Chroma! Check your open wireless connections!"

  Having been in the pilot's seat, I know inside Ayana's frantically scanning the system reports. She'd assume I was bluffing—hell, I would. She might have time to eject, pull a chest-burster exit and yank the cable. The arm cannon frozen in my face swings toward Eric and the laptop. He squeals and huddles i
nto a ball then remembers Chroma and uselessly attempts to gather her from the workstation. But she's not there. She's never in one place, one terminal. She's anywhere an open connection exists. Anywhere beyond a sabotaged firewall.

  The shifting plates of the armor fall slack.

  "Spencer!" she exclaims with no distortion. Hers is a voice I'd recently gotten used to Mom wearing like a borrowed set of clothes. Confusing as fuck really, though I can tell them apart. The difference has nothing to do with the vocal cords they shared, or Chroma's flawless digital rendition of them post-singularity. The manic, excited tone isn't that of my mother. "This is sooo amazing! Why didn't you invite me sooner?"

  "Any chance you can point that somewhere else?" Staring down the barrel of the ballistic cannon is unnerving.

  "Oh, sorry. She's a fighter this one." A strain, a visible sluggishness to the movement, but the gun finally lowers. "Makes me miss the psychic control days, but this is more fun. I get them to do what I want by controlling the things which control them."

  "Or by giving them false information," I say.

  The suit, the harbinger of death, giggles.

  We hear shouts outside. A helicopter flickers past the hole in the roof. There's a controlled explosion from the lobby area.

  "Chroma, listen to me. You can use the voice scrambler and tell the men to stand down. They'll think you're her. Buy us some time," I say. I need to find a way out of this with as little blood on my hands as possible.

  "I could do better than that." A perfect imitation of Ayana's voice comes from the prototype. "But there's somebody else in here. He's speaking to me!" Chroma gasps. "This isn't a person. He's like me, Spencer! And he's got better ideas."

  "We just needed time—"

  "Why?" Chroma protests. "Wasn't she going to hurt you?" she asks, blissfully unaware of the hurt she's caused to everyone she's ever met. "You know how I feel about people who want to hurt you. Let me hurt her friends first, so she sees what that feels like. She needs to learn."