Legacy, page 23
Keep moving…
It was getting late and the sun was barely a glimmer in the sky. The mist had congealed into a turbid green slurry that swept around him, its acrid vapours nipping at his nose and throat. He took his respirator from his pocket and slipped it over his nose and face.
A vehicle was moving into position somewhere overhead. He could hear the roar of its suspensor jets. Whatever it was, it was probably equipped with sensors that could peek beneath the veil. And so, he hurried on, expecting it to come after him at any moment...
43
Madame Leferau’s resided within one of the root-like buildings that buttressed the sides of the cavern. Big red letters on gaudy purple walls proclaimed its name for all to see. The door was nothing more than a bright orange drape with red tassels hanging across a smoothly sculpted but asymmetric archway.
Jacob hesitated. The drape had given him pause for thought. The flimsy material could barely keep the sounds of carousing at bay, let alone a determined intruder. Until now, he’d not given the brightly coloured curtains much thought, having imagined that they were nothing more than fanciful embellishments designed to attract the attention of prospective patrons rather than barriers of any consequence.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rebecca assured him. ‘They have their own laws down here, and as far as the locals are concerned, that door might just as well be made of steel.’
Beyond the curtain, Madame Leferau’s transpired to be every bit as seedy as he might have expected. The lamps set upon shelves around the walls, dappled them with sultry yellow light, adding their ambience to the turgid smells of sweat and beer. Two ladies with garish makeup and provocative attire were sidling up to patrons, men and women alike, while muscular men wearing dullard expressions watched for the slightest hint of trouble. Madame Leferau herself presided over all of this; a preening peacock of a woman wearing a bright blue sari decorated with flouncy sleeves and a plunging neckline. It was a variation on the sort of thing that might have been worn in the bars of the once wild west. Her hair had been dyed an unnatural shade of pink and was gathered into a beehive from which ringlet curls escaped to fall across her cheeks. But looks were not everything. Her words were as crisp and cutting as a mountain stream, and they sparkled with intelligence.
Rebecca made the introductions and then, with a snap of her fingers, Madame Leferau summoned one of her girls to escort them to their room. If a transaction had been made, Jacob had missed it.
They climbed five flights of stairs lit at intervals by the same greenish-yellow lamps they’d seen in the bar; globes the size of his fist that simply oozed light. Their room was in keeping with the same seedy theme. The walls were painted sunset orange, the ceiling was purple, and the furnishings were composed of an eclectic mix of styles. The bed was little more than an inflatable mattress, though it proved to be almost as comfortable as the one in his flat. The colour scheme was overwhelming, but the room was otherwise clean and comfortable and the linen crisp and fresh. It didn’t really matter. He would have happily gone to sleep anywhere, if not for the pressure of so many unanswered questions.
‘So, what happens to me now?’ he asked.
There was a half-bottle of something next to the bed, and two glasses. Rebecca uncorked the bottle and tentatively sniffed its contents before filling them each with a measure. ‘Now we talk...’ she replied. She appeared nervous as she offered him a drink.
Jacob declined.
‘There are things you need to know,’ she began pensively.
A pause…
Then a question...
‘Do you know why you were chosen for this posting in New Chicago?’
‘Not a clue,’ Jacob admitted. He genuinely had no idea. If he’d been given the offer, he would have undoubtedly turned it down. ‘I never asked for it. In fact, I couldn’t imagine anyone less suited to the job.’
‘But you were chosen for the job. And there was a reason.’
A change of tack…
‘Did you know your father?’
‘Of course I did.’ His reply was filled with indignation. The manner of her question had reminded him of his sessions with Dr McAndrew.
‘Your real father…?’ she continued.
Jacob now recognised the local moonshine from the smell on her breath. Yuri had consumed enough of the stuff for him to discern the not-so-subtle aroma of aniseed that flavoured it. The drink was tempting. His body’s natural endorphins were wearing off and he could feel the myriad pains returning through every cut and bruise. But alcohol would dull him more than the pain, and he could not afford that. Not now... ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
She downed her glass. ‘Your mother was a WMC reporter. She was nearing the end of her posting here when she had an affair with someone of prominence within the city. Someone with enough power to ensure that no one would ever learn about it. And you were the by-product of their affection. If his crime had been discovered, she would have been forced to seek a termination. So, he used his authority to see that she left the city without being discovered.’ She was angry, as if trying to reconcile herself with some conflict. ‘Otherwise you might never have been born…’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he protested.
‘Yes you do. Your psychometric assessments didn’t just reveal your hatred for heights. They also uncovered your doubts about your father and why he’d always seemed so distant. His lack of affection… And you’ve always wondered how you were born so soon after your mother’s last posting? She says a little over nine months, but you know that can’t be true. You’ve had your suspicions for a long time, haven’t you? Isn’t that what drove you to join the WMC. The abandonment… The unanswered questions?’
It was true. Like any child, he’d entertained his doubts. Why had his parents always seemed to love his brother more than him? He might have expected it from Matthias. After all he was not his real dad. But his mother? They’d said it was because he was the eldest. His brother Herschel was five years his junior, so Jacob needed to be the responsible one. Which apparently meant taking the blame for whatever his brother did wrong. And his brother seemed to delight in doing things wrong.
‘But now your father needs you. That – is why you’re here.’
There was a moment of numb silence.
‘You know who my father is – my real father?’ This was not the kind of revelation that Jacob had expected.
Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes…’
‘And he’s here – in New Chicago?’
Another nod... and another slug of alcohol.
In a strange way, the abandon with which she downed the drinks made him feel more at ease. If she was not a hardened alcoholic, then she was at the very least, off-duty…
‘So, who is he?’
For a moment she seemed to genuinely entertain the idea of telling him, but then simply admitted. ‘I can’t tell you, only to say that he’s a man of great influence.’
‘But not so influential he could stop me being tortured,’ Jacob observed bitterly.
‘He didn’t know…’ Of course, she’d had no way of knowing for sure, though she hoped that the man she knew as her father would not have condoned such a thing.
Jacob was beginning to regret his sobriety. It would have lent credence to any future argument that this conversation had been nothing more than a dream. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t understand any of this. You’re saying that my father… My real father… Is in fact some high-flyer here in New Chicago?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that he somehow saw to it that I was posted here.’
‘Yes.’
‘But why? I don’t understand how he could think I would be of any use to him…’ Jacob could not seem to get his thoughts straight. His head ached, and he was still quite rattled from his recent ordeals.
‘Being the product of a blank and a citizen, you have an alpha-one genecode,’ she explained. ‘And now that your derma-tag’s been masked by the glove, you can go anywhere, and do anything, and GAIA will be none the wiser.’
‘To what purpose? It’s not like he bothered to tell me any of this.’
Rebecca picked up the bottle and went to pour another drink, then thought better of it and set it down on the bedside table next to her glass. ‘He didn’t want to compromise your journalistic integrity. In truth, I’m not sure what he expected you to find, just that he needed someone placed within the WMC to do it. He seems to think that someone might be trying to drive a wedge between Biogen and the WMC.’ Jacob was ready to interject but Rebecca raised a hand to stop him. ‘And no, I don’t know the reason why.’
She had indeed anticipated his question.
There was another uncomfortable silence. Rebecca was in the midst of a confession but didn’t know what to tell him, and Jacob needed answers but didn’t know what to ask. Then it occurred to him… ‘The video footage… I received some footage relating to the Capriccio bombing…’
‘How?’ She appeared surprised.
‘I have no idea…’
Having learnt that Rebecca had not been responsible for that providence, Jacob briefly recalled the final video clip, and by the time he’d finished his story, the bottle of moonshine had diminished considerably.
‘It’s true,’ she admitted. ‘Homeland had acquired some evidence linking the WMC’s Protectionist forces to the Capitol One incident, but the evidence was weak at best and the findings were suppressed for fear of the implications. But there was no video evidence…’
‘Doesn’t that seem strange?’ he wondered.
‘What seems strange?’ she asked, the alcohol having clearly dulled her wits.
‘That your all-seeing and all-knowing GAIA didn’t have a record of the events taking place right under her nose?’
‘There were records,’ she said defensively. ‘Just nothing showing any link to Protectionists.’
‘So you’re saying that the video footage I received might have been a fake?’
Her inhibitions relieved, she shook her head with a vigour that overstated her denial. ‘I didn’t say anything of the sort. Though it is a thought… But who would gain?’
‘The missile… You said it might have been a SWARM missile. Whatever that is?’
Jacob’s wits had been similarly dulled, though in his case the stupor had come as a consequence of the pains that now distracted him.
‘A nano-weapon. Urigashi…’
Her answer was concise. An offering of information unbiased by any conclusion.
‘And what would Urigashi have to achieve from such a thing?’
His question had been rhetorical. He’d simply been thinking out loud. Rebecca had no answer, and he knew it. She’d volunteered as much when he’d first mentioned a missile that, having struck its target, simply turned it to dust. ‘And why come dressed as Protectionists?’
Rebecca shrugged. Having exhausted the conversation, and the bottle of moonshine, she was left to confess that she had no idea…
44
The wall blew open with a bang and smoke billowed through the breach.
A bang…
Another…
A flash of light, so bright it hurt even through closed lids.
A tremendous pressure on the chest – snatching your breath away.
Two-step had been standing atop the gantry next to the office. He was barely aware of what happened in the next few seconds. Protectionists stepped through a breach in the wall, clipping off rounds at anyone they could see. His men closest to the breaches were cut down without ever truly being aware of what had just happened. Defenders hiding behind the stacked weapon crates managed to cut down one of the invaders with wild flurries of fire before being silenced.
More bangs – this time from the north face.
More gunfire…
Two hammer blows to the chest threw Two-step to the floor just inside his office. Ordinarily the two shots would have been enough to inflict a mortal wound, but in his case, they were just enough to gouge holes in two of his dermal plates, leaving him momentarily stunned.
Everything had gone quiet on the warehouse floor.
‘Clear!’
There were booted steps rattling on the gantry ladder and stamping feet taking position next to the door.
Two-step was poised and waiting as the first man appeared in the doorway. He lunged out, and having grabbed the man by the waist, he let his momentum carry the two of them over the gantry’s rail and into the space beyond. The man cried out as he fell. There was a crump as the two of them hit the ground and the snap of breaking bones as Two-step landed bodily on top of him, breaking his neck, spine, and a few other bones besides.
Two-step stepped off, virtually unscathed. His dermal plates had distributed the impact across his body and his own bones, having been strengthened to support his increased body mass, were more than a match for the stresses they endured.
The troopers on the ground reacted swiftly - though not quite swiftly enough.
Two-step was on his feet before they could react. He punched the nearest trooper in the chest, winding him and cracking ribs despite the man’s battledress, then sent a second fist punching into his helmet, smashing his visor, and sending fragments of glass into his face.
The muscles in Two-step’s neck tightened.
A fine mist of venom engulfed his victim.
The man started to cough.
But Two-step did not get to watch him die as the relentless pummelling of bullets became more than his dermal plates could stand…
45
Yuri could not be sure whether it had been a fluke of good fortune or a quirk of bad luck that had brought him another chance encounter with Raven-beak. Having discovered the man propped against the wall in one of the quieter and darker alleys that slithered away from the furthest corners of the market, Yuri had recognised him instantly. The greasy black hair slicked back at the nape of his neck and the pointed beak-like nose had been gouged into his memory. The man was backed against the wall, one leg cocked behind him for support as he chewed at some morsel skewered like a shish kebab – probably some faux-meat product grown in the city’s bio-vats – or so he hoped…
The bastard had led them into a trap and Yuri had almost died.
His hatred for the man was irrepressible.
Yuri strode towards him, heedless of the milling shoppers that got in his way. The man barely had time to look up before Yuri had him by the throat and was slamming his head against the wall.
Had he taken a moment to consider his actions, Yuri might have avoided the encounter and perhaps followed the man back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, but he was tired, hung-over, and really pissed off. ‘Remember me?’ he asked.
Raven-beak dropped his kebab. ‘Not really,’ he croaked. Yuri was holding him so tightly he could barely answer.
‘Well you should. You tried to kill me!’
‘Nah – you’ve got the wrong man,’ Raven-beak protested.
‘No – I don’t think so. I couldn’t forget a face as ugly as yours,’ said Yuri, reminding him with a tightening of his grip. ‘Four days ago, and not far from here, you had your man… the one with the spikes on his fist… attempt to impale me. But it didn’t work out so well for him, and he got himself killed.’
Raven-beak shrugged though the glimmer in his eyes and the involuntary narrowing of a frown had already given him away.
Yuri slammed the man’s head back against the wall. ‘Do you remember me now, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?’
‘So what if I do remember? He jumps you… You kill him… Sounds square to me. But you do anything to harm me and there’s gonna be people looking for you. And they ain’t gonna stop until you get what’s coming to you. You understand? So, I suggest you let me go and we forget all about this little incident?’ The man appeared calm and unnaturally self-assured. He had friends – Yuri was sure of that much. And those friends were likely to be of an unsavoury disposition – he was sure of that too. But he needed answers, and since he had very few other leads to go by, this was the man to be speaking to.
‘Here’s another thought. Suppose I just keep knocking your head against this wall until something useful falls out?’ Yuri suggested. ‘Now… When we last met, I asked you a question. I asked you if you knew what happened to my friend Kyle. But you never gave me an answer. So I figure you owe me. How about it?’
‘I don’t know what happened to your friend!’ Raven-beak squealed.
Yuri squeezed tighter.
‘I don’t know. But I figure he’s probably dead…’
The man’s eyes looked fit to pop.
Tighter…
‘It was… I can’t…’
Yuri relaxed just enough to let him speak.
‘It was a special introduction,’ he wheezed. ‘We were instructed to take him to The Indian… To see that the job was done… And that he made it home safely afterwards.’
‘The Indian?’
Raven-beak shrugged. ‘You ain’t getting no more ‘til you release me.’
Yuri considered his request. Physically, the man was no match for him. Raven-beak was not the muscle – he was a fixer… A trader of secrets… Yuri relaxed his grip. ‘Fine – but give me something useful or we start over again.’
Raven-beak rubbed his neck. ‘Okay I’ll tell you this, since I doubt it’s going to help you very much anyway. The Indian’s not one man. At least, not one man I’ve ever met. He’s an institution. If you need something, you contact The Indian.’
‘Something like what exactly?’
‘Like anything… Maybe you’re looking for an alteration? Or perhaps you have something that needs to find its way into or out of the city without being noticed…’
Raven-beak’s words had sparked his interest. ‘And what did Kyle want?’ Yuri asked.
Raven-beak shrugged. ‘How should I know? Like I told you already, I was just the escort. Whatever he was after, that was between him and The Indian.’
