Harsh Lessons, page 17
But why was the signal coming from it?
Shaking, he watched his hands go through the motions of extracting a plastic evidence bag, pulling on rubber gloves, and bagging… the remains. Despite his best efforts, his throat constricted.
Holding it reverently, he unbent stiff knees and labored upright, fighting his too-generous weight. Fumbling the UV goggles back in place one-handed, he moved back a few meters.
The signal stayed with him.
Disbelieving, he stared at the… evidence bag. The fuckers had jammed her unit inside her own flesh.
It was too much. 'Fucktards! You hear me, out there? I'm going to hunt you down, and I'm fucking cutting you into tiny pieces!' Roaring into the darkness, his voice rolled over the broken hills and mounds of the Dumps. 'I’ll fucking kill you! Just like you killed Marta!' And he meant it. There’d be no jail cell for these scums of bitches. If the murderers thought they were gonna get away with this, they hadn’t reckoned on a trained police mage discovering the crime within a day of it being committed.
And they’ve even thoughtfully left me a fucken’ great piece of Marta I can use for a Sending. He’d find her; then hunt down her killers. There was even a slab of concrete close by where he could chalk out a Circle, before astrally projecting.
I’m coming for you, you fuckers!
-
It was almost dawn when BID agent Adam Garland took a call from his former partner, Detective Diego Berlusconi.
Sitting up in bed, noting the time on his internal clock – 5:12am – he came fully awake. Berlusconi wouldn’t be awake at this hour, let alone calling him, unless it was an emergency. He signaled the room light on and okayed a video hook-up.
Berlusconi stood by the shore of the Bay, but at the look on his face, Garland sat up straighter. He’d only once seen Berlusconi with tears in his eyes, and that’d been five years ago, after his divorce. Behind him, two police divers were hauling a male body, in a cop’s uniform, from the waters.
‘It’s the Golden Gate Park killer again, Garland. And this time they took out-’ Berlusconi stopped, struggling for composure. ‘They took out Marta. And her partner, Henderson.’
Garland checked Berlusconi’s signal. ‘You’re at the Lash Lighter cliffs? That’s right on the edge of the Hunter’s Point Dumps. I can be there in twenty.’
‘Thanks, G. I’ve got a shaman on his way. But I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a weird null result, just like in the Park. It was the same killer. I’m sure.’
‘Twenty.’
Garland signed off, threw on clothes, grabbed his gear and left his new and larger apartment.
He wondered if the girl, Sara, would have an alibi for tonight? But would he ever know? She’d disappeared off the radar even before he’d left Eagle’s office that day two months ago. Hell, even the record of her arrest, and her Uncle, Harmon, had been expunged from the police database.
Damned spooks.
And he was one of them, now.
Chapter 29
From their first day in the Department, he and Leeth had hardly been welcomed. Merely accepted – at best. But that gradually changed in the weeks following Leeth's attack on Nelson. For the worse.
Slowly, the agents had become more distant. Less forgiving.
Harmon presumed that, since Nelson programmed the agents' MetaLife, he was subtly adjusting their attitudes. He wondered whether Father and Mother knew that.
All that, however, retreated into the background as he sat in Father's office. Wondering if he had heard correctly, but recognizing how neatly this new initiative fit into the developing pattern. They would blame him for their pain and suffering, naturally. Isolating him further, and by association, Leeth too. Making it far easier for either or both to be discarded.
The question was: was this simply Nelson's revenge, or a more deadly testing of his own skills? To see whether he could escape the trap being built around them?
Or was it something more subtle still? Hurting the agents, then healing them. Over and over again. Such simple stress could be used as the first step toward unlocking magical potential – if there were any. Eagle knew Leeth herself was proof of that: proof of Harmon's theory. But he had seen no sign of such potential within the agents. And even if there were, with all their cyberware….
'Well, Doctor? Do you have a problem?'
The man's body language gave no indication of any qualms at what he'd just suggested. Harmon shifted his senses to the Imaginal, Percepting the man's emotions.
Calm. Perhaps a faint concern, but more directed at how Harmon himself would react. He shifted his perception back to normal sight. 'Let me confirm: this new robot gun will shoot and injure your own agents, and you wish me to heal them afterwards?'
'Correct, Doctor.'
'You realize an unlucky shot could damage areas of the body I may be unable to heal?'
'The SHUTZ unit can be programmed to avoid designated target areas.'
Harmon tapped his fingers against his chair's armrest. Was it possible Father didn't anticipate how the agents would react? 'Gunshot wounds must surely be quite painful. You realize they will blame me for their suffering? They already do to some extent, due to the new training programme with Dojo – those exercises are only feasible because I bring you magical healing capabilities. Capabilities the Department did not have before.'
Father nodded. 'You are the psychologist, Doctor. I leave it to you to consider how I should present the exercise to the agents.'
'I doubt any presentation could entirely eliminate the perceived blame.'
Father stared at him coldly. 'I see no reason why the agents must like you, Doctor, for you to do your duty.'
I see, thought Harmon. He stared back with equal chill at Father. Abruptly he stopped his tapping as a new thought opened a hollow expanse in his stomach. 'Will these exercises involve Leeth, too?'
'Of course.'
'That's absurd! She's only just started training with firearms. She can't be ready for something like this!'
'I am the judge of that, Doctor, not you. She has been showing great promise and improvement with Dojo. I plan to accelerate the more physical aspects of her training.' Father's face closed in. But after several seconds, he unbent. 'For Leeth, we can lower the difficulty of this exercise. Initially. The purpose is to give experience under fire rather than improve marksmanship skills. Or do you have reservations about her courage?'
Harmon's jaw clenched; and with an effort, unclenched. 'No. None at all.'
'Good. In that case, give some thought as to the areas of the body to rule inadmissible as targets. We can provide you with all the data you require, if you are unfamiliar with such wounds. Up to and including real victims to heal.
'Speak to Nelson when you've decided. I think that's all, for now.'
Harmon stood, staring unblinkingly at Father for several seconds. Still hunting for a way out of the corner which Father had painted him in to, considering the cold brutality behind it. In the end, shaking his head in disgust, he left the room.
Chapter 30
Leeth had been pacing outside the “Aegean” room since eight forty-five, but even pressing her ear against the door, all she could tell was that Father and Uncle were inside, and not talking much. She thought they sounded cross with each other.
At last, she heard the others approaching – Emma’s heels, James’s soft but sure tread, and Preacher’s quiet, scuffing steps. She waited, alert, as they arrived. James and Emma acknowledged her with small nods.
Not smiles. None of the agents seemed to smile at her as much as they used to. Only Dojo.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing wrong. But just then the door chimed and slid open. So it was probably exactly nine a.m. With a sneer, Preacher waved her in ahead of them.
From their looks, though, they had as little idea as her what this new training was about.
Inside, her uncle sat stiffly by the robo-medical unit from the infirmary, a strange pair of glasses and surgical instruments at hand. Four army cots covered in blue plastic sheets crowded the small room. Leeth caught a look pass between Preacher, James, and Emma when they saw the cots, and it wasn’t reassuring. Then James and Emma both looked at her, for some reason.
Surgical instruments? Keepie could heal people magically, why would he need surgical instruments?
Another door slid open and the three agents filed past her, past him. He looked angry or upset; she couldn't tell which.
But when his eyes met hers… just for a flash, she thought she saw concern. For her. For her. Hugging that knowledge to herself, she followed the others into the next room. Behind them, the heavy inner door slid shut.
She stepped into a shooting range. Emma sat perched on a large bullet-absorbent crate at the near wall. They’d been told to dress in clothes they didn’t mind ruining, but Emma still looked elegant in a mustard cardigan over a cream pantsuit. James sported a jacket, shirt and trousers less perfect than normal; Preacher, his usual leathers and T shirt.
Leeth had spent an hour trying to find something she didn’t love. In the end, she’d decided to wear her favorite outfit – after all, it’d survived endless patching and mending, from rocket blasts to being stabbed through the heart. What would a few more patches and stitches hurt?
It was only now, standing in the room alongside James and Preacher, that she started to wonder why they might ruin their clothes?
At the far end of the room, Father stood with one arm resting on a matte black, deadly-looking machine. A gun barrel poked through a hemispherical shield, held by a robot arm. Mounted on rails, it could move forward, backward, left, right, up and down.
It looked fierce.
She saw James and Emma exchange a short, worried look.
On top of the gun’s shield, a small yellow target had been set.
‘You’re not going to like this,’ Father warned them, ‘but keep in mind the purpose of this training is to increase the likelihood of your survival in a gunfight. This device,’ he said, patting the ugly machine, ‘is known as a SHUTZ unit. That acronym can be blamed on the sense of humor of some egghead in Nemesys WeaponTech. The SHUTZ is a laser-scanning auto-targeting computer-controlled gun. For these training exercises, we have mounted a low caliber firearm.
‘We’re not trying to kill you, just sharpen your edge.’ Father smiled, and Leeth found herself smiling back at him. ‘Now that we have magical healing capabilities, we are able to provide more realistic training exercises. As we are all now aware, from our refresher course with Dojo.’
The others groaned, and Leeth eyed them in surprise. Didn’t they like training with Dojo?
At their reaction, he held up a finger. 'Think of it this way: every time the Doctor heals you, it makes it easier for him to heal you the next time. In that sense, the more you're injured, the better!'
For some reason, though, the others didn't respond to his encouraging smile.
'Now, although you all have either neural enhancement of your reaction speed, or are…’ he glanced at Leeth, ‘uncommonly fast, I know each of you have experienced situations where you faced someone even faster.’ He shrugged. ‘Some people will always overspecialize.'
She frowned. Emma and Preacher had cyberware too? Not just James?
‘And I’m sure I don’t need to remind any of you that a firefight is the last refuge of the incompetent.’
Yeah, agreed Leeth, nodding. You should kill people with your bare hands.
‘Still, they are not always avoidable. Of course, the accepted wisdom is that the person who shoots first gains initial control of the situation. Which is true – normally. One's instinctive reaction is to take cover, dodge, at least flinch….'
Father's briefing continued. Leeth looked around, eyeing the target they had to shoot to "win". It was pretty small; and she had a hunch the robogun would move fast on its rails.
She chewed her bottom lip.
‘The rules are quite simple. When the hologram wall is turned off, your object is to shoot the designated target on the SHUTZ unit, disabling it. However, until you have done so, or are down and no longer firing, it will continue to live up to its name.
‘Of course at maximum rating, the unit can target and shoot with inhuman speed and precision.’
So saying, he turned sideways to the machine, commanded it back ten meters along its rail, then struck a match in a broad sweeping arc through the air.
It was still flaring alight as its head blew off. The crack of gunfire died quickly against the sound-deadening walls.
Wow! Leeth glanced at the others, but for some reason they looked even less happy than before.
Father continued, explaining all about how Nelson had changed the gun's software for this training – including stuff about "variable enemy skill simulations" – and how the Doctor had helped choose what areas the gun wasn't allowed to shoot.
But the explanations and discussion went on, and on, until she began to wonder if Father would ever ask the question she was waiting for.
‘If there are no further queries, we can start. Who would like to vol-?’
‘Oh! Me! Please, me!’
The other three looked at her. Hah! She stuck her tongue out at them. Slowpokes!
They all looked at her strangely.
‘I thought you might, Leeth. Good girl. Now, considering your relative inexperience with firearms, we’ll be making the target area larger.’ From inside his jacket, he replaced the small yellow target with a larger flexible disk. ‘The rest of us will join the Doctor in the outer room.’
At some hidden command, the room darkened. A hologram of a brick wall sprang into existence, temporarily hiding the robot gun and its opponent from one another. Leeth heard the heavy whirring as the device moved to a new location.
‘We'll watch on camera from the next room, Leeth. Do your best.’
‘Sure!’
‘Father?’ Emma asked, ‘how long will we be doing this?’
‘The Doctor has already determined how responsive your bodies are to his healing magic. Depending on the vagaries of each healing – as I understand it, the effort is not entirely predictable – and since we are limited only by his ability to heal your injuries, we estimate you should each be able to have two, three, or perhaps more of these exercises each day.’
‘For how many days?’ demanded Preacher.
Father turned towards the leather-clad agent. ‘Until I am satisfied by your performance.’
A minute later the brick wall winked out, the heavy gun-carriage already hurtling closer along its rail. Something about the sureness of the way the barrel swiveled towards her made Leeth change her mind about standing her ground to take her shot. She dived to the left, firing at the yellow target. Missed! She saw the barrel swing round and down, following her movement. Rolling, she fired again as the robot weapon boomed. Something slammed into her thigh.
But she’d expected the pain. Pushing it aside, she fired again, even as the gun swooped, tracked a fraction to the left, and shot her left thigh.
This time, she cried out, but snapped off another shot, feeling blood wetting both legs. It really is targeting kindly, she thought, as her third shot also missed, the robogun continuing to move and weave. This time the implacable matte-black barrel twitched left and shot her through the kneecap; and at that she screamed and fell. Through red and black waves, she fired again and again from the ground, and finally saw the yellow target flutter.
At once the firing stopped.
Keepie burst through the kevlar curtains looking stricken, while she tried to smile through the honest pain.
James and Preacher followed with a blue stretcher-cot, easing her onto it. Behind them, a calm, synthetic male voiced said ‘left thigh, round exited; right thigh, round not exited; left knee, round not exited.’
Her uncle swore, but even as they carried her into the next room past a shocked Emma, she felt Uncle pour healing into her left thigh.
Father swung the digital X-ray screen out while James and Preacher slid her left knee under it.
With effort, she slowed her panting breaths. Keepie finished his first healing as Emma injected an anesthetic in and around her shattered kneecap.
‘Ahhh. Thank you!’
The snap of rubber gloves brought her eyes open. Keepie stood over her with a scalpel, the arms of the robot nurse-unit outstretched towards her, ready for his verbal commands.
But at the sight of the familiar scalpel, a wave of panic flooded her and she tried to scrabble backward, off the cot. Emma pressed down firmly on her shoulders, holding her still. ‘Easy, Leeth, easy.’
Leeth’s eyes flashed to her uncle’s – and for once, just for a moment, saw pain there. His lips parted; and somehow she knew he was about to suggest she look away.
Her panic vanished in a flare of outrage, and she glared back at him, daring him to speak his lie.
His expression closed in. For just a moment, then, she thought she saw something else. Then the cool disinterest returned.
Studying the X-ray, he angled his scalpel tip along the entry path of the bullet. Touched her skin with it. ‘Anesthetic here, here, and along here….’
Using the AR glasses, he set up the robot-held instruments and marked out trajectories. Instructed by voice commands and gestures, the bot began cutting even as he mapped out the next, and the next incision.
It cut precisely, passionlessly; painlessly. How different to normal.
Oh! Maybe I can say that out lou…, out… outlaw, outlived, alive, a-la, a-la-la-la….
When she could think again, she blushed, knowing she'd failed again to break his controls, right in front of them all. Like she'd been flaunting the truth right in front of them. As if she wanted it; or didn’t even care.
She growled, focusing on the impersonal blades slicing her numbed flesh. Then stared at her uncle, accusingly – until her thoughts started vague-ing out again. Growling louder then, she dropped her gaze back to the surgery. From the corners of her eyes she saw the others shift, and felt her ears burn.
