Metak Fatigue Part 17

Barney sighed. "You won't give up, will you?" "No." Roads faded for a moment, then returned as strong as ever. "DeKurzak was right in one sense: Stedman is bere. We're. out of time. Tonight's our last chance to regain any ground at all."

Barney heard the determination in his voice. Everything he said was true, but she didn't have to like it. "What time do you knock off, again?" he asked.

"Seven, if the crowd has cleared by then. I'll take an hour or two break, then head into Mayor's House." "You're going to be there tonight?" "Wouldn't miss it for the world, regardless of what happens. And neither would Roger Wiggs.

He'll be there as well." "I sympathise. If nothing happens, we should all be grateful. We have to get together before then. There are a couple of things we need to discuss in person, not over the cyberlink." "Such as?" "Ah ...

developments. Let's leave it at that for now." "Okay. Call me later, while I'm on break." "Will do."

Barney waited for more, but the cyberlink was silent. She walked to the edge of the freeway. A fair few people remained, cl.u.s.tered in groups. They seemed slightly stunned, still trying to absorb what they had seen.

The officer who'd recognised the sound of acousticallys.h.i.+elded machinery came to stand next to her.

"Quite a day," he said, not meeting her eye, watching crowd instead. "I wonder what would've happened ."I [email protected] hadn't opened the Gate?" "Don't," she said, as much to herself as to him.

671,rrt even think about it."

It., edged the bike through the crowd, following the 407m4M .Wt as it wormed its way toward the city centre.

[email protected] RUSAMC kept the pace fairly slow, giving everyone i- Kennedy a chance to absorb what they were seeing, i a he had no difficulty surpa.s.sing the slow crawl. When he caught up with the control van and its two *1111131" vehicles, he stopped to watch. Field-effects. The rumours he had heard about such things had been vague and noncommittal; although he had been curious, he had never received confirmation that they actually existed. He hardly needed to any more. The vehicles in front of him were enough.

Picking up speed again, he dodged through the crowd. He wanted to tell Barney about what he had discovered in Old North Street. A detailed picture of Morrow's face among the others Cati had drawn highlighted a relations.h.i.+p between the two that went deeper than a casual meeting. The obvious explanation was that Morrow was Cati's controller.

But it would have to wait until they were together. He couldn't be certain that Morrow hadn't tapped the old PolNet circuits.

Instead, he studied the soldiers. They looked as young as Roads had been when he'd joined the Army - even younger in some cases. A handful returned the curious stares of the crowd, but most simply faced forward, keeping their eyes carefully above the horizon, like robots.

Or like Cati would've done, Roads thought, if ordered to. That was the ultimate aim of every army: topossess soldiers both skilled and completely trustworthy. Biomodification wasn't the only means to achieve that endl although it was all too easy to imagine it happening again. Unlimited access to the Old World's military science almost cried out for misuse. While the RUSA had vowed never to emulate its predecessor's downfall, cautious scepticism was only natural.

Roads knew that few people deliberately chose the path to self-destruction. It was a gradual, almost unnoticeable course. With biomodification in particular, the progression was simple: everyone wanted to be stronger, faster, fitter, better - but there had to be a point at which one drew the line. For all he knew, the decline in standards might already have begun, with O'Dell's pragmatic acceptance of Roads' implants. Perhaps it could only end with the likes of Cati and the Mole.

Children in Kennedy - and Outside, Roads a.s.sumed had been told the berserker stories for long enough to have made biomodification synonymous with evil. The phobias were so well established that he doubted that the old technology would arise in that form. Yet it was still possible, and he wondered whether that was part of why DeKurzak was so worried. Did he believe that, by allowing Roads to escape unpunished, some sort of floodgate would open, filling Kennedy with monsters and cybernetic villains?

To combat monsters the city needed superheroes, of course, but Roads didn't feel much like Superman. He understood from experience where that feeling led, and what true powerlessness was like. The reactivation of PolNet had revived the memories with a vividness that stung.

The one time he had allowed himself overconfidence - perhaps even a sense of superiority - had been fourteen years before the War. He had drunk too much 290.

ating both a promotion and the subsequent Ration of the first of his implants.

When he had challenged by a gang of Puritans in a public street, of walking away or summoning a.s.sistance, he accepted the challenge - and won.

With heightened s and a super-charged adrenal system, he had ted the gang single-handedly at odds of five to one.

en, two nights later, on New Year's Eve 2026, he been walking the same street with his partner, rol. Apparently by accident, a large man had b.u.mped o him and shoved him into an alleyway. Before he uld resist, hands had pinned his arms and a bag had ne over his head. The last thing he remembered was a w to the back of his neck - until he woke up in spital a victim of violent a.s.sault.

[email protected] But that hadn't been the worst of it. Two days later, had been called to the forensic labs to identify his artner's body. Carol had been raped by every member f the gang over a period of six hours, then dumped in a ul-de-sac near Sydney Metro Police HQ where she had to death. The policeman who had turned back the sheet had had eyes like jewels - eyes like bis - glinting silver in the cold, white light.

Genetic traces - skin, s.e.m.e.n and hair - had enabled the police to track down the young gang responsible, and they had been duly punished by a court of law.

But Roads had never forgotten the lesson behind the act itself.

No matter how strong he felt, and no matter what his advantage over an opponent, he was still weak in some way. His love for Carol had allowed his opponents revenge on that occasion; it would be something else next time, something he had not antic.i.p.ated.

So he had sought strength from within, through discipline - just as Kennedy had, many years later. Hehad quit the police force and joined the army, rising swiftly through the ranks until a transfer to the United States had been offered to him. He had trained in a biomodified squad for two years before earning a second course of surgery. He had gained new eyes and new ears; his entire body had been taken apart and rebuilt by a team of biogeneticists over a period of six months. He had spent a further half year learning his new capabilities - and, at the end of it, had still felt weak.

It took him most of a decade to realise that true strength came from a denial of strength, and an acceptance of weakness. Everything he saw during the War confirmed this: the Armed Forces - including the CIA and the FBI - had been too powerful for too many years, and ignorant of their own inherent flaws.

Every last spasm of the United States had been a flexing of dying muscle; during the Dissolution, the corpse of the nation had torn itself apart - slowly, but inevitably - along with the rest of the world, as a result of its unwillingness to believe that it was no longer in control.

General Stedman's desire to revive that old corpse did not in itself seem unhealthy, but Roads could not help but wonder.

Roads wound his way past a knot of schoolkids arguing with an MSA officer.

They wanted to catch one of the rodent robots, but the guard had forbidden them from stepping into the convoy's path. Their shrill entreaties fell behind him and became indistinguishable from the noise of the crowd and the steady rumble of machinery.

An icon winked in his field of vision: someone was trying to get through to him on the old PolNet lines. He opened a communications port automatically, then wished he hadn't.

M.

orrow's face smiled at him, superimposed [email protected] crowd. "Phil. I have your pa.s.s."

,Aq Mow hesitated slightly, unsure how to respond. "Uh, Keith. How do I collect it?" itz. to the memorial on the corner of First and 4.it. Someone will be waiting for you there." iai; ghostly Head vanished and Roads hurried 4446.

V. - Although he had expected the call, it still came M_ of a surprise. Morrow obviously didn't L M )[email protected] !-thhaf *-Roads had learned of the connection between [email protected], and the Head and the suspicions that aroused.

1'1Wvir4& would have to proceed as usual, at least until sk was certain enough of his latest theory to risk a rme$ F10011.1 He had no choice; the deadline was too (61,1i; to turn down the chance of getting into Mayor's The memorial was on the convoy's route. The crowd It would hide anything. If he was walking into a he might not know until it had been sprung. He turned into a side street and wound his way the less-crowded streets away from the When he reached the road leading to the he followed it back toward the crowd.

From behind, the memorial seemed deserted. A statue of ex-US President and chairman of the AMCP, Robert Mulcahey, who had approved the building of Kennedy Polis in 2010, stood ten metres high on a raised marble dais. Steps led to the base of the chair upon which the old President sat. The crowd had taken over the steps, seeking a better viewpoint.

Roads circled the memorial warily, keeping an eye out for any suspicious signs. The procession had only just reached the area; the crowd was busy waving at the marching soldiers. No-one seemed to notice him where he stood waiting.A whistle from above and to his right attracted his attention. Someone was standing on the statue itself, on the ex-President's lap; someone tall, with skin that looked dark against the granite, and round sungla.s.ses.

It was Raoul. The black man waved for Roads to come closer. He did so carefully, weaving through the spectators crowding the steps of the memorial.

When he was near enough, Raoul threw down a rope.

Roads mentally tossed a coin. Leaning the bike against the base of the monument, he grabbed the rope and climbed up to join Raoul on his unusual perch. "Welcome," said the Head's messenger, pulling the rope back up. "Take a seat." "You have the pa.s.s?" "Yes. What's your hurry?"

Roads forced himself to be patient. "No hurry." "So let's watch the show."

Raoul sat with his legs crossed on the President's knees. Roads followed suit, keeping a respectable distance between them. A brisk wind blew past them, much stronger than it had been at ground level.

Below, the might of the RUSAMC rolled by. Row after row of troops tramped along the road toward Kennedy's centre. "I wonder where they'll all sleep,"

said Roads. "Anywhere they like, I'd say," Raoul responded. "Actually, only a handful will be staying. The rest will be out of the city before long." "What makes you say that?" "Well, they're only here to impress us, right? To show us how strong they are. Once the point has been made, they'll go back Outside to their camp." "You seem pretty certain of that." "It's what I'd do. Besides, I've seen their orders." "You have?"

roo. or less." Raoul winked. "De Head know Isto.- mon." io, it seems. His problem is that he keeps most of it -I- if you're close." White teeth flashed from the face. "You could have been close, if you'd wanted turned back to the convoy. "Perhaps." oi., nothing. The Head likes you. He doesn't 11' to see you get into trouble." W 7 @Fuat sort of trouble would that be, exactly?" That's up to you, my friend.

If you look for i , t it'll YOU." "Are you threatening me?" "Quite the opposite. The Head asked me to give you warning. He won't hurt you, but there's plenty who Roads absorbed this in silence. That was the second k 4 [email protected] the Head had hinted at forces ma.s.sed against him. genuine warning? Or a threat, despite the messenger's 4 -03WMFIO .mok Of innocence?

Seeing Raoul again brought back memories of their *M- meeting, in the cellar on Old North Street. The sight of another person with biomodifications in Kennedy had taken Roads completely off-guard. Fear that Raoul might recognise him - might even have been under his command and remembered what he had done had left him frozen, unable to think. He had believed himself alone for so long that to learn otherwise had shocked him to the very core of his being.

Only later had he realised that he should have suspected earlier.

Morrow was a ju nkyard man, quite literally, but he collected more than just machines; he collected people as well. Roads had needed his help to survive in the past, and it made sense that others had come along since then 99A- and not all of them would share Roads' law-abiding nature. Biomodifications before the War had proliferated outside the armed forces as technology had become cheaper. Raoul could have been anything from a tech-freak to a hired killer. Morrow had lost a valuable ally when Roads had joined RSD, and would regard Raoul's abilities just as highly. No wonder that he had been in charge of the Old North Street operation, or that Morrow had sent him to deal with Roads in person.

But why now? Did Morrow suspect that Roads had learned of a connection between him and Cati? Was Raoul - like the RUSA - a threat, or an opportunity to be exploited? "Tell me something, Raoul. What do you think of the Rea.s.similation?" "Me? I think it's a bad deal." "In what way?" "Well, just look at them." Raoul gestured at the troops below. "They come here offering us equality and a place in their government and all that s.h.i.+t, but that's not what they're really here for. They're a military state, and they want what all military states want: power. Over us, and the rest of the continent. We're just a small step along the road they're travelling, another hurdle to be crossed." "You think they're going to take us over?" "They won't need to. Not that we could resist if they tried. I mean, all these years we've been thinking that outside was full of savages, and look what rolls in. I haven't seen stuff like this for years. Ever! Field-effects, for chrissake? No, they won't need to invade us; we'll just roll over and play dead."

The control caravan wasn't in view, but it was obvious that Raoul had already heard about it. No 296.

from Morrow, via his own implants and the Fe equivalent of PolNet. re going to kill us by economics," Raoul said.

M., simple." The black man took off his gla.s.ses and 'I his crystal eyes.

"When we join the Reunited we'll become part of a vital industrial nation. L have to compete on equal terms with everyone M Which means we'll have to produce in order to ,,IJUSIAIA. But what exactly do we produce here? Recycled ,[email protected], that's all.

We'll be buried alive." "We'll adjust "Sure, eventually, but not before we're in debt. And in debt we'll always be in debt. They'll make sure iC9 "So you think we shouldn't Rea.s.similate?" Raoul shook his head. "That's the problem.

We have in a manner of speaking, we already have, by letting a;;st come this far. I just don't like to see it happening 11 .V Way, that's all."

The summary reflected Roads' own feelings on the matter. Again he wondered what Raoul's occupation had been before the War. Not the same as his - Morrow had suggested as much when Roads had asked - but not simple thuggery either.

His opinions were too considered.

44what about Keith?" Roads asked. "How does the Head feel about it?" "Oh, he's cautiously ecstatic, as you can imagine. All the new gadgets to play with, all the new markets to invade. He'll be in computer heaven once the lines are [email protected] "Yes. That's what I thought." Roads pointed at the control van, which had just floated into view. "But what if he's outcla.s.sed? What if their computer technology beats his?""It won't. He's easily the most sophisticated artificial intelligence on the planet. Being stuck in Kennedy for forty years hasn't kept him from growing."

"The States won't approve of him. They hate biomodification as much as Kennedy does." "He knows that. But he's not biomodified; he's biotranscended, as he puts it. A whole new cla.s.s entirely." "But in their eyes -"

"Yes, yes. Let's just say he'll keep his head low and leave it at that. He's got more to gain from an alliance with the States than any of us."

Roads nodded. That much seemed to be true, even though it didn't jell with what he'd learned. Why would Morrow send Cati to kill anyone in favour of the Rea.s.similation he wanted to happen? "And here's the man himself," said Raoul sharply. "The invader from the north. . . "

The control van had reached level with the statue. General Stedman was visible from its upper entrance, waving every now and again. Whether word had spread or this section of the crowd was more genial than that by the Gate, there were no disturbances. Roads said nothing as-the RUSAMC leader rumbled by on his unlikely vehicle, for all the world like Santa in a Christmas pageant.

-1.

As though consciously echoing the metaphor, a long line of supply trucks followed the control caravan, all loaded down with food and equipment: the first s.h.i.+pment of outside goods to Kennedy Polis. Roads thought about Raoul's gloomy prediction. The first s.h.i.+pment was free, but who would pay for the second?

He watched as the last of the trucks rolled by. The final vehicle was a ground-effect jeep. Two metres above it, a banner snapped and flicked in a nonexistent wind. There was no pole.

@,'hologram, obviously, but it looked convincing th. The blue and black RUSAMC emblem was as as reality, with every detail sharply delineated.

had seen the design several times before, but had r studied it in detail. He did so now, using his ants to enhance the image. Ihe motto was unclear, and seemed to be in French Latin, suggestine possible Canadian ties. An animal r a knife in ched among symbolic heraldry, clutching mouth. Something about the animal rang a bell, and age at the heart of the closer still. The im ed crystal clear in his SAMC's coat of arms appear of vision. Roads remembered a grey shape loping ss a dark lawn, lean muscles rippling in moonlight. ,The animal on the RUSAMC coat of arms was a ber wolf ... ,,"Here's your pa.s.s," said Raoul, handing him a sliver f black plastic. "It'll get you through a side way: Exit ourteen. Once you're in, it's up to you what you do."

Roads accepted the pa.s.s and slipped it into a pocket. Thanks. Tell Keith I owe him." "That you do." Raoul rose to his feet and dusted his pants. "Just be careful, man. Someone wants your a.r.s.e." "I know. Everyone keeps telling me.

The black man slid down the s.h.i.+ns of the statue and vanished into the crowd.

909INTERLUDE.

4:00 p.m.

The air in the ventilation shaft had become scaldingly hot, but he did not notice. Midway between sleep and wakefulness, he waited patiently for something to happen. What, exactly, he wasn't sure. Until his orders changed, he was incapable of moving.

Outside his metal womb, he could hear birds, the whistle of the wind and a crowd of people gathering. The mingled voices reminded him of his life before Sanctuary: whenever crowds had gathered, it had always been to drive him away, or to kill him. Anger was part of this crowd's faint tone, but he could hear laughter among the arguments, and children, and singing.

The people seemed to be waiting, just like him. Time pa.s.sed quickly. As the city focused its attention on a place a kilometre or so from him, he allowed himself to relax. No-one would be looking for him. He would be safe for a while - safe to rest, safe to sleep.

He closed his eyes and curled tighter around himself. The dream, when it began, was unexpected - even welcome, in that it was familiar. It was one he'd had on several occasions before: He was dodging into a gutted building with bullets cracking like whiplashes at his naked back. As he 300.

up the stairs, he warded off the blows of an .10, Wielding a broomstick.

Although his hands large enough to snap her like a twig, he did not. ad begun with a confrontation, as it always did. sy- he had walked into a village and been driven of the witch-hunt. Or he had been discovered It. wasteland by a band of fellow-wanderers and to retreat. He might even have been startled from dream-sleep in some ruined shelter by a hand on or a knife thrust in his face. His a.s.sailants e;Pi;i always strangers, and their brutality robbed them RT any individuality they might have possessed.

They 0 loW him, tore at him, hunted him like an animal - siqs all he wanted to do was leave them alone, let them .4- on with their lives as they had before his arrival. But it was too late: the truth of his nature had come c light and a near-primal anger had erupted, a tide of directed solely at him, against which he was unable to defend himself. All he could do - all he was to do - was flee for his life. The unreasoning wave of violence carried him on its crest for what felt like hours, until he despaired of ever awakening - until it seemed that it was his destiny to be persecuted, to run just ahead of the pack, never dying and never killing, forever.

Yet, although the dream began as a nightmare, it did not normally end that way. As he fled, unable to fight the ones he was supposed to protect, he heard a woman calling to him. Her voice was soft and gentle, almost inaudible above the baying of the pack, but insistent. She called him by his real name - the name he and his brothers had once shared. She told him to come to her, to be with her, to love her and to protect her.

No matter how much he ached to return her call, he could not. His throat was as silent in the dream as it wasin waking life. His only course of action was to follow the voice to its source, to a city in the middle of a wilderness, surrounded by gnarled forests of hatred.

The woman's name was Sanctuary; the city's name was Peace. And this was reality, beyond the dream. He had simply become so used to the nightmare in his years before Sanctuary that part of him still thought it would never end.

But this time the dream didn't end the way it usually did, with him in that city of Peace and the woman called Sanctuary at his side.

This time he found himself standing on a building in the heart of the city. A crowd had gathered beneath him, filling the streets as far as he could see: a veritable sea of people, all standing still and silent, all staring upward, watching him. The mute intensity of their regard made him nervous.

just as he realised that Sanctuary's voice had stopped calling for him, the crowd began to change. One by one, as though a wave had rippled across them, the people s.h.i.+mmered and vanished, leaving only a faint heatflicker where they had been. The wave of invisibility spread rapidly through the silent ma.s.ses, until the streets themselves seemed to liquefy and melt, and the city floated like a herd of icebergs in a sea of bent light.

The people were still watching him. He could feel their combined stare like pointed fingers on his skin, testing, probing, dissecting, judging.

Exposed and therefore vulnerable, he quailed and tried to hide. He ducked behind a ventilation duct, but that too dissolved into nothing, leaving him as naked as before. Panic welled in his chest as he ran from side to side, leaving a path of evaporated shelters in his wake. And still the crowd watched, the weight of eyes becoming heavier by the second.

302.

,[email protected]

1140 the top of the building was smooth and - Mkl he fell to his hands and knees in despair. w s nowhere left to run: the long chase was over, a , 4t.- had finally lost everything. Cwv, the building itself vanished, sending him falling roiling gulf that pulled at him, yawned to accept [email protected], body - am Lucifer."

awoke with a panicky start, the echoes of the [email protected], still ringing in his mind.

4 -"1 am Lucifer!"

1,W screamed silently into the void, pounding the sides T, ventilation shaft with his feet and fists, exorcising @ fear and hopelessness of the dream by attacking the within which he cowered. The city hated him, everybody wanted to kill him, his controller would not let him forget. Perhaps was the dream, and the nightmare had been its time all along. What had he done to deserve this? "I AM LUCIFER!" repeated the voice, more firmly still, as though sensing his anguish, his unwillingness to .'obey. He wanted to shout his defiance, to rebel against .,the authority that made him do wrong, made people afraid of him.

But he could not voice his protest. He was as mute now as he had been in the dream. And the wrongness of disobeying far outweighed the crimes he was forced to commit.

Regaining a measure of self control, he forced his heartbeat to slow and his panic to subside.

Closing his eyes, he whispered acceptance of his fate outward into the distance.