Metak Fatigue Part 6

f. was on the upswing of a busy day when he arrived. I top of the usual s.h.i.+ft changeover, extra staff were on to a.s.sist with a few extra projects currently under 1. . ore% One of them was Blindeye; another was the of General Stedman and his entourage, scheduled s) two days time. Roadblocks and security sweeps had (t be organised. Mayor's House was already under to prevent the importation of a.s.sa.s.sins and -deadly weapons. Roads entered by the ground-level foyer and was brought to a halt by a pair of heavily-armed at.', They checked his hand-print in a portable woosyiA. and waved him on, satisfied that he really was Senior Officer Phil Roads and not the Mole.

Security was tight, but that pleased him. The fourth floor was a maze of part.i.tions over which rose the combined chatter of fifty busy people. Roads negotiated his way to Barney's cubicle, nodding at faces he knew along the way. As much as he valued privacy, he enjoyed the communal environment of the fourth floor. It was vital and vigorously social. The lonely solitude of the higher levels was, by comparison, sterile.

He stuck his head into Barney's works.p.a.ce, and immediately pulled it back out.

She was deep in conver- sation with an attractive brunette from four desks down.He "knocked" for attention and waited until she called him in. "Oh, hi."

Barney waved at a chair. "Sh.e.l.ley and I were just discussing the new arrival."

Sh.e.l.ley looked embarra.s.sed. "Have you met him yet, Officer Roads)" "No. Is he as cute as I'm told?" "He's -" Sh.e.l.ley rolled her eyes "- simply fabulous, in a weird kind of way." "Weird how?" "Well, he looks normal enough - better than normal - but his accent, and some of the things he says . . . "I get the idea." Roads smiled rea.s.suringly.

Barney tried to hide a grin. "Sh.e.l.l, do you know where he is right now?"

The brunette looked forlorn. "Last time I saw him, Angela Fabian was making him a coffee." "Could you tell him that Phil is here?" "With pleasure." The brunette left the cubicle and hurried off through the maze. Roads raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. "He's been asking for you," said Barney. "He wants to go over a few things before Chappel takes him away.,@ "Fair enough."

Roads shook his head. "Should I feel honoured?" "If you like. He's really turned this place on its head, let me tell you." .1 can imagine. He's the first official Outsider in more than forty years." "That he's here at all isn't public knowledge, yet. But you know exactly what I meant." "All too well, I'm afraid."

Sh.e.l.ley returned with a sandy-haired young man firmly in tow. He looked freshly-tanned and superbly AP I somew here in his late twenties or early thirties .s, a firm, athletic build. His uniform, a standard khaki, was little different from those Roads was to. O'Dell smiled cheerfully and with no small I , of bemus.e.m.e.nt upon entering the cubicle, as i overwhelmed by the hospitality he was being iTOXV41.

Roads, studying him, grudgingly admitted that he , was handsome, from his close-cropped hair down o the tips of his polished boots. His uniform on closer I - i(sis was of a better cut and made of finer fabric ims anything Kennedy had seen for years. The only law to his perfection lay in his left hand: the last two !4;4t., were missing.

And he looked so young ... "Officer Roads," Sh.e.l.ley was breathless, "this is Captain O'Dell."

The young man stepped forward and held out his ol- hand. Roads stood and shook it, aware that he was being studied in return. O'Dell's grip was strong, his smile wide and sincere. An irresistible warmth radiated from the RUSAMC captain, and even Roads felt himself respond. "It's a great pleasure, Phil."

O'Dell's accent was a broad mutation of the old mid-west, altered by time. "I can call you that, can't I?" "Why not? Martin, wasn't it?" "That's right." He turned back to Sh.e.l.ley. "Thanks, um, Sh.e.l.ley. I think I can manage from here."

The brunette's reluctance was obvious, but she left. Barney gestured that they should sit, and O'Dell settled back with obvious relief, "Coffee?"

O'Dell nodded. "Thanks, uh ... I'm sorry, but what was your name again?""Call me Barney. Everyone does." "Why?" The RUSAMC captain's curiosity was both frank and disarming. "My mother died giving birth to me," Barney replied with equal honesty. "Dad always said I looked like her, and I never fancied the name I was given. The idea that taking her surname would somehow bring me closer to her made sense when I was five. By the time I changed my mind, it'd stuck." "Her name was Barney, too?" "No. Barnace. Helen Barnace. I didn't even get it right." Barney smiled, then politely closed the subject. "What about you, Phil? Coffee?"

Roads noted that she had appropriated a brewing machine from one of the upper floors. Nothing but the best for their visitor, in a city where even instant coffee was a luxury. "Love one."

She poured three cups. O'Dell asked for two sugars and a generous portion of milk. Maybe that explained it, Roads thought to himself; it was possible to tell a lot by the way someone took their coffee. Roads himself preferred black and raw, as did Barney. "I understand you've been sent to help us," he said, keen to get the real conversation under way.

O'Dell gestured dismissively. "As an observer only, and with access to the total datapool of the Reunited Is Military Corps. I don't want to disrupt your usual procedures. "

Roads indicated the door of the cubicle. "Judging by the impression you've already made, I'd say that's going to be unavoidable."

O'Dell's grin became wry. At least he wasn't naive. "My wife would kill me, if she knew. She didn't want me to leave Philadelphia in the first place. Our boy just LULIlVd three, you see, and ... Well, let's just say that I'm en to get this over with as soon as possible - without eading on too many toes along the way. I hope you on't mind."

Roads stared at O'Dell for a moment - thinking, a ther? - then was amazed to hear himself say that he idn't mind at all, that another viewpoint could only be elpful. Barney covered her amus.e.m.e.nt with a cough.

The three of them cl.u.s.tered around the computer erminal and examined the history of the Mole in between questions about the RUSA. O'Dell had read ,summarised reports of the Mole's activities and had seen ,,the identikit pictures of his face, but neither Barney nor 'Roads had had much access to information about the Reunited States. As recently as six weeks ago, no-one in Kennedy had even suspected its existence.

"We've been growing for about fifty years," O'Dell explained. "Slowly at first, but building up momentum. At this point, we cover most of the old north-west States, some of what used to be Ontario, and the east coast as far as South Carolina. An appreciable percentage of the old United States, all told, and growing all the time. The General hopes to have the west coast Rea.s.similated as well by 2100."

Roads nodded. One thing he had heard was General Stedman's desire to fast-track the reunification of the old US. "Do you think this is possible?

There's only four years to go." "If anyone can do it, he can," O'Dell responded. "He's a very powerful man, and the most intelligent I've ever met.

I don't think it's cynical or disloyal to say that he's deliberately appealing to all the right emotions. By reinforcing the old state lines, for instance, he's tapped into a very strong pool of tradition. In most of the small communities we come across, the leaders still remember the horrors of the War and the old ways that led to it -but the ordinary people, the children, people like me who weren't born until recently, we've only heard stories about the way it used to be. We don't feel the horror; we mourn for what was lost. The old United States is almost a legend now, and the chance to rebuild it, to become part of that legend, is very strong."

The echo of his own argument with DeKurzak made Roads wince. "But you're a military culture, right? The army runs everything, or so I've heard. Don't people feel threatened by that?" "Some." O'Dell shrugged. "But we aren't aggressive by nature, unless we're attacked. The Military Corps offers a wide variety of community services apart from defence, including education, internal peace-keeping, community maintenance and so on. It was army discipline that founded the Philadelphia Accord in the first place, and helped it survive the Dissolution. Now the Corps is the glue that keeps the States together." "Or a tide of mola.s.ses rolling across the continent," said Barney, "drowning everything in its path." "If only it were that easy. We could just lean back and enjoy the ride." O'Dell returned her smile easily. "But there are troublemakers everywhere we go. Like this Mole you've got. Any guesses what he's after?" "Very little," Roads said, uncomfortably aware that in making that admission he was exposing his own inability to solve the case.

O'Dell listened patiently as Roads outlined the break-ins, declining to comment at all - let alone judge - until they had brought him completely up to date. "A month ago," Roads said, "when we first realised that the crimes were a series, not just isolated incidents, we began looking for motives. Since some of the stolen information was extremely sensitive, extortion immediately sprang to mind. But we've never once had a and for money, or anything at all. Sabotage was t on our list, possibly connected with the antissimilationist movement. But again we've had no ats, no warnings, and nothing has gone wrong to ggest that the stolen data has been used this way." "How about suspects?" O'Dell asked. 'Apart from me, you mean?" Roads shook his head.

e have no evidence pointing to anyone: no DNA, no res, no fingerprints, no descriptions, no hearsay." "Nothing circ.u.mstantial?"

"Not a sc.r.a.p," Barney said, "apart from the fact that Mole must have a large amount of technical knowow in order to get away with what he does. Every theft ccurs in a different place and at a different time. There's o pattern that might give us some idea of the thief's bits. There's no pattern to the differences, either - such as thefts taking place at later times the further they are Irom a central location, which might be where the Mole ,ives or works." She glanced briefly at Roads, then back @.to O'Dell. "We've tried every permutation of the stats, and come up with absolutely nothing."

aThe Mole is almost too clever, isn't he?" the captain mused. "I mean, not only does he have an uncanny ability to evade detection andpenetrate defended datapools, but he's done his best to s.h.i.+ft suspicion away from him to a prominent member of the local security force.

It's ingenious, don't you think? Using something as simple as a rubber mask, I suppose, to confuse the enemy."

Roads remembered the video footage Morrow had given him. "It's not a mask."

"No? You think he really does look like you?"

Roads shook his head. He had considered this, briefly, but dismissed the possibility as too remote. "I had plastic surgery in mind.""Seems a bit extreme." "It depends how serious he is." "I guess." O'Dell looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. The thought of cosmetic alteration disturbs me. I had no idea the practice still existed in Kennedy." '41t doesn't,"

Barney was quick to rea.s.sure him. "Unnecessary biomodification has been illegal for as long as I can remember. That includes plastic surgery." "Good."

O'Dell took a sip of his coffee and Roads was reminded of the captain's injury. In a perverse way, he seemed to wear the deformity like a badge of honour.

O'Dell, noting Roads' glance, put the cup down and flexed his crippled hand.

"The States have outlawed all forms of biomodification," he said. "To become superhuman is to lose one's humanity, and to be truly human is to suffer the imperfections of the form with dignity. I'm glad to see that the Mayoralty of Kennedy agrees with us, at least on this."

Barney nodded. "We had trouble with berserkers, too. One killed seventy-five people when I was a teenager. They had to destroy an entire block just to bring it down." "I was a child when the last fell, but I've heard the stories." O'Dell's right hand caressed the stumps of his missing fingers. If he noted the sadness in Barney's eyes, he didn't comment on it. "I'd rather be crippled than allow the possibility of similar atrocities to occur in the future." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Not that I'm handicapped by this, of course. I hardly notice it, most of the time."

Roads could contain his curiosity no longer. "How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?" "Nothing particularly dramatic. My brother slipped chopping wood when I was twelve." O'Dell put the InA pd into a pocket and glanced at the watch on his er wrist. "I have an appointment in a couple of utes that'll last until later this afternoon. Perhaps we Id meet afterward to discuss Operation Blindeye." "Of course," said Roads, noting that O'Dell's watch as solar powered. On impulse, he added: "If I'm not re or in my office, I'll be down at the target range. u can join me there, if you like." O'Dell nodded with a glint in his eye; he knew a iendly challenge when he heard one. "Four o'clock, y "Done." The RUSAMC captain stood. "Thanks for the coffee, arney. "Pleasure."

As he left the cubicle, the usual hu bbub of the communal office ebbed for a split-second, then resumed louder than before. Roads shook his head in amus.e.m.e.nt. "So." Barney leaned against the desk and folded her arms. "What do you think?" "He'll be fine. A little young, but okay, I think. He's obviously been around, and that will help."

The intercom on Barney's desk buzzed.'It was Michael, Chappel's secretary, looking for Roads, with a call from David Goss at Kennedy City University waiting to be put through. "No rest for the wicked," Barney whispered from out of the camera's field of view. "In this town?" Roads edged toward the exit.

"Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely." "Before you go, Phil." She stood. "Am I invited to the old hand versus new blood showdown this afternoon)"

411f you like, but only you. I don't think he'd appreciate a crowd."She nodded. "Yeah, and the Phil Roads fanclub would look pretty thin if he did, wouldn't it?" "Sadly so." He tipped her a quick salute and made a dash for his office.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

-30 P.M.

ur o'clock came swiftly. While Chappel babysat Kurzak elsewhere, Roads took charge of organising ,indeye. He didn't mind the extra work, but it meant at he had little time to follow up his vague thoughts of previous night. Likewise, his promise to catch up ith Roger Wiggs went forgotten until after twelve, by hich time the homicide officer had finally gone off duty. At half-past three, he checked out of his office and ok the lift down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. There he dismantled ,,11is pistol and cleaned it thoroughly. When he had r:finished, he signed for a box of plastic bullets and went to the range.

The long, underground chamber was empty. He chose one of the middle lanes, donned earm.u.f.fs and goggles, and fired a few practice rounds at an old-fas.h.i.+oned paper target. The familiar smell and grit of gunpowder quickly filled the air, sensations he had missed in the last six weeks, thanks to night s.h.i.+ft. His aim was as good as ever, though. When he tired of static targets, he instructed the range simulators to begin.

The paper bullseyes withdrew into the ceiling and the lights dimmed. At the far end of the lane, a man appeared. He held a submachine gun in one hand and a torch in another. The torch came up, s.h.i.+ning into Roads'eyes, dazzling him. Behind the glare, the submachine gun started to rise.

Roads snapped off a single shot. The torch went ou and the man fell over. A diagnostic chart appeared on the screen by his side; the bullet had penetrated the hologram's forehead just above its right eye.

He grunted with satisfaction and cleared the simulator, for another attempt.

It was good to release some of the frustration that had built up in recent weeks, even if it was against an illusory opponent.

Three rounds later, he managed to put the bullet straight through the eye itself. "Impressive," said O'Dell from behind him as the last hologram flickered and vanished. Roads cleared the screen and took off the earm.u.f.fs, a.s.suming that the RUSAMC captain had been referring to the simulation, not the diagnosis of Roads' aim. O'Dell's uniform jacket was open, revealing a leather shoulder holster. He looked tired, less animated than before. "A toy from the old days," said Roads. "Nothing special." "But so much better for training than VR, which we use back home."

The two men faced each other in silence for a split second, Roads acutely conscious of O'Dell sizing him up, and aware that he was doing the same in return.

Barney stepped into the room at that moment, flusmtered. "Sorry I'm late, Phil. Have I missed anything?"

O'Dell turned; the bright-eyed grin reappeared. "No, we haven't started yet."

"Good." She handed him a set of protective earm.u.f.fs. "I brought you these. Do you need ammunition?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll be fine, thanks." "Okay. Well, I'm a terrible shot on a good day, so I'll just stay up here and watch. Have fun with your toys, ." She climbed a short flight of stairs to an obser- n platform and took a seat.

ell chose the lane to Roads' left. "I get the feeling eing tested," he said.

In a way, you are. It's not often I get to try out inst someone new."

:1"l should warn you, then." O'Dell casually unclipped holster. "I graduated first in marksmans.h.i.+p from my .ment." Roads smiled. "And what would you say if I told you t I was RSD champion for ten years running?" "Well, I guess I'd be forced to ask why you used the ord 'was' in that context." "Fair enough: I retired from the contest undefeated." "Good for you." O'Dell reached between the lanes they shook hands. "May the best shot win." They adopted two-handed stances and waited for the imulations to begin. O'Dell felled nine of the first ten ets; Roads dropped all ten. They reloaded. The next nd was an even ten-all.

The third went to O'Dell, n-nine.

"A draw." O'Dell bowed to Barney's applause. """Fancy a rematch?" "If you like. But first ... may I?" Roads indicated that he would like to see O'Dell's sidearm. The captain handed it oven The pistol was large but light-weight, and sported a laser-sight along the barrel which O'Dell had not activated. "I'm not familiar with the make." "Hardly surprising." O'Dell folded his arms.

"It's brand new." "Really?" Roads had suspected as much, although he feigned surprise. That simple fact made the pistol even more remarkable. Kennedy's supply of weapons was severely limited, a fact he had come to take for granted. Once again, he realised how little he knew about theRUSAMC - and was doubly glad he had invited O'Dell down to the firing range: how better to learn mor about a potential opponent than by engaging in ritual combat? 'I had no idea the States were so advanced," he said. "Not many people in Kennedy do, I guess." O'Del accepted the pistol back from Roads. "Designs and technology have been preserved since the War, but until recently there existed no inclination to use them. It wasn't until the States were founded that the reconstruction of the past began. Not all of the past, of course; we've drawn the line firmly at biomods, as you know, and genetic manipulation. We've used just enough old science to rebuild a society that can manufacture sophisticated products, like this pistol." "And your watch," Roads added.

"Both more significant than anything we've made in the last thirty years. "

O'Dell shrugged noncommittally. "The only difference between us and Kennedy is that we have resources at our disposal and you don't. That's why it makes sense for you to join us." "I can't argue with that." Roads selected a different simulation. "But I must confess that I have trouble seeing the difference between machines of metal, machines of flesh, and machines that are a mixture of both."

Two identical targets appeared at the end of their respective lanes, but neither of them turned to aim. "The difference," explained O'Dell, "is not so much the machines themselves, but the way they're used." "I agree with you so far. Go on." "Biomodification is dangerous because it gives one person superiority over others. This superiority can lead to a sense of superiority, which is something else entirely."

9 possessing a pistol with a laser sight is different, from having augmented vision - even though the -result of each modification might be the same?"

es. We believe there's nothing that can be gained by o ification that cannot be had by more orthodox ns. For instance, a laser sight may act as a deterrent, as augmented vision can be used to invade privacy." "It boils down to a question of intent, then. Not an insic wrongness of biomodification." "I suppose so, although it's widely held that biomodition offers greater potential for abuse than conven- al technology." Roads nodded. "Interesting." He gestured at the ts. "Shall we?" The targets were simple: alternating red and white ngs with a black centre. They both scored bullseyes on it first attempt. New targets appeared, ten per cent aller. Bullseyes again, although the diagnostics serted that Roads' was slightly closer to the absolute ntre than O'Dell's. As the targets decreased in size, eir performance worsened, until, on the eighth target, 'Dell missed altogether. "Try again,"

offered Roads. His own shot had p netrated the third ring out. e When O'Dell's second attempt also missed, Roads suggested that the captain try a third time, this time using the laser sight as an aid. "But doesn't that give me an unfair advantage?" "Regardless." Roads waved at the target. "I insist."

O'Dell switched on the laser and aimed. The tiny red dot was almost invisible from the end of the lane, and the tremors of even a rock-steady hand were amplified enormously by the distance. Nevertheless, the shot went home - three rings out, like Roads'.

Two new targets appeared, smaller still.

112"Before we go on." O'Dell leaned against the low wall separating the two lanes. He kept his voice low, obviously so Barney wouldn't overhear. "I happened to be scanning through some old MIA records before I came to Kennedy.

There are a lot of people trying to trace their families back to the War, and we thought it would be interesting to see if any soldiers had died here during the Dissolution. The easiest way to do that is by cross-referencing with Kennedy's mortuary records." "That makes sense." "I thought so, too. It turns out, however, that the records we want are hard to obtain. All we could get were the results of a census taken two years ago."

Roads kept his smile steady to hide the sudden sinking in his stomach, and the cold feeling enveloping his arms and legs. "That's a pity." "Yes, it is. There isn't much point scanning through the population of Kennedy to see if anyone has survived from that long ago, so the project has stalled." O'Dell's expression was bland, but his eyes were very much alive. "I have the MIA data with me, though, just in case."

Roads nodded slowly; he understood all too well what O'Dell was hinting at. "I suggest we discuss this later," he said. "There might be something I can do to speed things up down at Births and Deaths." "Thanks, Phil." O'Dell turned to face the target. "Now, where were we?"

Roads' shot just clipped the outer ring; O'Dell's thudded home on the second.

The next target defeated Roads altogether; a slight tremor in his hands had betrayed him. He wondered if that had been the intention of O'Dell's little revelation. O'Dell's shot made it, although barely, onto the outer ring.

"What's your call, Phil?"

"It's not over yet, Martin." Roads cleared the targets nd punched for another display. "Just one more, if you on't mind."

At the end of each lane appeared a single glowing oint of light. "Try and hit it," said Roads. "You have three rounds."

O'Dell looked puzzled, but took aim anyway. Three shots rang out, and the diagnostics showed a trio of glowing red dots arrayed in an uneven triangle around the central point. "Now, three more without the laser."

This time, O'Dell's aim was more dispersed, tending upward and to the left. He shrugged and holstered the pistol while Roads lined up and also fired three times.

Roads' aim was midway between O'Dell's two attempts; none of his shots landed closer than any of those aided by the laser-sight, but none further out than those aimed by O'Dell's n aked eye. When the echoes of the last shot had faded, he turned to face the RUSAMC captain and extended his hand. "I suggest we call it a draw," he said.

O'Dell looked surprised. "Why? I beat you." "But.that was with the laser-sight, don't forget." "Well, given your unfair advantage "Oh? Watch carefully." Roads turned back to the glowing target, raised, aimed and fired the pistol. Three shots split the air in rapid succession.

But only one dot - which was actually three combined - appeared on the diagnostic screen, centred precisely in the heart of the glowing target. "Now that," said Roads, "is what I'd call unfair."

O'Dell just gaped in amazement. Barney suddenly appeared, down from the stalls. "Who won?" she asked. "I didn't see the results of the last round."

I I ;Roads glanced at O'Dell. "It was a draw. Right, Martin? "

O'Dell met his eye, and nodded. "I'll go with that." "Good." They shook hands.

"For now. . . "

Kennedy City University was a one-kilometre walk from RSD HQ. Roads and O'Dell, with a bodyguard of two, took their time on the way, stopping occasionally to study the city's landmarks. Barney had remained behind to complete her rostered workload.

Before leaving RSD HQ, O'Dell had changed out of his uniform and into more casual attire. Again, Roads was impressed by the fine cut of the fabric; not only were the materials natural cotton and wool, but the dyes used were more vibrant than the familiar, dull hues Kennedy produced. This essential difference negated the reason for changing in the first place. O'Dell's clothing, to a keen observer, marked him as different; he didn't need a RUSAMC badge to betray his origins on the Outside.

The few people they encountered, however, appeared to take no notice. Most were heading home from work, walking briskly to the nearest Rosette junctions as the day began to cool. In the centre of Kennedy, all employees in some way worked for the city; if not directly for the Mayoralty, then in a hospital, perhaps, or a Rations and Resources department. Although in theory the city guaranteed equal treatment for all of its citizens, in general such employees looked better-off than their counterparts in more menial fields. Roads had noted this inequality before, and that day was no exception. Similarly, the suburbs surrounding the route from the city centre to the Wall were home mainly to MSA staff, who lived near the Gate supposedly to 116.

demonstrate their constant devotion to duty. The fact that those same suburbs had always been more affluent than any other in the city was officially irrelevant.