The Electric Church Part 3

I didn't say anything.

"You know a guy named Nad Muller? Lowlife piece of s.h.i.+t with sticky fingers?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, sure. He's f.u.c.king dead. They found him down on Prince Street, popped."

Dawson nodded, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah, sure, you were there, s.h.i.+thead."

I kept my bruised face blank. "No, sir," I said, and braced for another slap.

It didn't come. Dawson looked at Hallier in apparent amus.e.m.e.nt, but Hallier was still just staring at me, dead eyes, mouth slightly open, like he was trying to use his mental powers to lift me off the ground.

"Huh," Dawson continued, turning back to me. "Avery Cates, aged twenty-seven, born in Old Brooklyn, twelve years of education, suspect in fifteen unresolved homicides, two dozen lesser offenses. Arrested six times, never convicted. Known as a more-than-competent Gunner, good for kills or bodyguarding or other related jobs. Good reputation on the streets as a straight shooter, trustworthy, always does the job and never reneges, reasonable pricing. Well-known even outside New York." The f.u.c.king Pigs and the f.u.c.king Monks. They thought having a wireless linkup to huge databases plugged into their ears made them special, and they loved to play mindreader. "Wanna know your shoe size, a.s.shole?"

I shook my head. I wasn't enjoying this.

Dawson pushed his finger into my chest. "You were there, Cates. We know know you were there." Hallier's hand was suddenly on my arm, shoving me. "So let's take a walk and you can tell us all about how you watched an SSF officer get killed." you were there." Hallier's hand was suddenly on my arm, shoving me. "So let's take a walk and you can tell us all about how you watched an SSF officer get killed."

"Ah, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," I muttered. I knew how this was going to end, with me kneeling in an alleyway with a gun pressed against my head. f.u.c.king System Pigs. They didn't f.u.c.k around. I tried to think, but the fat cop was pus.h.i.+ng me hard and Dawson's dancing eyes were hard and unhappy.

"Officers!"

We all paused, and I glanced up to see Kev Gatz running toward us. My odds had just improved immensely. Dawson and Hallier stopped and watched the skinny freak approach, and I looked down at my shoes.

"What is it?" Dawson snapped. If Gatz didn't have something useful to say in a second or two, they'd probably drag him into the alley with me and put one in his head just for slowing them down.

"I have information," I heard Gatz begin, and then there was silence. Hallier's hand loosened on my arm, and I looked up at the two cops, who were standing slackly, mouths slightly open. I risked a quick glance at Gatz; his sungla.s.ses were back on.

"They're Pushed," he said breathlessly. "What should we do with them?"

I took a moment to collect myself, cold sweat dripping down my back. The two cops were just standing there, vacant. It took a lot out of him; even getting people to do minor stuff left him exhausted, but f.u.c.k if it wasn't a useful little talent.

I looked around. "We gotta get them off the street. Come on."

He nodded. "Follow us," he said to the cops. They nodded and lurched after us, heavy and sleepy. I scanned the block for a good location and chose an abandoned building nearby, crumbling old-world mortar and dusty air. With the System Cops, I knew no one was watching us too closely, or would think twice about them apparently dragging us off the street-that was standard procedure for SSF summary executions. A wide doorway had been boarded up in more optimistic times; I kicked the rotted boards out and we herded the piggies into the dark maw of the building. Gatz had our cops sit down on the floor, and I began to pace.

"How long will they be pacified?"

Gatz was leaning against a wall. "Few more minutes, Ave," he panted. "It's hard."

I paced back and forth. "We can't kill them," I muttered. You didn't kill System Cops, at least not after being seen out in the open with them by half of Old New York. It was unhealthy. The good people of New York never remembered a face . . . until the SSF started knocking heads and taking names.

"On the other hand," Gatz said slowly, "you're already f.u.c.king famous."

He had a point. When a pair of SSF show up and tell you your life story, the chances you're going to be left alone for the rest of your short, miserable life were pretty low. Maybe slitting their throats carried a low risk after all. But I shook my head. "Man, they sent two of them just because they thought I might might have seen something. Two of them don't check in, they'll send a f.u.c.king army after me. I need to get them out of the way without being involved." have seen something. Two of them don't check in, they'll send a f.u.c.king army after me. I need to get them out of the way without being involved."

Just beyond the crumbling old brick walls there was the usual noise of the world, and inside there was Gatz, dead skinny and wearing out way faster than was fair, and two comatose System Pigs who had to be dealt with. On top of that, I had an entire religion . . .

I paused, an idea forming. I smiled at Gatz.

"What the f.u.c.k you laughing about?" he demanded.

"Get them up, okay? Get them walking, and follow me."

VI.

Calm, Defeated Happiness 00000.

The streets of New York were always crowded, because no one had anywhere to go. Hovers zoomed by overhead, rich-kid's toys. Nothing commercial went by hover-all the s.h.i.+pping was automated, on specialized underground routes, though garbage was sometimes hauled in the air. The f.u.c.king robots had all the jobs; they were self-healing, intelligent, learning machines that never tired, never showed up late or hung over.

The street was wide, banked by tall, sagging old brownstones that looked moments from collapse. We followed the Pushed cops at a short distance, Gatz stumbling as he struggled to maintain a constant hold on them through his exhaustion. Trash swirled around our ankles, and every step was a push past shoulders and glares, everyone trying to out-tough each other until they saw the cops and suddenly got polite. I scanned the streets until I found what I was looking for: two Monks moving easily through the crowd with heavy tread, all the nervous humans making a small corridor for them to pa.s.s through, afraid to even touch their smooth, pale skins.

I nudged Gatz and the four of us started to follow the Monks. The Monks turned to glance back at the cops and then resumed their steady pace.

After a few moments, Dawson started to slow down, the tall blond looking up and back at me as if he'd never seen me before. His eyes sharpened.

"I'm going to eat your f.u.c.king kidneys, a.s.shole," he growled. "I'm gonna-"

"Kev," I whispered.

Gatz nodded wearily and Dawson suddenly snapped forward again and picked up his pace. "Sorry," Gatz muttered, "It's . . . pretty f.u.c.king hard."

I ignored him, waiting. I knew how his Push worked, the mechanics of it: He needed eye contact to establish his hold on you, but after that initial lock he maintained control just by concentrating, and the effects lingered for a few minutes even after he let it go, which was ideal for my purposes here, as we wanted to put some distance between us and these Pigs. When I thought it looked like the right moment, I nodded at Gatz, and he stared fixedly at the backs of our captured cops, Pus.h.i.+ng them to act out the little script I'd hastily written. Dawson and Hallier suddenly animated, reaching into their coats and pulling out their guns. The crowd scrambled. Shouts of "Cop!" went up, and we were standing in a swirling ma.s.s of confused humanity.

"Police!" Hallier croaked in a voice that sounded like it wasn't really meant to be used. The Monks didn't hesitate. They moved, fast. fast. I was surprised that they didn't draw their own weapons, but rather ducked and ran as Dawson and Hallier pumped sh.e.l.ls after them in precise, hypnotized sequence, Pushed. It was perfect. The Monks wouldn't take this lying down. Once away from the public eye, they'd draw their own weapons, and my two pet cops, under Kev's watery eyes, wouldn't be any match for their digital reflexes. The cops would be eliminated, and I wouldn't be implicated. The end result: two System Cops taking shots at legally recognized reps of a sanctioned religion, and poof! Dawson and Hallier out of my hair for good. I was surprised that they didn't draw their own weapons, but rather ducked and ran as Dawson and Hallier pumped sh.e.l.ls after them in precise, hypnotized sequence, Pushed. It was perfect. The Monks wouldn't take this lying down. Once away from the public eye, they'd draw their own weapons, and my two pet cops, under Kev's watery eyes, wouldn't be any match for their digital reflexes. The cops would be eliminated, and I wouldn't be implicated. The end result: two System Cops taking shots at legally recognized reps of a sanctioned religion, and poof! Dawson and Hallier out of my hair for good.

As the cops ran after the fleeing Monks, I grabbed Gatz by the collar and pulled him after me. I didn't wait to find out what happened. We ran like h.e.l.l, Kev wheezing like an old man, me snarling behind him. We melted into the city and I thought I'd be on a plane out of the continental area, under a new name, within hours.

Two hours later, Gatz and I were cras.h.i.+ng in a borrowed apartment for a few hours until it was safe to venture out and try to contact Gatz's Splicer friend, Marcel.

"Jesus f.u.c.ked, Ave, isn't that one of the Pigs we got rid of today?"

I looked wearily up at the Vid. It was an older model, with no advanced features and just a sixty-inch screen, but that also meant it didn't have any of the tracking features the newer Vids had. On the screen, crisp and clear, was the oddly unhandsome face of Barnaby Dawson, blond and blue-eyed. He was staring straight ahead like he was p.i.s.sed off at the camera.

I moaned, and gestured the sound back on.

". . . dead. Representatives of the Electric Church issued a statement from London condemning the actions of the SSF captain, and demanding that he be immediately suspended from duty and tried for murder. No explanation for the illegally modified firearms found on the Monks' bodies was included in the statement. The Electric Church is now listed as the sixth-largest religion on Earth, with about nine hundred million registered members. Brother Kitlar Muan, spokesman for the Church, refused all requests for an interview . . . In Minsk this afternoon another food riot was forcibly . . ."

I waved the sound off again as Dawson's face was replaced by a video of a riot, people shouting and bleeding and generally getting their a.s.ses kicked by SSF, which was how all the riots ended. I looked down at the floor.

Dawson was alive, and I was f.u.c.ked. We We were f.u.c.ked, but my interest in Gatz's well-being ended well short of including him in my own worries. I liked Kev a lot, which meant I'd try my best not to kill him. It didn't mean I'd lose sleep over it if I did, accidentally or otherwise, as useful as he was. Dawson was alive, Hallier was dead. They were were f.u.c.ked, but my interest in Gatz's well-being ended well short of including him in my own worries. I liked Kev a lot, which meant I'd try my best not to kill him. It didn't mean I'd lose sleep over it if I did, accidentally or otherwise, as useful as he was. Dawson was alive, Hallier was dead. They were both both supposed to be dead. The f.u.c.king Monks were supposed to have pulled the same sort of cyborg voodoo on them that I'd seen, and Dawson was supposed to have gone down a Burned Badge who flipped out on the Monks and got fed some bullets as a reward. Having the motherf.u.c.ker still supposed to be dead. The f.u.c.king Monks were supposed to have pulled the same sort of cyborg voodoo on them that I'd seen, and Dawson was supposed to have gone down a Burned Badge who flipped out on the Monks and got fed some bullets as a reward. Having the motherf.u.c.ker still alive alive-and being tortured in a f.u.c.king DIA Blank Room, a room that survelliance could not penetrate and that didn't exist in any official building plan or doc.u.ment-had not been the plan. I began rocking gently back and forth.

"f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," I moaned.

Gatz was up, rubbing his bare arms in agitation. "Avery, we ought to get moving. Now. Now. Find Marcel before your name gets on the street connected to this. Marcel hears you're f.u.c.king marked with this s.h.i.+t, he won't touch you." Gatz shook his head, gla.s.sy-eyed. "No one will." Find Marcel before your name gets on the street connected to this. Marcel hears you're f.u.c.king marked with this s.h.i.+t, he won't touch you." Gatz shook his head, gla.s.sy-eyed. "No one will."

He was right. It was one thing to get ha.s.sled by the System Pigs; everyone did. It was one thing to even get charged with something-everyone did, eventually. But to really p.i.s.s off a cop, to maybe get your name thrown around a DIA Blank Room, to maybe have the whole f.u.c.king SSF on your a.s.s for revenge-s.h.i.+t, I wouldn't want to be seen talking to me either. Even the Crushers would stop taking your bribes.

I looked up and rubbed my stubble. "Okay, let's move."

It was good to move when you'd decided the time had come, because people who hesitate tend to get popped. I grabbed my coat and started walking, and Gatz was right behind me. Down the escalator, shrugging our coats on, and then into the street, still a mess of humanity pus.h.i.+ng against the walls around them and looking for a way out. The whole f.u.c.king world was like this. There was no place left to go.

We'd only made it about six blocks against the tide when Gatz stumbled and put a hand to his head, just fingertips on his forehead, and winced. "Oh, s.h.i.+t, I feel like s.h.i.+t."

I was debating whether I wanted to go check on him or just leave him be, whether I really needed an introduction to Marcel after all, f.u.c.k, he'd know me, everyone everyone in New York knew Avery Cates. But then I heard it: hover displacement. And then everyone in the street was moving and shouting. in New York knew Avery Cates. But then I heard it: hover displacement. And then everyone in the street was moving and shouting.

"Police!"

"Cops!"

"Policia!"

"Pigs!"

"SSF!"

A second before the searchlight hit me, I closed my eyes and knew I was f.u.c.ked.

The light made everyone scatter, and within seconds Gatz and I were standing in a bright pool of light, and the rest of the f.u.c.kers were crawling along the edges of the light, staying clear of it. Figuring, f.u.c.k, if the Pigs weren't interested in them, why make make them interested? f.u.c.king roaches, running from light. them interested? f.u.c.king roaches, running from light.

I adjusted my sungla.s.ses and considered. The hover was about ten seconds from close enough to drop Stormers-but they could always shoot you down in the street, too. The f.u.c.king cops could do whatever the f.u.c.k they wanted. If they hadn't shot me yet, I reasoned that they weren't going to, so I stood there, and kept my hands in the open.

The f.u.c.king hover landed. landed.

I'd never seen an SSF hover land in the street. People went diving in all directions as it settled heavily on the asphalt, just a few feet away from me. Displacement kicked up. It was like standing in the path of a hurricane for a moment, wind whipping mercilessly, my face trying to peel off my skull. The street was just barely wide enough. The f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.ds kept the searchlight on me and Gatz, trying to blind us. I'd had my gla.s.ses made specially for that, though, and I could see fine.

Little things made you feel good, when it came to the System Pigs.

The hatch popped open and two Stormers were out, darker than shadows in their black Obfuscation Kit, the uniforms taking on the color and texture of whatever they were standing in front of as they moved, giving me an instant headache. In ObFu, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds could stand against a wall and blend in like G.o.dd.a.m.n chameleons, and you'd never see them until they moved for you.

These two just knelt and covered me and Gatz with their KL-101s, automatic rifles with built-in grenade launchers. I made a mental note not to move. I knew I should be terrified, but I just felt empty. And tired.

"Weapons!" one of the Stormers shouted. "We want to see weapons!"

I nodded and slowly pulled my gun from its shoulder holster, my backup from the small of my back, and a razor from my boot, leaving them on the ground in front of me. Gatz just shook his head.

"Weapons, f.u.c.kface!" the other Stormer shouted.

"I don't have any!" Gatz shouted back, bless his soul.

The Stormers looked at each other, apparently having never heard of such a thing. Gatz relied on the Push to get him by. After a moment, however, the decision was made, because a couple of hapless Crushers in their loose, generic uniforms were dispatched to give us both an old-fas.h.i.+oned frisk, rough and thorough. Satisfied, they signaled and a System Cop emerged from the hover and stepped forward, looking dapper in a perfectly tailored suit and a mind-blowingly expensive overcoat. He glowed with health.

I hated him, hated them all, strutting around wearing more than I f.u.c.king earned in a year, and me earning it with blood everywhere, staining me forever. Motherf.u.c.ker.

"Avery Cates, Kev Gatz," the motherf.u.c.ker drawled. "Elias Moje, colonel, SSF." He nodded curtly. "Come on, then." He was about my size, but broader and heavier, carrying himself like a man used to throwing his weight around and getting the desired response. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut close, and a neat beard pointed downward from his chin. He grinned, but his eyes didn't. His suit was tailored, the material expensive, but what really drew the eye was his walking stick: black and sh.e.l.lacked and covered in thorns, its pommel a thick, heavy knot. drawled. "Elias Moje, colonel, SSF." He nodded curtly. "Come on, then." He was about my size, but broader and heavier, carrying himself like a man used to throwing his weight around and getting the desired response. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut close, and a neat beard pointed downward from his chin. He grinned, but his eyes didn't. His suit was tailored, the material expensive, but what really drew the eye was his walking stick: black and sh.e.l.lacked and covered in thorns, its pommel a thick, heavy knot.

Outside the bright circle of light, I could see the gray ma.s.s of people moving like water, roiling, scrabbling, looking over their shoulders at us. I smiled at Moje, enjoying the curiously numb feeling that smothered all the fear, all the anger. "Nervous?"

He blinked, and then laughed. He threw his head back, and a rich, easy laugh emerged from him, spilling out in bubbling waves. "Mr. Cates, that's hilarious. hilarious. Now, move it. You're late for an appointment with DIA Chief Marin." Now, move it. You're late for an appointment with DIA Chief Marin."

I had already started to head for the hover-when the SSF sends a f.u.c.king hover hover to pick you up, you're already in deep s.h.i.+t and struggling will just make you sink faster-but the name to pick you up, you're already in deep s.h.i.+t and struggling will just make you sink faster-but the name Marin Marin made me stumble a little. made me stumble a little.

All I knew about d.i.c.k Marin was what everyone else knew. He was the director of the SSF Department of Internal Affairs.

It was likely that Marin was the most powerful man on the planet, aside from twenty-five old b.a.s.t.a.r.ds from around the world who called all the shots, the Joint Council (theoretically elected, but I couldn't recall an election). The DIA had been formed as a check on the System Cops, who were otherwise almost totally autonomous. The SSF had authority over everyone-the entire System. The DIA was the only body with authority over the cops. And at the top of that that pyramid was Director Richard Marin. The facts on Marin were scarce: He'd been a real s.h.i.+theel cop, a total bust, incompetent, lacking the usual cruelty and arrogance, his career saved only when he got shot about six million times in some remote h.e.l.lhole in the Pacific. After years of physical rehab, he'd emerged as the newly minted director of the SSFDIA, the King Worm, newly molted. That was it for sure-thing facts. pyramid was Director Richard Marin. The facts on Marin were scarce: He'd been a real s.h.i.+theel cop, a total bust, incompetent, lacking the usual cruelty and arrogance, his career saved only when he got shot about six million times in some remote h.e.l.lhole in the Pacific. After years of physical rehab, he'd emerged as the newly minted director of the SSFDIA, the King Worm, newly molted. That was it for sure-thing facts.

Walking slowly toward the hover, knowing that I would be on all the Vids in a few minutes, I closed my eyes. I thought, with calm, defeated happiness: I'm f.u.c.ked. I'm f.u.c.ked.

VII.

Grin On the Top Of My Head like Heat from a Sun 00101.

I'd never actually been in a Blank Room. It was all in gray. Everything, gray. After about ten minutes I started to wonder if I was going blind. I was starving; I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and felt thinned, wasted. There was an almost imperceptible hum in the air, but whenever I concentrated, it seemed to disappear.

They left me for a long time, just me and the cup of coffee. I didn't know what they did with Gatz, and I didn't worry over it for very long. The coffee confused me. I hadn't had real coffee in months, and the smell of it made my stomach hurt. I'd never been brought in by the System Cops and not beaten up.

When the door snicked snicked open I didn't get the goon squad I'd expected. Instead, I got a single man. Short, well-dressed, wearing a pair of snazzy wrap-around sungla.s.ses, and moving in sudden bursts. And smiling. He entered the room at a brisk walk and didn't stop until he was looming over me, holding out one hand. open I didn't get the goon squad I'd expected. Instead, I got a single man. Short, well-dressed, wearing a pair of snazzy wrap-around sungla.s.ses, and moving in sudden bursts. And smiling. He entered the room at a brisk walk and didn't stop until he was looming over me, holding out one hand.

"Avery Cates, glad to meet you. I'm Richard Marin, director, DIA. You can call me d.i.c.k."

His grin was persistent, and creepy. I stared up at him for a moment, jaw hanging and eyes burning dryly.

"It's customary to shake a hand that's offered you, Mr. Cates, even if it belongs to a policeman," he prompted. "And I'm in a rush; I'm attending a Joint Council subcommittee meeting in Delhi right now."

I reached forward and took his hand limply. This was the G.o.dd.a.m.ned King Worm, and I was shaking hands with him and sipping coffee. I was suddenly very lightheaded. Blood roared in my ears.

"Pleased to meet you, Cates." He began pacing. "Let's see if I've got this right: Avery Cates, age twenty-seven, born in Old Brooklyn about five years prior to Unification. Some early education but not much-in a formal sense. Short sheet, listing some early B&Es and a few bigger jobs . . . then, nothing." He turned suddenly to offer me a twitchy, sudden smile. "Nothing official, of course. In reality, Mr. Cates grew up to be quite the little murderer, didn't he? A shrine to Cainnic Orel and everything."

"I don't think you've ever had the world's most famous Gunner in one of these rooms, Marin," I said weakly. As I got older, I thought about Canny Orel a lot, out of simple desire to be an old man myself. Stories had it he'd been a Gunner before Unification. Although born in Philadelphia, supposedly he'd served the Irish government in the struggle for independence that followed, working for the Saoirse, the Irish Black Ops organization, murdering several early Joint Council members. When Ireland had finally succ.u.mbed to Unification forces and been absorbed, he'd survived and formed the Dunmharu, and had become rich and famous and retired fat. So the stories went.

Unification hadn't been easy, I remembered. There'd been nothing but war, then nothing but bombs going off and officials being murdered, and it wasn't until the SSF got created and funded that things began to settle down. I had a lot of vague, unhappy memories of Unificartion, the last years of struggle.

For a moment he just grinned at me. His teeth were perfect, white and straight. His skin was smooth and pale. It was like a mask being thrust into my face, and a s.h.i.+ver went through me. Then he whirled and continued pacing.

"Forget it! It's true, and let's just agree that if you are are a contract killer, independent, you are a a contract killer, independent, you are a very very smart one. Still, current statistics suggest that you will be dead within three years. You're actually pretty old for a Gunner as it is." smart one. Still, current statistics suggest that you will be dead within three years. You're actually pretty old for a Gunner as it is."

He paused, staring at the far wall as if there was something there. Just when I was gathering myself to try to say something, he whirled again, pinning me with his mirrored sungla.s.ses. Just like a f.u.c.king Monk, Just like a f.u.c.king Monk, I thought. I thought.

"Mr. Cates, why did you set up two System Security Force officers to be killed?"

He was smiling, and then, like a jump-cut, he wasn't. "You were half-successful: Jack Hallier is, in fact, dead. Shot in the head by Monks who were, officially, defending themselves from madmen. Barnaby Dawson-the other other madman-fled the scene shortly after Hallier's demise, but we tracked him down pretty easily. I've had him in a room very much like this one, being beaten to within an inch of his life by a fellow I affectionately call Mongo, and while I personally believe that Captain Dawson is no longer madman-fled the scene shortly after Hallier's demise, but we tracked him down pretty easily. I've had him in a room very much like this one, being beaten to within an inch of his life by a fellow I affectionately call Mongo, and while I personally believe that Captain Dawson is no longer capable capable of lying to me, the story he tells me, over and over again in a sort of mumble because of a few missing teeth, is so of lying to me, the story he tells me, over and over again in a sort of mumble because of a few missing teeth, is so f.u.c.king f.u.c.king unbelievable, I had to have you brought in just so someone else would be in on the joke." unbelievable, I had to have you brought in just so someone else would be in on the joke."

I stared at him, and he f.u.c.king smiled again. I felt s.h.i.+very and weak, as if I was hollow inside.

"You're almost a legend. I can't remember the last time someone killed three three SSF officers in the s.p.a.ce of a few months!" I froze, cold shock splas.h.i.+ng through me, and he nodded crisply. "Colonel Janet Hense, of course, and the unlucky Officer Alvarez found next to your friend's corpse. The teeming ma.s.ses will write songs about you. Tell me about Mr. Gatz," he said suddenly, without pause or transition. "We have very little information on him, and he seems to be a good friend of yours." SSF officers in the s.p.a.ce of a few months!" I froze, cold shock splas.h.i.+ng through me, and he nodded crisply. "Colonel Janet Hense, of course, and the unlucky Officer Alvarez found next to your friend's corpse. The teeming ma.s.ses will write songs about you. Tell me about Mr. Gatz," he said suddenly, without pause or transition. "We have very little information on him, and he seems to be a good friend of yours."