The Electric Church Part 8

"Okay, okay, d.a.m.n!" She scrambled back and produced a heavy pistol, known on the streets as a Tank Stopper. Also ancient, but it would turn the Monk into spaghetti code with one shot.

With a deep breath, Kieth made an adjustment. Nothing happened. We stared at each other, like eyeball Ping-Pong: I looked at Kieth, he looked at me, I looked at Milton, we all looked at the Monk. Without warning, it spoke, calmly, its voice automatically amplified, like magic.

"I detect that I am bound, and that my system integrity has been compromised," it said. "Explain this."

We all sagged backward, letting out our breath. If it had been able to attack, it would have, I was sure.

"You've been kidnapped," I shouted back, panting with reaction, the tension running through me. "Now shut up. You'll find out what it's all about soon enough."

A few seconds of noise ticked by. I was sure the creepy thing was studying me. "Very well," it said finally, its voice clear above the din. "I will wait. I have time."

XIII.

h.e.l.lo, Rats.

Time to Run.

01001.

"I a.s.sure you, this is not necessary. I would not harm any of you. Life in all its forms is sacred to the Electric Church. Mr. Gatz, I appeal to you."

I was busy helping Kieth unpack his gear and trying to breathe. The warehouse was a sh.e.l.l, a huge spiderweb of beams and tattered insulation, set on fire at least once in the distant past. There was plenty of evidence that it had been used many times by people like us, scuttling along under the SSF's radar.

"What's your name, Monk?" I called out, fighting the urge to cough up a lung. The dust we were stirring up was thick and sulfurous, decay itself. While Kieth and I slapped units together and dragged cable, Milton was double- and triple-tying the Monk to an ancient rusted barber's chair we'd found in the debris, its padding eaten away. Tanner was going over the garbage hover, stripping off unnecessary weight and rerouting the wiring more efficiently. Gatz sat cross-legged in front of the Monk, staring at it intently, the weird b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Altogether we were stirring up a decade's worth of particles.

The Monk turned its white head toward me. "I am Brother Kenneth West, Gamma Brethren, the Electric Church."

"Well, West," I wheezed. "I know you're talking to my a.s.sociate there because he's the only one of us you managed to run through the EC's databanks before we snuffed your connection, but don't waste your time. He can't help you, even if he wanted to. Which I doubt he does."

The Monk stared at me for a few moments. "You are in charge here? Then I shall speak to you. Why have I been abducted? Why have I been tampered with? This is in direct violation of a number of System laws, most notably Joint Council edicts 321 and 322. Tell me," it went on, its voice maddeningly calm and fluid, "do you fear eternity so much, that you seek to prevent me from attaining it?"

Its serenity bugged me. It was programmed, I knew, but it still bothered me. As Kieth and I pulled the last of his black boxes from its sheath, I left the bolting and connecting to the short, bald Techie and walked over to stand in front of the Monk. It looked back at me with its blank, dark-lensed stare, c.o.c.king its head in curious birdlike movement that struck me instantly as somehow familiar.

"Eternity is actually just fifth or sixth on my list of heebie-jeebies, West. Right below bugs crawling into my ears while I'm asleep and above getting gutshot by a Monk and having my brain sucked out of my skull." I put on a bright and cheerful expression. "That leaves lots to be more afraid of. Milton, take those f.u.c.king gla.s.ses off."

"Yessuh," Milton muttered, ducking her head in a mock bow. "As you command, suh." She reached up and tore the gla.s.ses roughly from the Monk's face. A split-second of complete stillness enveloped us.

"Ah, f.u.c.k," Milton grunted.

The Monk had no eyes. In the sockets were small, delicate-looking lenses, cameras, which moved this way and that on tiny motors, probably nano-based. They protruded from empty, dark sockets, moving with subtle jerks, almost subliminally. I didn't want to look at them.

"I a.s.sure you," the Monk said evenly, "I see perfectly well. I do not know why you despise my religion. It is a better existence. An eternal existence, one that leads to salvation. I would be very willing to discuss these things with all of you. You may even leave me bound, if it comforts you. Those who have no hope are often afraid of what they do not understand."

I rubbed my own eyes. "Kieth, you'll be okay with it alone? We need to acquire some equipment, and it's slim pickings in Newark-f.u.c.king-New-Jersey, population f.u.c.k-if-I-know."

"Ty's secure in his d.a.m.nation, Cates. Ty works better on his own, anyway."

"Milton, Gatz, come on. We've got a laundry list before we try to skip the country."

Milton gave one final tug to the Monk's bonds and then popped up. "Yessuh. I'm a-comin', suh."

Gatz swiveled his skeletal head around to face me. "Ave, I'd like to stay here, if it's okay."

I eyed him. "Yeah?"

"I'm working on something."

"All right," I decided. I never knew what was going on behind Gatz's sleepy face, but I knew enough to respect the rare moments he actually expressed an opinion. "Let's go, sister."

"Cates," Milton said, "keep calling us gals gals and and sister sister and you're going to end up a eunuch before this is all over." She said it cheerfully, like it wasn't meant to offend. I just shook my head, thinking I probably wouldn't even notice. and you're going to end up a eunuch before this is all over." She said it cheerfully, like it wasn't meant to offend. I just shook my head, thinking I probably wouldn't even notice.

Silently, we exited the ruined warehouse, picking our way over the rubble that had once been Newark. A lot of cities had been hit pretty hard during the Riots, before the SSF organized effectively. Newark had actually organized as an independent city-state for a few months, refusing to acknowledge the Joint Council or the National Governments. The SSF hadn't left much standing once they'd gotten around to putting down the rebellion, so Newark didn't have much by way of infrastructure anymore. Wireless phones were illegal and hard to find, anyway. Easier to get closed-circle commlinks like the ones Kieth had supplied, but those only worked with links tuned to the same frequency. I was out of ready cash, and had no contacts in Newark-if there were professionals to even contact, in this wasteland-so we'd just have to scavenge for the remainder of our requirements. Which wasn't too bad. The wasteland was also a jungle of ancient, rusting tech, a lot of which could be cannibalized and used.

"What if we unplug that poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d back there and find out he's a true believer? Waiting out Eternity, hoping to shake G.o.d's hand?" Milton suddenly wondered.

"For G.o.d's sake," I complained. "I . . ." I paused, c.o.c.king my head.

"I what?"

I held up a hand and drew my gun. "Shut up. Listen, for a change."

We stood for a moment amid broken stone and twisted metal, lit by the moon and nothing else, the faint outlines of a street stretching out before and behind us. I could hear Milton's breathing, loud and ragged, the sort of breathing that made my job easier, usually. I closed my eyes and just listened. When I popped them open again, my heart was pounding. I shoved Milton's shoulder roughly.

"Run."

I took off without waiting for her, diving into the only cover we had: the buildings, empty, smashed open, easy to jump from one to the other. Milton was right behind me, but making more noise than I liked.

"What is it? Cates! What is it?"

"Hover displacement!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Distant, but coming."

She didn't say anything. She knew what that meant.

I raced through our slim list of options-where could we run? Back to the others so we could all get smashed? The System Pigs weren't out here by accident; there was nothing to patrol out in f.u.c.king Newark. Out here, without crowds and Vids and that peculiar gossip of the crowded cities, whatever thin protection they afforded us was gone. Out here, the cops wouldn't even feel the need to march us out of sight before shooting us.

We ran. I had plenty of experience running, and I moved as best I could, leaping through empty, crumbling windows and forgotten, sagging doorways. I crashed into walls and tripped over rubble, and before long the roar of the hover got close, and the stinging white light of the search lamps began to track us.

The hover's PA system crackled to life. "Run, you f.u.c.king rats, but we're on you now!"

I tripped at the sound of the voice and went sprawling, my teeth clicking shut, hard, on my tongue, my gun skittering away. Elias Moje. The smooth, well-fed voice was unmistakable. Milton leaped over me and ran three long steps before skidding to a halt and hesitating, looking back at me.

"Go!" I shouted, staggering to my knees. My head was ringing. "Don't be an a.s.s! GO!"

"f.u.c.k," she hissed, and spun back to me. She plucked my gun up, grabbed me by the coat and pulled me to my feet with surprising strength. I spat blood as she handed my gun back, and then she was on her way again, running blind. I sprinted to catch up, my mouth full of the coppery taste of my own blood.

The SSF had a million ways to nail you, of course. They weren't burdened by ancient concepts of warrants or rights or due process. They could arrest you for no reason and hold you indefinitely without a charge. They were licensed to kill and had nothing more than paperwork to deter them. They played nice with the lords and ladies, the rich and powerful, sure. People who could push on d.i.c.k Marin and get Internal Affairs to investigate something. But for me? For all of us scuttling through the packed cities picking up a wage here and there, robbing for food and terrified? They did whatever they liked.

Milton and I darted through empty buildings, taking random turns and trying to stay under cover of crumbling roofs as much as possible. After a few minutes, I stopped and held my hand up for Milton who, an old pro, stopped on a dime, panting. I tried to control my own breathing, and listened.

Nothing. Silence.

"All right," I said. "Let's hunker down in here for a few minutes, and then we'll make our way back. Pick up what we can along the way."

She nodded, raising an eyebrow in a way I already recognized as a Milton Tanner trademark. "That's the most amazing plan I've ever heard, chief."

"Just keep your eyes open," I muttered, spitting blood and finding a wall and settling down against it, catching my breath. I contemplated a short, unhappy life spent being chased down by Colonel Elias Moje, and decided I'd have to do something about the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Milton started to move out into the open, but I put a hand on her shoulder and held her back.

"Just wait a moment. Make sure the coast is clear."

She settled down. Useless, of course; if the SSF wanted to stay hidden, there was no way my eyes and ears were going to pick them out. But old habits died hard, and even futile exercises sometimes yielded fruit. So I waited, counting in my head as I let my eyes roam the street outside our warehouse and let my ears soak in the windy silence of the ruined city.

We'd gotten pretty lucky on the walk home, finding a few useful items and a lot of garbage we didn't know what to make of, brought back to Kieth for inspection. There'd been no sign of Moje, but I didn't think he'd just give up, go home, and have a c.o.c.ktail. He was in for the haul, and he had a perfect opportunity here in Newark to kill me without details getting back to Marin. I scanned the black sky and sighed.

"Okay."

We stepped into the warehouse carefully, nervous, but everything looked okay. Tanner, Kieth, and Gatz were gathered around the Monk, who remained tied to the barber chair. I tossed my skag onto the floor with a crash, and they all jumped and whirled. Tanner had a gun trained on me, instinctively, and sagged in relief.

"f.u.c.khead!" she snapped. "I could have shot your f.u.c.king head off."

"You haven't been converted, have you?" I asked, striding forward. "Things looked pretty reverent in here."

"Avery," Kieth said slowly, glancing back at the Monk. "Mr. Gatz has something to show you."

I raised an eyebrow and looked at Gatz, who stared back at me from behind his gla.s.ses with what I could only a.s.sume was . . . excitement. Having never seen it in Gatz before, I had to a.s.sume what the faint coloring in his face meant. "Let's have it, Kev."

Gatz licked his lips, but as he drew in breath to tell us, the dim warehouse flooded with the familiar antiseptic white light.

"h.e.l.lo, rats," Moje's voice boomed from the night. "Mr. Cates, I gave you a warning. warning. I am I am very very disappointed to find you here. Time to run." disappointed to find you here. Time to run."

XIV.

So I Can Kill You Again!

00100.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," I muttered. I ran my eyes over the place, made my decision immediately. "Kieth, Milton, Tanner, take the unit and get out. I don't care where right now, just get out. get out. Kev, you're with me. The Pigs want me, so they'll follow us. Kieth, wait a minute until the hover goes after us, then get the f.u.c.k out of here." Kev, you're with me. The Pigs want me, so they'll follow us. Kieth, wait a minute until the hover goes after us, then get the f.u.c.k out of here."

I looked around again. "We meet in London as planned. I'll find you. And if you f.u.c.king screw me, I will find you faster. Move!"

"We're gone!" Milton shouted, leaping into the garbage hover. "Gonna stay low, a few feet off the ground, and follow the streets. SSF won't pick us up on their screens that way."

"You'll what what?" Kieth said, aghast. "f.u.c.king crazy b.i.t.c.hes, you can't steer this thing through streets. streets."

"Watch us, little man. Get your science project on board and stop b.i.t.c.hing."

Gatz and I ran out the back way. The search lamps. .h.i.t us immediately, and we pushed into the maze of ruined buildings moments before a burst of gunfire chewed up the rubble behind us. The taste of grit coated my throat as we scrambled through what was left of the ruined city, and we barreled through dark rubble-strewn rooms without regard or thought for the half-million things a man could trip over and impale himself on.

The roar of hover displacement was right behind us. I just ran as best I could, ducking and diving through the endless blasted buildings until we found ourselves back on the remnants of Newark's streets, facing a blank wall, undamaged. We skidded to a halt and stared around helplessly, and I imagined I could feel the hover cresting the building behind us, searching the ground. My eyes fell on a manhole cover set in the ground, obscured by debris. I shoved Gatz.

"Go! The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's after me. Go and I'll meet you in London!"

Gatz nodded as the white light, pure and painful, swallowed us. I backed away quickly, trying to stay in the shadows created by the buildings. Gatz glanced back at me as I stepped carefully backward, and I stopped moving, a familiar feeling of listless cooperation stealing over me for a second. He winked and dropped the gla.s.ses back in place. I stumbled back into motion.

"I'll see you there, Ave!" Gatz shouted over the roar of the hover.

I didn't stop to think. I turned and dived for the manhole cover. In New York we often used the old sewers to get around. h.e.l.l, staying alive in the System when you didn't have money was a full-time job, and back when I was fifteen and running with the Snuff Thieves pulling the old dust-in-the-eyes-credit-disc-in-the-hand routine I'd learned that there were hidden roads under the streets. We kids used to live live in the d.a.m.n sewers. But the SSF had caught on and started wiring them up, motion detectors, motion-activated cameras, random patrols. It was illegal to travel the sewers-just one of the endless stream of laws by the Joint Council. There were at least ten new ones a week, along with countless amendments. My coat, filled with various tools for various occasions (you didn't live to be a spry twenty-seven by being unprepared for bad news), produced a simple hooked wrench that fitted into the small opening in the lip of the cover perfectly. in the d.a.m.n sewers. But the SSF had caught on and started wiring them up, motion detectors, motion-activated cameras, random patrols. It was illegal to travel the sewers-just one of the endless stream of laws by the Joint Council. There were at least ten new ones a week, along with countless amendments. My coat, filled with various tools for various occasions (you didn't live to be a spry twenty-seven by being unprepared for bad news), produced a simple hooked wrench that fitted into the small opening in the lip of the cover perfectly.

"Hey, rat!" Moje's voice boomed over the noise as the hover cleared the building, its spotlight finding me and lighting up my world like noon in Times Square. "If you make me go down into that s.h.i.+t, I will have doctors resuscitate you after I kill you so I can kill you again! again!"

I flung the cover up and away, losing my wrench in the process. I shoved my feet in and hugged myself, sliding down into the darkness as bullets once again cracked the pavement. I could tell immediately that these sewers were deeper than those in New York, and I just closed my eyes and waited for impact.

When it came, it hurt like h.e.l.l, but it didn't kill me. I hit water, and after it smacked me in the back like a block of cement, I sank and choked immediately. Avery Cates, world-famous Gunner, drowning in four f.u.c.king feet of ancient s.h.i.+t.

The humiliating thought of my shriveling reputation spasmed me into determined thras.h.i.+ng, and I started to kick up to the surface, coming to my senses and changing direction after a few kicks. If I were Moje, I'd order my Stormers to fire down into the water for a moment, try to hit me before I even surfaced. I swallowed ancient s.h.i.+t and kicked for all I was worth in a random direction. All the other bulls.h.i.+t aside, I was running for my life now. Who gave a f.u.c.k if the Monks swallowed the world, or if the Joint Council finally made all of us illegal, or if the SSF tore my arms and legs off for spite after I was gone-it was a matter of whether I would live to see the next hour or not.

My stomach turned from what I'd swallowed, my lungs burned, and I couldn't seem to order my eyes to open, to see the actual filth I was swimming in. I just swam until my hands and knees sc.r.a.ped stone, and stood up in shallower water, only up to my waist. The walls gleamed with slimy, reflected light smeared over the old bricks, stretching off into blackness. There was no chance of secrecy, of being careful; I had to breathe. I sucked in air loudly and flailed around in the water for a few seconds, orienting myself. The shaft of bright white light coming down through the manhole was about fifteen feet behind me. The fact that I was still alive indicated that the Stormers hadn't come in after me yet. The sound of the hover indicated that they were coming, probably fast.

I pulled my backup weapon, aimed at the pool of hard light directly below the manhole. The Stormers would be close to invisible in their ObFu Kit. I kept my hands still and waited . . . waited . . . waited . . .

Two splashes, one on top of the other. I put four sh.e.l.ls into each spot, turned, and ran for all I was worth through the water. It smelled like something had died down here, the air burning my throat. Before I'd gone more than ten or fifteen more feet, I heard a third splash, then a fourth and a fifth.

Everything was in slow motion, every ripple on the oily water, every jagged edge of the walls standing out in harsh relief as my mind raced and my heart seized up-I had just killed an SSF officer. This would make the fourth I'd either killed or caused to be killed in recent months, but the first had been an accident, a mistake, and I'd spent a lot of time and sweat erasing any connections between it and me, lying awake at nights listening for the sound of a hover, the whipping sound of Stormers sailing down on wires to raid my building, grab me up, and execute me on the f.u.c.king roof. The second hadn't been my fault, though the Pigs, in their infinite Drum Trial wisdom, wouldn't care. And the third I'd done remote control-I was blocks away when it'd happened, and if that crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d Dawson had done his duty and died, too, no one would have known of my involvement.

But this, this was different. I'd reached out, personally, and taken this one. There would be a record of who they'd been chasing. Moje would be more than happy to spread the tale. I didn't think even the unofficial patronage of d.i.c.k Marin could save me if it became general knowledge.

My arm ached from holding the gun steadily in the air-I had just killed a motherf.u.c.king System Pig. As the implications. .h.i.t me I found myself running on autopilot, my mind paralyzed with an odd mixture of dread and relief. I had killed a cop; any thin barrier between me and the vengeance of two million Pigs all over the world was gone, burned up in a muzzle flash. The System Pigs could be bought, they could be fooled occasionally, and they sometimes tolerated things out of laziness or for profit. But people who killed SSF-the few who had been stupid enough these past twenty years-they were hunted.

And made examples of.

"Better run, rat," Moje shouted, receding behind me. "You're a cop-killer, now. Two of my team! We're gonna have to punish you for that."

Two down, I thought, recovering as I pounded along. Forget the dead cops-it couldn't be helped. Besides, when they started sending the Stormers into the f.u.c.king sewers after you, you were pretty much on the SSF s.h.i.+tlist anyway, so how could a couple of dead cops make things worse?

Thinking such cheerful thoughts, I added the attrition of Moje's team to my slim list of advantages. It didn't do me much good; I didn't have any other plan. I had no idea where the sewers led, where I'd be when I emerged, or if I'd be able to stay ahead of my pursuers.

You're screwed now, Avery, I panted to myself as I ran. I panted to myself as I ran. Shoulda known twenty-seven was too old. You've pushed your luck. Shoulda known twenty-seven was too old. You've pushed your luck.