“Jim, can you stop them?” Alic demanded. His e-butler was printing a list of insert and OCtattoo failures across his virtual vision. It was all in default-mode green text.
“Stop what?”
Alic fired his ion pistol at the armor suit standing above the Agent. It didn’t even strain the force field. “Where are you?”
“On the ground.”
Alic fired again, this time aiming at the wooden floor the suited figure was standing on. The planks smashed apart, and the suit dropped through the hole, arms grabbing at air. “There’s one level with you; take it out,” Alic said. The remaining suit was leveling a grenade launcher at Alic. “Mike, Yan, Nyree, can anyone get a fireline on the suit with the Agent?”
“Got them,” Yan replied.
An explosion sent Alic spinning back up the sloping floor to crack his head against the bottom of the bar counter. The force field only partially absorbed the impact. He choked at the pain. The blazing wreckage of Treetops rotated around him. People were jumping from the remaining sections of floor into the dark space beyond; they were on fire, trailing flames through the night, orange sparks fizzing out behind them. Screams pierced the air, repeatedly overwhelmed by the shot of another rifle, or a plasma grenade detonating. One of the big trees that Treetops was built around was starting to keel over, a ponderous motion that was speeding up.
The Agent’s force field flickered and died. Flames scorched straight through his slick leather suit. He screamed as his skin crisped. The armor-suited figure above him raised one arm. Alic saw a harmonic blade gleam in the garish firelight.
“Yan!” Alic called. “Again.”
The harmonic blade swiped down. A fusillade of plasma bolts hammered the armored figure just as it beheaded the Agent. Alic cried out in horror as the Agent’s head bounced away across the buckled floor planks, blood splattering out of the severed neck, its short hair singed and smoking. He was never going to forget the startled expression locked on the Agent’s face as his head skittered toward the drop.
The armored attacker had been pushed sideways by the carbine shots, losing balance to tumble backward onto the slanting floor. Twisting coils of energy wrapping around the suit grounded out through the fractured oak beams. The miniature lightning blizzard suddenly shifted around to streak upward as the vast weight of the collapsing tree crunched down. Suit, floor, and the Agent’s corpse vanished under a swirling mass of flame that shattered the remainder of the bar. Alic felt the planks finally give way, sending him tumbling through the air, waving his arms and legs frantically. He hit the ground hard, with the force field inflating out around him like a scratchy pillow. It absorbed some of the collision, but he felt several ribs crack. He retched helplessly. The Agent’s head bounced on the damp soil beside him, skin charred and peeling off blackened bone. Even through all the pain and nausea he knew to grab for it. The disgusting thing was nestled in the crook of his arm when an armor suit appeared above him.
“Jim?”
“ ‘Fraid not, Chief,” Tarlo’s voice boomed through the bedlam. A plasma carbine was lowered. Its muzzle stopped five centimeters from Alic’s face.
“Fuck you, traitor,” he snarled.
A grenade went off right beside them, flinging both of them through the air amid a cloud of soil and tree fragments. Alic crashed into a tree trunk two meters above the ground and dropped like a stone. His force field was flickering around him on the verge of total breakdown, allowing overheated air to slide excruciatingly over injured flesh; green virtual vision text turned into random horizontal squiggles against the orange inferno. Through a haze of pain he saw the smoking black lump that was the Agent’s head, still rolling along the steaming ground away from him.
Tarlo was walking toward it. Alic tried to get up. His left side was completely numb. “Yan! Jim! Somebody help!”
Tarlo picked up the head. His suit’s jetpack spat out two spears of near-invisible blue flame, and he rose into the glaring conflagration that was consuming the jungle canopy. A cascade of huge blue and white sparks plummeted down in his wake.
“Vic, shoot him, just shoot him out of the sky, don’t let him take it, his memorycell’s in there. Vic, it’s Tarlo. Vic?” His voice fell to a whimper. He rolled onto his back, and pointed his ion pistol into the falling plume of sparks where Tarlo had vanished, ready to blast away. But there was only his empty hand, skin torn and bleeding, two fingers bent back where the knuckles had been broken. “I’ll find you,” he rasped at the swarming flames as the heat beat against him. “I will find you, fucker.”
***
Mellanie made it up to the Saffron Clinic’s third floor before she noticed something was wrong. The scrutineer programs she’d so carefully infiltrated into the arrays on the two floors below her were no longer responding. In fact, the whole of the net on those two floors was now dark.
She stopped and reviewed the tiny amount of data she could access. So far she’d only infiltrated three arrays on this floor, and her programs weren’t telling her anything. The clinic net certainly hadn’t issued any alarm, which was very strange. Management programs must have noticed the dropout. Not that she could query them.
So far she’d only passed a couple of staff on the evening shift, technicians in deep conversation. They hadn’t paid her any attention. The nurse’s uniform she’d put on was like wearing a stealth suit. There was nobody else in the corridor; she checked along it, uncertain what to do next. One of the rooms she wanted was right at the far end, barely thirty meters away.
Sections of the net on this floor started to drop out. “Damnit,” she hissed. Someone else must be infiltrating the clinic’s electronics, and they were a lot better at it than she was. They were shutting the whole place down one processor at a time.
There was a stairwell three meters behind her. Mellanie gave the Nicholas suite at the far end one last longing glance. She was so near…one of the lawyers was on the other side of the door. But it could well be Alessandra’s newest set of goons creeping up through the clinic. And if they knew she was here, they would have told the lawyers.
Why would anyone working for Alessandra have to creep around? They’re all on the same side.
Mellanie hurried back to the stairwell door. She pushed at the release bar. There was no alarm; all the circuitry around it was dead. It swung open to reveal a vast source of electromagnetic energy in the stairwell. Mellanie let out a shocked gasp as an armor-suited figure pointed a gun at her forehead.
“Do not move,” it said quietly. The voice was male. “Do not shout or attempt to alert anyone that we are here.”
Mellanie manufactured some tears—it wasn’t hard. “Please don’t shoot.” Her legs were shaking. A second armored figure slipped around the first, quickly followed by five more.
If they’re Alessandra’s, she’s really taking no chances.
“Turn around,” the suited man said. “Put your hands behind your back, cross the wrists.”
The armored suits were moving along the corridor. Mellanie had no idea suits that heavy and big could move so quietly. Then a thin plastic cord tightened around her wrists. “Ow!”
“Quiet, or I will use a nervejam.”
She was half sure her inserts could deflect that. But she’d have to activate them—and even if she did get the sequence right, then what? “Sorry,” she whispered.
“In here.” She was pulled into the stairwell.
“Name?”
“Er…Lalage Vere, I’m a nurse in the dermal specialist unit.” She felt something being pressed to her hand.
“The name’s on file, but she doesn’t match the clinic biometric.”
“She wouldn’t,” said a female voice.
Mellanie knew who that belonged to. Even as she let out a long breath of relief she couldn’t help wincing. A hard gauntlet was placed on her shoulder, turning her around. There were about ten more armored people in the stairwell, one of them markedly shorter than the others. “Good evening, Mellanie,” the
small suit said.
“Oh, good evening, Investigator Myo. Fancy seeing you here.” It was bravado; she was trying not to sulk at how swiftly Paula had seen past her dark hair and freckles.
“We found the chief janitor downstairs,” Paula said. “He was tied to a bench in the locker room; not that there was any need—he’s got so much narcotic in his blood he doesn’t know which universe he’s in.”
“Really? And they let people like that work here? I’m astonished.”
“I’m more interested why you’re here, Mellanie.”
“Reporting was getting kind of hectic. I fancied a change of profession.”
“Mellanie, people’s lives are at stake here tonight. A lot of lives. I will ask once more, why are you here?”
Mellanie sighed. There really was no way out. “I’ve tracked down the lawyers. All right? It’s not a crime. They’re the criminals, and we both know what they did wrong.”
“You mean Seaton, Daltra, and Pomanskie?”
“Yes.”
“They’re here?”
“Duh. Yes. I just said.”
“When did they arrive?”
“Didn’t you know?” Mellanie said smugly. “They’ve been here receiving treatments more or less since they went on the lam from New York.”
“What sort of treatments? Have they received weapons wetwiring?”
“I’m not sure, you interrupted me. The new DNA thing, I suppose. It wasn’t cheap, whatever they got.”
“Which rooms are they in?”
“One’s in the Nicholas suite, on this floor; the other two are sharing the Fenay suite on the fifth floor.”
“Okay, thank you, we’ll take it from here, Mellanie.”
“What! You can’t just—”
“Grogan, take her down to Renne.”
Gauntlets grabbed her upper arm, metal fingers closing painfully. “Yow! Hey, I found them, you could at least let me cover the arrest for my report.”
“I’d advise against it. This is not a safe environment.”
“I was doing fine until you blundered in.” She paused. If Myo hadn’t known the lawyers were in the clinic, what…?
Grogan pulled her toward the stairs. The suit was too strong for Mellanie to resist. “You’ve got to give me something, Myo.”
“We’ll talk later. A long talk.”
Mellanie didn’t like the sound of that.
“Tactical update,” Paula informed the arrest teams. “We now have three more confirmed hostiles on site in addition to Bernadette. Possible locations: one in the Nicholas suite, two in the Fenay. Be advised, there could be more. This appears to be where Starflyer agents receive their wetwiring.”
The map in her virtual vision displayed the positions of the armor suits. She quickly adapted their interdiction roles, assigning three members to each lawyer.
“Hoshe, can you review the arrays we’ve sequestered? I’d like to confirm what Mellanie told us.”
“We’re working on it now. I didn’t know she was that good.”
“Mellanie is starting to interest me greatly. But we’ll have to deal with the clinic first.”
“Third-floor net shut down,” Hoshe said. “We’re establishing our programs on four and five, preparing to insert on six.”
“That’s good.” Paula examined the map. “Warren, move out into the fourth floor.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Renne, when Mellanie reaches your team I want you to hold her in custody but separate from the rest of the clinic staff; do not let her call anyone. That’s important.”
“Understood.”
“How’s the perimeter?”
“Solid and holding. It looks like half the city police are here.”
“Damn, that’s what I was worried about. Someone up here is going to notice what we’re doing.”
“Confirm the three admissions matching the lawyers,” Hoshe said. “Mellanie was telling the truth.”
“We’ve been exposed,” Warren Halgarth called. “Four staff members, one client walked out in front of us. Can’t contain them all.”
Paula cursed, though they’d got a lot further with their dark incursion than she’d expected. “Everyone, go hot. They know we’re here. Arrest teams move in immediately. And find me Bernadette.” She stood to one side, allowing the rest of the third-floor team to deploy out of the stairwell.
“Shit,” Warren exclaimed. “The client is weapons wetwired. Challenging us.”
“Is it one of the lawyers?” Paula’s map was updating. Teams were deploying along each floor. Matthew Oldfield was leading five officers to the Fenay suite, while John King was closing on the Nicholas. Barely a third of the clinic staff had been taken down to Renne’s team, where they’d be safe.
She heard the dull rumble of an explosion. Small flecks of dust shook free from the pipes running up the concrete stairwell. More explosions began. There were screams. Hoshe used aggressive infiltrators and took complete control of the clinic’s net.
Paula drew her plasma carbines, and moved out into the corridor. People were opening doors, peering out, yelling. Doors were slammed shut. The armor suits kicked them down again, hauling out the terrified staff and clients. John King and his two teammates blew the door to the Nicholas suite. A plasma bolt flew out. The screaming in the corridor reached a crescendo.
“Deactivate your weapons and come out,” John’s suit speaker boomed.
There was a big explosion inside the Nicholas suite. Debris and smoke billowed out into the corridor.
“He blew a hole in the floor,” John called. “Jumped down to the second level.”
“Acknowledged,” Marina called. “We’re deploying.”
John’s team charged through into the suite. Paula was waving the other members of the third-floor team along the corridor as they half carried staff and clients through the miasma. “Do not leave any of them unaccompanied,” she warned. “Medical forensics must clear them first.”
“Visual on Bernadette,” Warren called. “We’re engaging.”
Paula turned and raced back for the stairwell. Another explosion cut the lights. She was seeing the clinic through microradar and infrared. Sprinklers went off, and the fire alarm shrilled. The ceiling bulged down just in front of her, long cracks multiplying down the walls on either side.
“She won’t surrender,” Warren said. “Joined by another hostile. Both wetwired.”
“Can you disable her?” Paula asked.
“Not a chance.”
Paula reached the stairwell as a volley of explosions reverberated around the concrete shaft. Emergency lighting came on, an intense yellow slicing through the cloying gray smog that was swirling down the broad shaft. A long convoy of armor-suited figures was escorting cowering prisoners down the stairs. She pushed past them.
“Two hostiles engaged,” Matthew said. “They were in the Fenay suite.”
“Capture alive if you can,” Paula said.
“Do my best.”
“Got some debris down here,” Renne said. “Glass falling all over the plaza.”
“Any bodies?” Paula asked. “If their force fields are good enough they might try to jump clear.”
“None yet.”
“Watch for it.”
The explosions and sound of plasma shots had ended by the time Paula rushed out onto the clinic’s fourth floor. There were no elegant treatment rooms anymore; half of the walls were gone, opening up the entire level. Wreckage was strewn everywhere, some smoking, the rest saturated with water and blue suppression foam. Most of the ceiling was down as well, exposing the Greenford’s main structural beams. Fortunately, they seemed to be intact. Water was gushing out of several thick pipes to form large filthy pools across the floor. The glass windows had all been blown out.
Several bodies were lying amid the destruction.
“Hellfire,” Paula exclaimed.
“Sorry,” Warren said. “We had to terminate them.”
“Okay. Where are the
corpses? We need to run a DNA confirmation.”
“Over here.” He scrambled over the piles of rubble, leading her around the tower’s core. Several armor suits were busy digging injured survivors out.
“We think these two.”
Inside the helmet, Paula wrinkled up her nose at the sight. The two bodies had been badly burned, then crushed by steel beams and concrete sections. Filthy water lapped around their scorched extremities. The remnants of their clothing were wrapped around them, scraps of blackened cloth. Paula recognized a fragment of the deep blue trousers that Bernadette had been wearing as they pursued her across Tridelta for most of the day. Parts of her body were untouched, corresponding to the bands of an insert force field skeleton. Her arms had the ruptures Paula knew came from internal power cells igniting, the kind used to power weapons. She pulled out a small DNA reader unit, and touched the stubby sampler prong against an unblemished segment of skin.
“It’s her,” she said as the data ran down her virtual vision.
The other corpse was slightly larger. Probably male. Paula examined him. Damage to his limbs had all been caused by external force. He certainly hadn’t been using a force field. His burned outer layers were no use to her DNA reader; she had to clench her jaw and push the stubby prong through the damage so it could reach internal organs. “Doesn’t look like he was wetwired.” Then she noticed the shreds of his clothes, the fabric the same dark red of the Saffron Clinic uniform. The DNA wasn’t registered in the Senate Security database. She told her e-butler to access Tridelta police and civic files.
“Are you sure this is the second one?” she asked.
“Not really,” Warren said. “This is the location where all the resistance came from.”
“But you’re sure two people were firing at you?”
“That’s a definite.”
“John, have you got your target?”
“Yes. The DNA is weird. I’ve got variants across the body, but some of it matches Daltra.”
“Thank you. Matthew, what about you?”
“Two hostiles taken out. One positive ID: Pomanskie. We’re trying to salvage the second body. There’s not a lot of it left intact.”