“Excellent,” I said, closing the bag and tucking it away. “Much appreciated, Mr. Materiel. We’ve got some more business for you, if you’re up for it.”
He studied Orel for another second or two, and then turned back to me, instantly breaking into a wide smile. “M’bizness, Mr. Cates? Certainly. What can ol’ Jerry git f’you now?”
I glanced at Orel, and with a smirk he handed the slip of paper over to Jerry. On my other side, Gatz appeared to be sound asleep. Or dead.
Materiel’s smile faded as he read through the list. “This is an intrestin’ recipe, Mr. Cates. Damn dif’cult, too. This fir’ part, fer example…”
I let my mind wander as he launched into the usual fence bullshit: how hard everything was going to be to procure, how hot a commodity I was, and how he wasn’t even sure it was wise to work with me, all leading up to the inevitable conclusion that this was going to cost me extra. I’d bought guns and other things off the black market a thousand times, and half the time it was a simple transaction, and the other half it was like being married to the fucking fence.
Something strange was going on in the street.
This stretch of city had been hit pretty bad in the Riots, but in a selective way. A lot of buildings were scorched and crumbling, left to rot these last fifteen or twenty years, but some of them were untouched, pristine. Rubble was piled, as far as I could see, exactly where it had settled twenty years before. Some of the empty lots had sprouted into wild jungles, ignored for decades. Men and women of a familiar type-sallow, skinny, penniless, and pissed off-stood in small groups or moved along in slow, unhappy circles, scowling around. Occasionally a prosperous peasant would scurry by, slightly plumper and a little less desperate, but for the most part it was just people like me.
And, of course, the Monks.
They worked the street in gangs-I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or not, but I thought there were more of them in one place than I’d ever seen before. I thought of Dick Marin telling me that the whole world would be Monked in a few years. On each corner one of the metal bastards was standing on a box, arms raised, preaching the Mulqer Codex. They spoke without pause or hesitation, all of it programmed in, automatic. Teams of the things moved up and down the street, smiling their fake smiles, leaving most of the people alone but pausing here and there to accost anyone who looked particularly hopeless and miserable, gently urging them to hand over their humanity for a chance at salvation. A lot of the hardcases on the street shut up and watched carefully when the Monks approached, but glowered menacingly after them when they passed. When the Monks passed near us, I looked down at the pavement. I was worried they would scan my face and come after me. The Electric Church had to know I was in London, but there was no margin in letting them know exactly where I was.
As I watched, the street began to dry up. People faded into the shadows, into the buildings, walking away. I’d seen the phenomenon often enough in New York, and when I glanced at Canny I found him looking at me. He nodded, subtly, and I grimaced. It usually meant one thing: System Police were coming. I turned to Jerry Materiel.
“Cut the crap,” I said, standing up. “Can you fill the order or not?”
He scratched behind his ear, squinting at the list, his face made up entirely of folds of skin and stubble.
“Well, yea, I s’pose I ken-”
Canny was on his feet, too, urging Gatz up. I held up a hand to stop Jerry in midsentence.
“How much, then?”
He looked at me from under his eyebrows. “Won’t be cheap, Mr. Cates. I ken ashur ya of that.”
The street was clearing out, criminals disappearing like water down a drain. My whole body tensed, heart pounding, as I waited for the hammer to drop. But I kept my face calm-the act could never fail, even for a second, or the sharks would smell blood-and half an eye on Materiel’s boys, who were starting to catch the scent of doom, but were still following orders and keeping their distance.
“Name a price.”
It was agonizing, watching Materiel do calculations on the fly, precious seconds getting away from us. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see even the Monks packing it up and starting to drift off to greener pastures as word spread. The Electric Church might be the world’s only religion in a few years, but at present the System Pigs were still at the top of the food chain.
Materiel smiled cunningly and quoted a number that made my hair stand up on my arms. I opened my mouth to protest the obvious gouging, but Orel put a leathery, curiously heavy hand on my arm.
“Done,” he said to Materiel, holding out his credit dongle in the other hand. “I’m good for it.”
Materiel ran Orel’s credit and smiled, nodding. “Very well, then, gentlemen. Where shall I make delivery?”
I was already moving, Gatz and Orel on my heels. “We’ll find you.”
When we were a few feet away, Orel fell into step next to me. “Looks like a standard SSF hunt-and-gather.”
I nodded, trying to have my eyes everywhere. “I’m getting tired of running from the fucking Pigs.”
“Then you should be in another line of work, Mr. Cates.” He gestured behind us. “They’ll be coming from over there, I’m thinking, with a hover in the air over here to herd us.”
“Right. Split up,” I said, turning sharply away from them and heading for a ruined wall. It looked like a good prospect for a clear way out of the neighborhood. It was best to stay low; the SSF used air superiority ruthlessly. I had gone about four more steps when I heard Orel shout behind me.
“Run, you idiot!”
I turned in time to see Orel give Gatz a shove to get him moving as a huge hover, the biggest I’d ever seen, leaped into the air above the ruined church, the roar of its displacement exploding around us, a storm of noise. The few slow people who were still hanging around the street scattered like roaches in the light. I looked down, and a dozen or so System Pigs emerged from the church, guns drawn, moving fast toward us, a cloud of clumsy and unhappy Crushers around them.
Gatz ran with surprising speed and agility, but Canny stood his ground. Sweeping his coat back to reveal his twin Roons, shining in the dirty light, he drew each and released the custom, old-school safeties with an audible snick of metal on metal.
“Mr. Cates,” he yelled without looking at me. “You owe me twenty yen, yes?”
I kept backing away, entranced in spite of myself. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted, horror swamping my better judgment for a moment and rooting me to the spot. “Move your ass!”
He shook his head. “Cainnic Orel does not run.”
I whirled and thought to myself, Well, Christ, you’re not Cainnic Orel, and fuck that-Avery Cates does.
XXV
HAS DEFINITELY BEEN YOUR LUCKY FUCKING DAY
Immediately, there was a volley of shots behind me, like firecrackers. I ducked into the ruined lot behind the crumbling wall and pushed myself to run faster, chalky dust billowing up around me. But the fucking Pigs-despite a Cainnic Orel pretender slinging bullets at them, despite Kev Gatz scurrying away-within a few seconds I knew there were at least three hot on my trail. I tore my dark glasses off and yanked one of the guns from my sack, wondering if there was enough luck left in the universe for it to be loaded.
I didn’t know anything about London-if there were Safe Rooms buried in these sagging, ancient buildings, where the sewers might lead me, if there were any friendlies nearby who might take me in. I didn’t even know where to hide, and I cursed everything under my breath as I ran. I’d somehow slipped behind the curtain, and was running through a ruined section, all rubble and uncleared streets, staggered walls looking ready to collapse on top of me. To lighten the load and gain a fraction of speed, I tossed the bag with the rest of the guns and popped the clip from the old Roon 85 I’d selected-three lonely armor-piercing bullets shining inside it. Armor-piercers were rare; the cops themselves had stopped using them years ago due to their expense, and they were highly prized in the underground-Jerry must not have realized he had an extra hundred yen in profit sitting in this gun. With one in the chamber that made four shots. Three cops, four shots. It was the biggest break I’d gotten in a while, and it made me nervous.