“Westminster Abbey,” I said. “Whatever the fuck it was, it’s now the headquarters of the Electric Church. All local conversions take place here, and administration of the Church worldwide is centered here. Dennis Squalor, founder and high priest of the Church, resides here. Security is very tight. Long story short, only Monks and converts get through the front entrance. All the converts who go through that gate are already dead.”
I let them chew on that for a second and then clicked the remote, and a small room inside the Abbey lit up.
“The front entrance is officially the only way into the Abbey. But it isn’t the only way in. These building plans are black market info. No one is supposed to have them.” I pointed to the red square. “This is the Press Room, where the EC holds its press conferences. Squalor himself appears there once in a while to smile and answer a few softball questions inbetween quoting the fucking Mulqer Codex. The Monks get in to the press room, friends, so there must be a way into the complex proper from the Press Room. And intense scrutiny reveals that there is.”
The whole place was quiet. They were all professionals, and they were soaking up the details. They all knew they’d need them later. I cleared my throat.
“It won’t be quite that easy. If we just force our way in through the Press Room, they send in the cops-and not the Crushers, either, but the officers and the Stormers-and pin us down, and it’s just a fight. We’re not going to fight our way through the whole fucking complex; it goes down pretty deep underground. At least a dozen levels below ground, covering much more square footage than the aboveground component.
“So,” I finished, “we’re going to employ a two-pronged attack. Kieth and I have established that only a Monk can get through the front entrance. You’ve all seen what Mr. Gatz can do when he puts his mind to it. All Monks are controlled by the EC through a behavioral modification chip-the chip that captures his independent thought and keeps the crazies at bay-and we’ve found we can’t replicate and replace the chip in time, and we may need some flexibility, so Mr. Gatz is going to Push Brother West, acting as a substitute for that chip. Brother West will be coherent and independent for a short while after that-longer than most because he will be a volunteer. Brother West will bring me in through the front entrance, quietly, as a convert.
“Simultaneously, the rest of you will be in the Press Room, posing as Vid reporters. The Vids are always in there filming for the features they do on the Church, so it won’t seem out of place. We have all the equipment necessary. Mr. Kieth will make some modifications to the Vid equipment to make it more useful than mere props for us, and I’ve identified a weak spot in that room that should allow you to enter the complex proper.” I indicated a spot on the plans.
Tanner squinted at me. “So if we can just get in through the Press Room, why bother slipping you in the side?”
“We have one shot at this. If we rely entirely on infiltration and I am discovered, that’s it-I can’t possibly fight off every Monk in the place, not to mention whatever automated defenses they have. So we’re not even going to bother with stealth. Your role will be as diversion. Cause a ruckus. Draw their attention. While their response is concentrated on you, I will be sneaking in-unobserved, I hope. I will complete the job, from the other end-with me coming in with the converts, and you making noise, they won’t think to look for anything else. You make noise, and when you get the word or can’t hold out any longer, you extract yourselves.”
No one seemed pleased with this.
They absorbed this. Kieth studied the Monk serenely. Gatz was staring at me from behind his dark glasses, and it made me nervous. Milton and Tanner huddled close, whispering. Canny Orel continued to just smile softly at me, and as I looked he raised both hands and mimed applause.
Marilyn Harper just stared at me, nostrils flaring, somehow expressing rage without moving more than her nose.
“Wait a fucking second,” Milton suddenly shouted, turning back to me. “You’re going in with the Tin Man as a convert?”
I nodded.
“Aren’t all the converts dead?”
I nodded again. “Yes.”
XXVII
HURRY UP NOW, IT’S TIME
It was bright and dry outside for the first time since I’d arrived in London, a beautiful day of light and breezes. I hadn’t slept the night before, as much from nerves as the million stinging cuts I’d inflicted on myself while crawling through the ruins of old London. It wouldn’t have been wise to go outside, since I was temporarily the most famous criminal in the System, so I just rattled around the huge abandoned factory all night, alternately trying to sleep and cleaning my gun, getting to know its action and heft. When morning came, cheerful and clear, I didn’t feel tired at all. My entire existence had changed in a span of days, and it was all coming down to one evening.
I’d known for a while now that I’d somehow exceeded my allotted time, lived too long. I was part of a dead generation, people born before Unification. Nothing made sense to us, even if we couldn’t quite remember the Earth before. It was genetic memory, or something subconscious. Unification hadn’t been our choice, and a lot of us struggled against it. We knew everything was wrong.
Kids, they didn’t know. They’d been brought up in this bullshit, and they thought it was natural, normal. And they’d taken over the world, because most of the people my age were dead.
There was no coffee, and precious little food aside from the Nutrition Tabs Milton and Tanner had stolen from poor fuckers coming off the Dole Line. They kept you going, but in the first light of morning there was no physical joy in swallowing a tablet. I chewed mine thoughtfully, trying to make it contemplative. It didn’t work. I wandered into the Assembly Room with an extra tab and a cup of dirty water.
I paused in front of Brother West, who just stood there staring. I wondered what he thought while just standing there in stasis, if he tried suicide by mental command, or just chewed over his lot. His steady, digital voice still rang in my ears: Kill me… it is all I wish. Gatz sat in front of the Monk, slump-shouldered, staring up steadily. I hadn’t said a word to Kev. I didn’t know what to say.
After a moment I turned to Marilyn Harper. She looked bleary and wrinkled, her hands and bare feet white and cold from her bonds. I knelt in front of her and set the cup on the floor. For a moment I just studied her, her watery eyes staring back at me defiantly. Then I leaned forward, took hold of an edge of the black tape, and tore it off in one sudden motion, slapping my free hand over her raw lips immediately to cut off the scream.
“No talking,” I said as she convulsed, trying to pull away from my hand. “Harper? Ms. Harper, look at me. Look at me.”
She calmed and stared at me, nostrils flaring. I wagged a finger in front of her. “No talking, okay? You say a word, I’ll make sure you don’t get to speak again for a very, very long time. We understand each other?”
She nodded slightly. I pulled my hand from her face. An angry red square remained where the tape had been. She breathed heavily through her nose, staring at me in a combination of anger and terror. I held up the Nutrition Tab. “Breakfast. You’re probably starving. It isn’t poison, it isn’t drugs. You don’t want it, just shake your head. But I doubt anyone else is going to bring you anything.”
She stared at me.
“Listen, if I wanted to rape you, I would have. You’re an inconvenience. We’d much rather cut you loose, and we will in a day or two. So don’t eat if you don’t want to. I don’t care. I’ll let you think on it for five seconds.”