“Better,” Dawson said. “I want to enjoy this, and to do that I need you awake. Don’t pass out again, or I start tearing out your teeth.”
I writhed and moaned, which took very little acting, and snatched a quick glance around the room. Two exits, small, square room. I closed my eyes for a second and pictured the little map of the EC complex. I picked out the room I had to be in, and which door I wanted to get through. I rolled my head back and spotted Dawson, admiring his reflection in the polished metal of one of the doors. No doubt keeping one thought on me, but he was still human inside. Without a mod chip funneling every crazy thought into standard Monk reactions, he was slow and cluttered just like the rest of us.
I took a slow, deep breath, the air slicing my lungs, and clenched my fists hard enough to crack the knuckles. I closed my eyes as I exhaled, and pictured, for a moment, a beach. White sand, almost gray water with white foamy flecks, a blue, crystalline sky. I couldn’t remember when or where I’d seen it-when I’d been a kid? a picture on a Vid? — but it was there, in my head. I recreated it carefully, the quiet sound of waves and wind, the lonely sound of some kind of bird calling in the distance. I concentrated on it, felt my thoughts screw down to a pinpoint, focused on where the gun was. Where Dawson was. If Dawson had hydraulic joints and CPU-aided aim on his side, I had desperation, terror, and pain on mine.
A final glance around the beach, and I moved. One hand went to my gun, tearing it from its hidden holster. The other grabbed the edge of the table as I rolled backward, pulling the table down after me so that it landed on its side and provided instant cover. I landed hard and cracked my head against the concrete again, making me wince and waste a second as a bolt of red blasted through my brain. I came up shooting, but Dawson was in the air, tattered robes fluttering behind him, landing heavy and hard on the table, which collapsed into wreckage under his weight. His hand whipped down and grabbed my gun, cupping the muzzle and forcing me to point it away from him. For one frozen moment we were motionless, Dawson’s reflective sunglasses staring down at me.
“Mr. Cates, you just can’t wait to get killed, can y-”
I pulled the trigger, and Dawson’s hand disappeared in a cloud of latex and metal that pitted my face and stung my eyes. Dawson didn’t react. He just stared down at me for one panted breath, two, three, and then we moved simultaneously: I tried to swing the gun up to blow his fucking head off, and Dawson swung his stump up to block me while still holding on to me with his good hand. His arm glanced off mine, I pulled the trigger, and Dawson was knocked backward over the table by the force of the shot, a ragged hole torn in his neck. He began to twitch violently, shouting in a strangely warped version of the standard Monk’s voice.
“Oh, you fucking motherfucker! You fucking motherfucker!”
I just lay there hurting and watched Dawson, unsure how to take this. I figured I had nicked some vital data bus or wire bank or something. I pulled myself up with effort, and Dawson just kept twitching and screaming. I kept the gun on him and leaned against the table, breathing hard. I knew the Monks had a lot of hidden weaponry, and I wasn’t taking any chances. When the far door snicked open, I looked up tiredly, but didn’t have a chance in hell of fighting any more battles. Our version of Canny Orel appeared, guns in hand and moving fast. Seeing me, he paused, glanced at the twitching Monk, and then back at me.
“You’re making a goddamn racket in here, Cates,” he said.
I bent to pick up one of the nasty-looking cutting tools that had spilled onto the floor and brandished it at him weakly. Behind him, Gatz, Kieth, Milton, and Tanner pushed into the doorway.
“Your cover’s blown, Cates,” Kieth said breathlessly. “The whole place knows you’re here and how you got in. Lucky for you there are dozens of these arrival kiosks, and Ty’s set off alarms in every one of them to cover you for a bit. Might buy us ten minutes.”
“Come on,” I panted. “Help me hold this down. We’ve got work to do.”
XXX
AND WHEN I DIE, I’LL BEQUEATH YOU TO SOMEONE
“Ty hates to tell you this,” Kieth said breathlessly as they all pushed into the room, “but the entire complex knows shots were fired inside.” He glanced down at a small device with a glowing blue screen. “Ty’s been monitoring the EC’s bandwidth, and Christ, it just exploded.”
I nodded weakly. “Come here and help me cut off this fucker’s arms and legs.”
Orel remained standing in the doorway, looking around lazily. They were dressed in remarkably good suits, hair slicked back, each of them bearing a smart-looking black bag, the standard kind of telecom bag the Vids used. I’d seen teams just like them at all the press conferences and riot scenes, and Orel, though old for the job, did have the polished, well-fed look of a Vid reporter. Gatz walked over to Dawson, who still twitched and sputtered. Milton and Tanner walked directly over to me, though, and took one arm each.
“Sit down, chief,” Milton said, her voice oddly gentle. “You look like you’re gonna fall down.”
I shrugged them off, shivering uncontrollably. “No time.”
Gatz glanced up from Dawson. “What are we doing with… this?”
I took a deep breath. “Cut off the arms and legs. I hit something important in his neck. I’m taking him with me, as a tour guide.”
“You motherfucker!” Dawson screamed, his voice warping in pitch and volume. “I’ll kill you forever!”
Kieth was still staring down at his handheld. “Probably the motor function data bus,” he said distractedly.
Gatz hesitated. “He’s going to draw a lot of attention.”
I waved wearily at the air. “We’re already screwed in the attention department. Get to work on him. Then you guys have to get back to being a fucking disturbance.”
“Okey,” Gatz said.
“How’d your end go?” I asked Milton.
She shrugged. “We were waiting on the right moment, when the alarms suddenly rang out. Fuck if we weren’t the only people standing in that fucking room after a minute. So we just followed the floorplan, found our way in, and waltzed in unopposed, as they say.”
“It was good work, that floorplan,” Tanner grunted.
“You were the goddamn disturbance,” Milton added.
“Whatever,” I said, putting my weight on my legs experimentally. “We’re inside. Dennis Squalor’s in here somewhere.”
“Not somewhere,” Kieth interjected, his eyes glued to the little screen. “I can tell you exactly where he is. He’s a goddamn data-well. Everything’s going to and from him in this place.”
I looked at Kieth. “Okay. You’re with me, then. You, me, and Barnaby Dawson.”
You took what came your way. Luck was as much a part of success as surviving murderous ex-SSF Monks. I figured I’d earned a lucky break.
Kieth acted like he hadn’t heard me. “This is impossible, though, the packet rate is just unbelievable.” He looked up and paused for a moment. “What did you say?”
Behind him, Gatz fired up the bone saw, white noise swelling to fill the room. He paused.
“Watch out. There’s gonna be sparks.”
Kieth stepped closer to me. “Ty isn’t muscle, Mr. Cates! He did not sign up to do the heavy lifting!”
“You’re with me,” I said weakly, “or you’re with Mr. Dъnmharъ over there. Make your choice.”
Kieth looked over at Canny, who stood on guard, guns in hand, watching both doors. He looked back at me. “Fuck.”
“The rest of you,” I shouted, “are on diversion duty. This complex is filled with Monks. Get them after you. Keep them chasing. Give us twenty minutes. Mr. Kieth, you can locate Squalor within twenty minutes?”