"I know. That's why we can't run. Dabria hit me with something else."
"What are you talking about? I didn't hear her say anything."
"She was in my head." I gesture frantically. "I don't know how. Maybe she's like me. You know — she might have some sort of extrasensory ability. But here's the point: she says she installed an erasure virus to your root code, Hel. She claims she can… kill you."
Hel's expression goes still; eyes quivering as she processes the information. The screen background darkens, and her face alters, softening into a childish, frightened version of herself that nearly tears my heart in two. I feel my resolve harden, knowing I would do anything to protect her from harm.
A single teardrop glimmers like a liquid crystal and slides down her cheek. "What are we going to do?" she whispers. "You can't let her kill me, Dean. I… I don’t want to die."
I bite my lip, trying to stay strong for her. "We do as she says for now. See what kind of game she's playing. She said something about a job. Something that pays big."
"What are you saying? You want to work with this woman after she threatened me like that? We can't trust her, Dean. I know her type. She'll use you and get rid of you after the job is done. She'll kill both of us. Put your Sensync gear on. I can't talk to you like this. We need to be face-to-face."
I place my fingers on the holographic screen, wishing I could. But I know the same as she does that if I see her like that, smell her scent, feel her touch… she'll talk me into doing whatever she wants. And both of us will pay the price for my weakness.
"I can't. Not right now. I need a clear head, Hel. I can't focus on the problem if I can't think straight."
She stares disbelievingly. "What are you saying?"
"I have to protect you, Hel. Wait for me at the safehouse. I'll call you when I have something to share." I place a finger on the END CALL button.
The darkness thickens around her like something alive, claiming all of her except her tearful face, pale with fright. "No. Don't leave me, Dean. I'm scared. I need you to—"
Shutting the call down feels as painful as cutting off my hand. My chest heaves and hot tears spill from my eyes. But I have to do it. For both of our sakes, I have to face this on my own.
The entire warehouse rattles as an aircraft drops from the sky. I stand up, powdered by chalky dust that falls from the rafters. Keno's guards shout to each other in confusion, but I know what’s happening. I walk past some of them and exit out into the humid outdoors, where the air is still thick with stirred-up dust. I embarrass myself right away by succumbing to a coughing fit.
Dabria's airship has just landed; sharp, gleaming, and dangerous, just like the woman herself. It is fashioned like a bird, complete with wings equipped with slim panels that replicate feathers. She is the first to exit, walking with sinuous strides straight toward me as I bend over, hacking my lungs out.
"I'm glad to see you made the right choice, Specter."
I try to salvage my pride, straightening up to look her in the eye.
"One thing from the start. I’m not a killer. I won’t jack a synoid to assassinate anyone. That’s not who I am."
She regards me with a cold expression. "I know who you are, Specter. You’re an addict. And like so many others, you support your addiction by theft and robbery. But don’t worry. I don’t want you to kill anyone."
"Then what do you want from me?"
She reaches up, taps the side of her helmet. The lock disengages with a whirring sound, and the dome and visor retract and slide back into the neck guard. Her ageless face is chiseled and statuesque with large, dark eyes that glimmer with anguished pride. Her shoulder-length hair, slicked back from the helmet, is black as fresh ink. The scar on her face runs from eyebrow to cheekbone. She has the face of a warrior. A survivor.
Her fierce eyes lock onto mine. "I don't need you to kill for me. I need you to save someone’s life."
Chapter 8: 3N16MA
"Let me guess," Agent Rogers says. "Another dead end."
We're back in the jet chopper, flying in low altitudes over tangled thickets and steaming, mist-enshrouded woods that look more like a primordial jungle than the San Bernardino National Forest. Once in a while, a rooftop or building is briefly visible, relics of civilization reclaimed by nature after the Cataclysm. Rogers sits with his five-man squad on the other side of the chopper, looking sour as usual.
I smile at him. "Not really. Deep Sleep gave us access to their records."
"Great. More data to scroll through."
"Yeah. But more importantly, we have a visual on our guy. His real face. No synoid, no avatar." I pull up the holo-pic and cast it in the air, where it rotates to give everyone a view.
"Ladies and gents, meet Dean Gray, aka Specter."
Rogers leans in for a closer look. "This is the guy we've been hunting? This half-starved punk kid?"
"He's twenty-seven, Rogers."
"I said punk kid, didn't I? He doesn't look like any master criminal to me."
"And you don't look like a top agent, but here you are — blessed to be on this mission with us."
He grunts. "Blessed with a Scyther, a tiny goth-hacker, and a giant teddy bear. What the hell did I do to deserve this gig?"
Zen removes her holovisor. "You botched your last op and got two of your men killed, from what I can tell."
His head snaps up, eyes widening. "What? That's not true."
"It's all right here." Zen helpfully projects the file into the air and points to a few lines. "Says your leadership was 'highly incompetent,' your tactical plan 'disastrous,' your poise under pressure 'severely deficient,' your—"
"Okay, shut it down," Rogers snaps. "You're not supposed to have access to that file, anyway." He throws a nervous look at his squad, who stare back with newfound contempt on their faces. It seems the data was new to them too.
Zen grins, shutting the page down. "Lots of stuff I'm not supposed to have access to. I keep stumbling across it for some reason, though."
While Rogers looks duly chagrined, the monitor on the wall flashes on. Any amusement I feel evaporates when Kage's face appears on the screen. He gazes at me without expression, as if the earlier torture session never happened.
"I have new intel, Scyther. It appears your earlier deductions have paid off. An attempt was made to hijack a shipment of prototype interstellar soldier synoids while in route to the station in Haven Angeles. Surveillance feed places Oliver Corbyn, aka Keno at the scene with a crew of his associates."
Zen pulls up a datasheet from her holoband, displaying a photo of Keno along with a list of pertinent info. "Oliver Corbyn, aka Keno. Arrived on US shores eleven years ago after fleeing London, where he has outstanding warrants for robbery, hijacking, assault, and murder. Since then he's pursued mostly the same activities across the Territories. Most recently he's settled into running drugs and contraband through his rave clubs in San Bernardino. And of course, he is a known associate of a mysterious man named Specter."
"Bingo," I say, studying the video feed. I pause it and point. "Looks like one of the synoids was activated, which means Specter was there on the scene."
The video crackles and winks out. I glance at Kage. "What happened?"
"That's what you're going to find out, Scyther. Someone took out functions of the drone ship. When they restored control, everyone had vanished, leaving the shipment behind. We're working on possible scenarios for where they could have gone, but I want your team on the ground right now."
"How close are we?"
"You can get there in minutes. I'm sending the coordinates now."
"Okay. We're on it."