She considered fleeing back down the stairs, but decided to risk a peek through the doorway.
She saw one of the mobsters who had been with Tavik, the larger one, limned in red and pulling a gun from his coat. He was stepping back from a short, pudgy dark-haired man with a yellow aura. Everything became strange. Zoya felt her heart pounding like she’d never felt it before, a roaring thud within her mind, and it seemed she could hear the blood rushing through her veins. The slot card began feeding her an incredible amount of information, and somehow she could process it all — there was name, configuration, and history of the Gsh-18 handgun the mobster was holding to the small man’s head; trajectory lines pointing like lasers from the barrel of the gun; a multitude of tactical suggestions, listed in order of estimated success, and changing moment to moment with each movement the mobster made.
Zoya tried to turn around and flee down the stairs, but incredibly she found herself rushing at the mobster, taking an angle along the left side of the corridor to reduce his chance of catching her out of the corner of his eye. Her body was betraying her, moving of its own accord. Even more incredibly, everything she looked at appeared to be moving in slow motion, though she felt as if she were moving at full speed. Why am I doing this? I don’t want to do this. Am I insane?
Her heart continued to pound at normal speed, but the small man’s head turned toward her ever so slowly, his eyes widening. She was nearly there when the mobster’s head began to inch around in her direction. The tactical display blazed with choices, but she had no idea how to use the card or even if she was in control of her own body at all.
The mobster’s eyes finally caught sight of her and his mouth began to open just as she twirled her body and slammed the edge of her hand at full strength into his adam’s apple. The man reached toward his neck and began to fall. It happened so slowly that Zoya was able to recover, swing about, and kick the man in the groin. She saw the man’s eyes roll up, his head cracked against the wall, and he slid unconscious to the floor.
Zoya spun to confront the man cringing on his knees. His aura remained yellow, and he held up his hands as if to surrender, fear plain on his face. Zoya’s heart stopped thudding and time seemed to return to normal speed. Her body felt like her own to control again. What in God’s name just happened? She never took her eyes from the man as she knelt to retrieve the gun the mobster had dropped.
“Who are you?” she asked. She noticed that the man had strange clothing. It looked expensive, but not at all like the kinds of clothing worn by the rich people she saw downtown. The man was pale and slicked with sweat. He had hair even darker than Zoya’s, and thick expressive brows. His brown eyes were puffy with dark circles under them, as if he hadn’t slept in a week. He was flabby and pot bellied, which was unusual given that exercise sims and nanobots could make up for most inactivity.
The man’s mouth worked for a moment, making him look like a dying fish. “I…”
Zoya pointed the gun at the man’s knee. “I said, who are you?”
Moscow
Sunday, June 8, 2138
4:18 p.m. MSK
Tyoma nodded with satisfaction at the large conference room wall screen. The code he’d slipped into General Andreykin’s slot interface via his wireless had succeeded in burrowing through his firewall. Tyoma set the computer to capture all data passing through the general’s slot, and to pass it securely to Tyoma’s apartment computer as well.
The wall speaker beeped for an incoming call.
“Answer,” Tyoma said, and the screen full of code vanished, replaced by an image of Volodya Glek. It took all of Tyoma’s strength to keep a grimace from his face.
“Ah, someone is still there. Good!” Volodya said.
“What do you want? Do you have news of the guard?”
Volodya waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. Could you please do me a favor? Bring one of the cards to me?”
This gave Tyoma pause, and he searched Volodya’s face for a clue to what could cause him to so casually break one of the strongest rules of the compound — never allow any of the data cards outside except under the most exceptional circumstances. Other than looking a little distracted — and being more polite than usual — there was nothing suspicious on Volodya’s face.
Volodya read Tyoma’s pause and nodded. “I know, I know, but there’s an excellent reason. Please, just bring it and I’ll explain everything.”
Tyoma realized his mouth was hanging open. He shut it and shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that. We already lost two cards. Taking another off compound is begging for trouble. You must explain—”
“Please, Tyoma!” Now sweat glistened on Volodya’s forehead, and he glanced sideways away from the screen. “I—”
A hand holding a gun thrust itself into view in front of Volodya’s face, followed by the head of a man Tyoma had never before seen. Brown hair in tangled curls, an unshaven face, and eyes that bulged slightly; the man grinned and pointed the gun at the screen. “You’re gonna want to be bringing it along now, old man. You don’t want your friend here to have an accident, do you?”
“What’s this? Are you working with the guard to steal our data? Why—”
“I don’t have to answer your questions, fuckface. Just bring the fucking card!”
Tyoma threw up his hands. “You have one already! What do you need another one for?”
The man used the tip of the gun’s barrel to scratch his cheek. “Ah, well. We had a little setback, let’s say. The chips went missing, and we’re having trouble finding them. We’re done messing around, so do what you’re told. We’ll be waiting for you near the statue of Yuri Dolgoruki. Don’t do anything stupid. Try to involve the fucking police or the military, and you’ll be in for a surprise.”
Tyoma was about to respond but the call terminated. He sat for a minute, breathing steadily to calm his nerves. He smiled as he considered ignoring the problem and letting Volodya get his comeuppance, but despite his intense dislike for the arrogant son-of-a-bitch, he could never wish actual harm on the man. He sighed and rose from the table to walk to the storage room. After passing security and opening the drawer with the most recent data cards, he paused to consider the situation. How much do these people know? They seemed content to have whatever the guard was able to snatch. Hell, they could’ve had him grab everything he found, but he didn’t, which means they even wanted him to try to be circumspect, if possible.
He flipped through the combat chips until he found one of the older versions. He took it, then after a moment’s hesitation also added one of the latest. If they know I’m giving them a bad one they may kill us. He nearly shut the drawer, but paused again and pulled out one of the mind recordings. The label told him it was a recording of the Dane Anders Thomsen. Tyoma put each card into a different pocket, willing himself to remember which card went where. He chewed his lip and tried to picture how the meeting near the statue of the old Tsar Yuri Longarms might go down. Every scenario he imagined went badly. He secured the room and headed for his air car.
Moscow