"Potential for what?"
"To be a different kind of man. The kind that stops people like Kilgore."
"Good for you. Does nothing for the rest of us, though."
"You know the truth now. At least that's a start."
"It's nothing. I'm worse off than you are, Mike. At least you got your memories back."
"After my other personality planned the demise of the Haven. Not exactly a gift, Poddar. But I'm glad you came. I was afraid—"
"That I was a synoid, too? Or that I wouldn't show up?"
"Both, I guess."
"Look, I won't lie: Kilgore scares the hell out of me." He sighed, looking around. "But you said he has Natasha. That's enough for me to give it another shot."
"We better head over, then. Time's running out."
The tram station was deserted, supposedly locked down like every other auto-transport system in the Haven. The rioters hadn't made it that far yet, and shelter-seekers were probably put off by the secure fencing and roving security drones. We didn't have that problem because Lord Troll was on our side, making it a cakewalk to enter and get to one of the private trams undetected. The vehicle was retro-styled with its sleek, silver alloy gleaming in the rain. Powered by overhead maglev rails, it was usually used for round-trip secluded tours of the Spire.
We rode in silence for a moment, our unspoken words saying all the things we didn't have words for. It was an odd sort of comfort as the tram silently took us to the reckoning to come. Dark water slid down the windows like unchecked tears, casting quivery lines across Poddar's pensive face. He cleared his throat.
"Are you dying?"
"What?"
"Your expression. I've seen it before on other men's faces. It's a look of peace when they knew they were going to die. I know you've been sick, and I think you've been holding out about how bad it is. You're not planning on coming back, are you?"
"My job is to stop Kilgore. Yours is to get Natasha out. If I gotta buy the farm to save her life, I consider that a fair trade."
"I don't think she'd agree."
"That's because she's a good person. I'm not. Never have been. The things I've done … if you knew the half, you wouldn't be here, Poddar. If I go down, the world is a better place. But not Natasha. She's not done living yet. Not by a long shot."
"What if she's one of them?"
I took a deep breath. "A synoid?"
"Yeah. She could be, you know."
"She's not. She was there, in Haven Square when Kilgore activated the device. Close enough to see her boyfriend go down. The signal didn't affect her, which means she's playing for the red team."
Poddar remained silent, eyes deep in thought. "Were you there?"
"No. I was mentally immersed in a digital version of a pre-Cataclysm New Haven playing mental chess with Dr. Faraday."
He didn't even blink. "Then how do you know?"
"How do I know what?"
"That you're not one of them?"
I grimaced. "I don't. I guess that's the kick. Does an insane person know they're crazy? Look, if you wanna take one of your daggers and stick me to see if I bleed blue, go ahead. Can't say I blame you in light of what's happened."
He shook his head with a sigh. "I guess it doesn't really matter."
"Knowing if you're a real person should matter. In fact, it's the only thing that matters when you think about it."
"Not so, Mike. There is a saying I know of. At least, I think I know of it: he that has a true friend has no need for a mirror."
"Ain't got the foggiest what that means, Pod."
"It means that you're my friend, Mike. And I'm yours. So I don't need to wonder who I am, just as you don't need to wonder who you are."
"I'm surprised you can call me a friend after what you know about me. Hell, I'm more to blame for what happened to Ms. Kilby than Kilgore is."
"True. But unlike him, you feel regret for your actions."
"Regret is all I have left." I clapped him on the back. "But I'm glad you came along for the ride, Poddar."
Lord Troll's voice spoke from the ceiling speakers. "Hate to break up the bromance and all, but thought I'd let you know I have the cameras on loop for two minutes. If you got any last-minute details to hash out, better do it now."
Poddar glanced at me. "What's the plan?"
"Shoot first, and shoot fast."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "Is that really the best approach to a hostage situation?"
"The game is rigged, Poddar. Kilgore doesn't have any compassion, honor, or fear. His only weakness is overconfidence. We take him by surprise, and Natasha might have a chance."
"Fine. You might want these then." Reaching into his heavy overcoat, he withdrew a thin harness with Sargent Johnson's smart grenades attached.
Grinning, I removed my flogger and slung the harness over my shoulder before putting the coat back on. "I love making an explosive entrance."
He handed me the targeting disk. "Or an exit. I'd rather not be around when those go off."
"Lock and load, mates," Lord Troll said. "Loop goes off in twenty seconds."
I placed a gasper between my lips as the tram slowed to a stop at the station. "It's been a pleasure, LT. Take care of yourself and watch out for the HSSC. They'll be coming for ya."
"You planning to cark it or what, Trubble?"
I smiled. "Better count on it."
Poddar glanced around when we exited out into the pouring rain. "What is this place?"
The tall, slender structure was more an obelisk than a building — gleaming, mirror-coated windows and aerodynamic curves that gave it a more futuristic look than the retro-styled city it towered over. Built on the highest point in the Uppers, it was visible from anywhere in the Haven, glinting like a silver blade in daylight, glowing like a beacon of hope at night.
"The way I hear, it was initially built as a place of worship. But since most folks here ain't the godly type, it turned into a tourist attraction instead. Tours, fake history of the Haven, and the magnificent view, of course."
An exterior speed lift was centered in the front of the building, all transparent and shaped like a capsule. The doors silently slid open at our approach and closed after we entered. There was only one button on the panel, pulsing as if begging to be pressed.
I pressed it.
The lift shot upward, passing building stories in a matter of milliseconds. The view of the city was heartbreaking: floodwaters reaching the Uptown sections, dark and ominous as they consumed the lower divisions and continued to feast, appetite never satisfied. Streams of people packed the streets, running out of space as they ascended to high ground, milling like ants with a boot print in their nest. Buildings jutted from the water, with more people on the interconnected bridges and railings, staring in disbelief at the disaster coming for them. All of that dwindled as we continued to rise, until the tallest buildings became miniature sets beneath us, lights glimmering like gemstones, reflecting on the waters in a way that made the catastrophe almost beautiful.
The lift slowed to a stop. We turned as the rear doors slid open and stepped into the top level of the Spire. I nodded in approval as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.
"Well, at least we can die in style."
The chamber was fashioned into a massive cathedraclass="underline" domed ceiling with depictions of angels and demons painted with such intricate detail that hundreds of eyes seemed to peer down at us. Carved figures lined the walls: wise men and saintly women, faces carved in expressions of piety and wisdom. Everything from the hundreds of pew benches and podium to the soaring pillars was intricately carved, mahogany trimmed with just enough gold to avoid being garish. The entire side of the chamber was fashioned into an elaborate stained-glass window that depicted a scene of winged figures falling from Heaven.