Poddar took a few steps backward, fists clenching. "What the hell did you do, Mick?"
I reached into my flogger, fingers on the grip of the Mean Ol' Broad. "I swear this isn't me. I don't know what in the world is—"
The warehouse flashed electric-white again, and a man appeared in front of us like a materialized ghost, one knee and his fist planted against the ground. Dark-skinned, white-haired, dressed in fatigues and a combat vest, bare arms chiseled with knotted muscle. His head raised, eyes hidden by mirrored aviators, teeth clenched in a fierce grin. I immediately knew who he was. I would have known even if I didn't recognize him from long-repressed memories.
Kilgore.
He stood, the smile still fixed on his face. "I'm sorry — am I interrupting something?"
"Yeah. The part where we skip the introductions and get to killing each other." I pulled the Mean Ol' Broad out, aimed at his head, and pulled the trigger.
The retorts boomed, crashing off the walls like thunder. I knew something was wrong when Kilgore didn't drop like he was supposed to. His movements blurred, weaving between my shots as if cranked into fast-forward. His hand shot forward, seized my gun arm, and forced it back so violently that the barrel cracked me in the forehead. Pain exploded; dizzy static flickered as I staggered backward.
Blood streamed down my brow, nearly obscuring the view of Poddar getting handled like a mouse fighting a bobcat. I'd seen him go toe-to-toe with plenty of dangerous lugs, and always figured I'd have to shoot him if we ever tangled because I didn't stand a chance fighting fair. But he was helpless against Kilgore, striking nothing but air despite his formidable skills. Kilgore counterattacked with blows that hit so hard that I heard Poddar's bones splinter from the force. He was unconscious on his feet, eyes wide in disbelief before Kilgore finished him with a vicious spinning kick that knocked him off his feet and into a pile of old crates. They exploded into broken pieces of timber, burying his body under the rubble.
That happened in the seconds it took for me to wipe the blood from my eyes and fire again. Kilgore spun like a ballet dancer, avoiding the shot with ease. His arm whipped forward, but I didn't know what happened until the dagger he hurled struck me in the shoulder with the force of a bullet. I grunted, dropping the Broad as my entire arm flared in agony. Kilgore streaked forward faster than my eyes could register. A knee to the gut doubled me over, and then all I saw was knuckles. The explosive impact to my face turned all the lights out.
Natalie's gaze was sharp, studying my face carefully. "That's right: Maxine might have fallen from grace. She was on the team sent to put down the insurgency in Chicago. I told Deacon that should have been ours, but he thought otherwise. Anyway, your girl Maxine went dark. Reportedly she's flipped sides, feeding the revolutionaries pertinent info on HSSC tactics and plans. You'll pose as a possible defector to see where her loyalties lie. Your job is to do whatever it takes to gain her trust." Natalie's eyes glittered. "Since you two were so intimate, that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"
"There was nothing like that between us. The Academy was years ago, anyway. I'm sure she's completely forgotten about me by now."
"Really? Because guess who she tried to recruit when she first received her orders?"
I paused. "I … was never told."
"You didn't need to know. The request was denied. But the fact that she made it speaks volumes. I think the girl has feelings for you, Mike. And that weakness will be your way in."
I fought to keep my face still, ruthlessly crushing the intrusive thoughts of the moments I shared with Maxine in our brief time together. "I can't just pop up out of the blue. What's my in?"
"Your contact is her second in command. We're not sure whose side he's on, but we can arrange an intro."
"What's his name?"
"You know him from the Academy too: Ethan Kilgore."
My head jerked up. "Kilgore?"
Regaining consciousness was a rush of blood to the head like a hammer strike, followed by nauseous disorientation as I tried to figure out what happened and where I was. The recollection of the beatdown returned quickly, accompanied by throbbing pain from my wounded shoulder and heavily bruised face. As for where I was, it turned out to be the last place I wanted to be.
In the air.
The interior of Kilgore's next-gen floater was cushioned in soft cloned leather, the dashboard winking with complicated control panel instrumentation. He sat in the pilot's seat, expressionless, city skyline reflecting from the surface of his sunglasses. We were high above the city, where usually only zeppelins drift. The bird's-eye view of the towering buildings wasn't good for anything except inducing a paralyzing sense of vertigo. Air traffic zipped below us in streaks of laser trails, white and blue light blazed from the buildings and billboards, flashing like a massive paparazzi event.
I winced from the dazzling onslaught, turning away to look at Kilgore. My hand drifted to the inside of my flogger.
Kilgore smiled. "Don't bother — your oversized handgun isn't there. I took the liberty of removing the backup piece as well. And should you think about doing something physical, you should consider how easily I mopped the floor with your face earlier. That and I can eject you from your seat with a push of a button. I bandaged your injury, but only because I need you lucid for this conversation."
Shifting in the seat, I stifled a groan when a stab of agony flared in my injured shoulder. "What the hell do you want from me?"
He said nothing for a few seconds, piloting the floater between colossal buildings. "It's funny — the rain in this place has a distinct taste. Salty … like tears. Have you ever wondered why?"
"Soliloquies bore me to death, Mack. Howzabout you cut the gristle off and get right to the meat?"
A faint smile crossed his face. "Do you remember me, Mike?"
"It's Mick. And of course I remember you, Ethan — you goddamned traitor. I remember everything about our time in the HSSC, especially what you did."
"Ethan died in the red hills of Mars. I go by Beowulf now. Most people still use the more descriptive last name, though. Kilgore." His smile widened. "Still mad about what happened to Maxine?"
"You mean your whole part in her torture and murder? Yeah, I'd say that's a touchy subject for me."
"That's because you're as much to blame for her fate as I was, Mike. We were both doing a job — I just didn't get distracted the way you did. But that was a long time ago. When I was a different kind of man — cruel, one might even say vicious. Delighting in base pleasures with no perspective on things beyond my tiny little world."
I sneered. "Lemme guess — you're gonna tell me you're a new man now. Following a higher cause or something like that."
His grin stretched further, revealing tightly-clenched white teeth. "Something like that. I was a terrible person doing terrible things for terrible reasons. Now, I do terrible things for indispensable reasons."
I painfully tilted my Bogart over my eyes. "Yeah, whatever makes you sleep better at night, pal. I don’t recall you ever having superpowers, though. That was a pretty neat trick with the whole appearing from thin air thing. I figure you got your hands on some CDR tech, even if I didn't see any portable unit."
"Carbon Disassemble/Reassemble? That technology was never that reliable in the first place. No, I'm not using any CDR."
"Then how did you do it?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."