“Avalon, this is Mayor George W. Dailey. You really think you can force your demands on the great city of Chicago and get away with it?”
“My only demand is for you to stop shooting missiles at me.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists, Avalon. And we won’t bend in the face of extortion.”
“What am I extorting?”
“You’re scum, Avalon. There isn’t a place on earth you’ll be able to hide. We’ll hunt you down like the rat you are.”
So much for getting the authorities on my side.
“Listen up, Mayor Dipshit, because I’m only going to say this once. Leave. Me. Alone. Any further attempt to talk to me, shoot at me, or otherwise engage me in any way will be viewed as an attack and will be dealt with harshly.”
More silence.
“Hello? Mayor Asshole? You there?”
“Look, Mr. Avalon, my legal advisors have informed me that I may have come off a bit, um, harsh, and they’d like me to once again ask what your demands are. Under no circumstances do we want to provoke you any in way.”
I didn’t trust politicos, especially Chicago politicos. But if they thought I was a real threat, maybe they’d give me some breathing room.
“Here’s what I want, Dailey. I want you guys to check out the video from the space elevator station earlier today. I also want you to locate Neil Winston and interrogate him. He’s in Zelda Peterson’s apartment at thirteen twenty-two Wacker.”
“What do you want us to ask him?”
“Ask him what he knows.”
“Anything else?”
I thought it over. “Yeah. I want my neighbor, Norm Chomsky, to go on the six o’clock news tonight, and apologize to me for being a dick.”
“Which channel?”
“All of them. And better make it national news.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all. Now, stay out of my way, and don’t try to contact me again. My device is wired to my heartbeat. Any attempt to attack me will destroy fifty square miles.”
“You have my word I’ll do everything in my power to see your demands are met.”
Satisfied I’d be left alone, I drifted toward Milwaukee to save Vicki and face my doppelganger.
FIFTY-THREE
I was sure my every move was being watched when I landed without incident on a rocky beach several miles south of Milwaukee. I disconnected the chute, watching it blow into the water, and then retied the TEV to my chest.
The authorities apparently believed the “wired to my heartbeat” bullshit and gave me a wide berth. I kept my space suit on just in case someone got cute with the Tesla satellites, but had to remove my helmet to call Vicki. It was nice to breathe fresh air again, and listening to the waves lap against the shore was tranquil, almost peaceful.
“Hello?”
Hearing my wife’s voice brought tears to my eyes.
“Vicki? Are you okay?”
“Talon? Why are you calling me from the bathroom?”
My whole body tensed up. “Vicki, listen to me carefully. That’s not me in the bathroom. You have to get out of there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Run away. Right now.”
“You’re not making sense. I’m with you right now.”
“The man you’re with looks like me, but he isn’t me. He’s the killer the cops are after. Tell me where you are right now.”
“I’m at-”
“Who are you talking to?”
I froze. I would recognize that voice anywhere.
It was mine.
“No one,” Vicki said.
“Is that him on the headphone? ”Alter-Talon asked.
“Who?”
I heard a slap. My heart shrunk.
“Stop being coy, bitch. Is that you, Talon?”
I closed my eyes, picturing him with his ear pressed to Vicki’s.
“It’s me,” I said.
“I haven’t heard anything about Chicago disappearing. Sata underestimated you. Is he dead?”
Talking to myself ranked as one of the strangest experiences of my life.
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t matter. He served his purpose.”
“Which was?”
“To bring you to me. I’ve got your wife, and the antidote. How far are you from Milwaukee?”
“An hour. Maybe less.”
“Meet us at the abandoned brewery on the outskirts of dissytown. You have forty-five minutes. Come alone, no weapons. Any funny stuff-”
I heard another slap, and Vicki cried out.
“You understand?”
I did my best to keep my voice steady. “Why are you doing this?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Talon, I love-”
Vicki’s words were cut off. I imagined the bastard pinching her ear to hang up.
I stood there for a moment, impotent, wondering how this was all going to end. Sata seemed to be motivated by nothing other than insanity, and I’d assumed Alter-Talon was similarly bent. But he didn’t sound like he was having fun. He seemed controlled. Calculated.
This guy wanted something from me. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it was.
A squadron of heliplanes passed overhead, in a classic military wedge formation. I had no doubt they had something to do with me, and could only hope Mayor Dailey could convince the cops in Wisconsin to leave me alone.
Zipping open a side flap on my suit, I tugged the DT from my utility belt and found my current location. Eleven point four miles to the brewery. I also did a quick GPS search for me and Vicki, coming up empty. Alter-Talon must have worn an obfuscation disk over his chip, just like I did, and he had probably put one on my wife as well.
I broke into a jog, running up the beach, climbing some concrete steps to street level, then borrowing a biofuel scooter from a very rude woman who knew so many dirty synonyms for rectum she would have made Harry McGlade blush.
It took half an hour of maddening stop-and-go traffic before I made it to Milwaukee’s dissytown. During the trip my imagination conjured horrible scenarios of Alter-Talon hurting Vicki. I’d dealt with a lot of abuse over the last twenty-four hours, but there was nothing that could be done to me worse than hurting my wife.
By the time I motored into the ranks of the disenfranchised, I was ready to strangle anyone who looked at me cross-eyed. Like Rockford’s dissytown, this one was filled with a lot of dirty folks looking confused, shell-shocked, and deviant. More crumbling buildings. More crushed dreams. And no BHVs to speak of, at least not any as attractive as Yummi and her cohorts.
I kept one eye on my DT, steering around piles of garbage and making my way to the brewery. I stopped in front of an alley, trying to determine my best route, when a gang approached.
Six of them, dressed like a homeless hyperhockey team, complete with filthy pads and sticks stained with dried blood.
“Nice bike,” their leader said. “Why don’t you give it to me, then get the fuck out of our neighborhood.”
I checked my DT. Four minutes to get to the brewery. I didn’t have time to uncork a bottle of smack-down on these punks, much as they probably deserved it.
“Where’s the brewery?” I asked.
“You say something, butthead?”
They couldn’t hear me with the helmet on. I yanked it off.
All six stepped back, and the leader raised his hands in supplication.
“Talon! Shit, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know it was you.”
“The brewery,” I repeated.
“You know it’s right down the street here.”
“Where?”
He pointed. “End of the block. On the left. Look, you’re not pissed or nothing, are you? How can we make it up to you, buddy?”
I considered sending him and his droogs to the dinosaur planet, but I had a feeling I wasn’t the Talon they were afraid of. Alter-Talon had been here, and apparently left a serious impression.
“Beat each other up,” I ordered.
By the time I put my helmet back on, they were kicking the shit out of one another. I motored past. With one minute remaining I ditched the bike and walked through the front door of the Milwaukee Brewing Company.