I throttled down as we approached an intersection in the road. I hit the ramp at speed and was in the air over some of the crowd, who cheered as both of us went by overhead. Buck landed first, I landed soon after. There were vehicles keeping pace with us; I noticed that our muscle car was one of them.
On the new roof the dividing walls had narrow passages knocked through them, the holes had been patched and there was little rubble. I pushed the bike faster, coaxing it as I saw red lines appear in my vision. This was going to be the last chance to really get my speed up. The terrain became a blur around me. I had enough presence of mind to make sure the way was clear; the rest of it was focused on the ramp ahead. I was sure I was grinning now, the nausea a distant memory, the first sores on my scalp as meaningless as pissing blood this morning.
I hit the ramp. I felt like I was in the air forever: everything slowed down as the tower block loomed larger and larger in my field of vision. The jarring bump, the bounce, the fight for control – don’t lose speed. I was in the high-rise building for seconds, if that. The path that had been cut and cleared through the building was just a blur as I hit the next ramp and was in the air again.
Then the next tower block and the next, each time throttle down, keep speed as high as possible. Each time going a little higher, each time bouncing as I landed, trying to control the bike and not hit the ceiling. Sometimes I was aware of Buck’s bike to the left of me in the same building or as we flew through the air – he seemed a little closer each time I saw him.
This was what my boosted reflexes were made for; you couldn’t do this without augmentation. This was why we were different from the herd. Maybe Buck was right: this was what mattered. Land, control, throttle down, speed up, not even thinking about how high off the ground we were as we leapt from high-rise building to high-rise building.
The hole in the side of the tower block coming towards me was too low. I was too high. I’d taken off too fast. I slammed myself down on the bike, cursing the high handlebars on low riders. I felt my duster scrape against the top of the hole. I was going too fast but if I braked now I’d wipe out. I’d seen people do it in the schemes in Fintry, just jump straight into a wall at one hundred-plus miles an hour. The wheels bounced and finally found traction as I sped between the supports of the building.
I was in the air again. Buck was behind me somehow. It happened so slowly I had the time to take in the view of the ruins of Trenton below me and appreciate just how high forty storeys up was. It was the roof of the last tower block I was heading for. I overshot, landing in the middle of the roof, moving at speed towards the edge, way too fast to stop. I didn’t think, I just ditched the bike. My bike was moving away from me in a shower of sparks as I slid along, the rough concrete roof going though my duster, then my clothes, then my skin, yet again. I heard protesting tyres skidding behind me as I followed my bike off the edge of the tower block.
The bike flew in a long graceful arc out over the city. It seemed to take a long time to fall. I was watching it fall away from me. I slid off the roof, just managing to grab a piece of the rusted metal frame that ran through the crumbling concrete. I stopped suddenly. Had I grabbed it with my left I would’ve gone over but I’d grabbed it with my right and locked the metal fingers of my prosthetic arm around the metal. The metal tore itself out of the concrete in a shower of dust and I dropped, but it held. As did my arm, but only just. It was still healing from when Rannu had torn it off and I felt the gel around the new join give, as did the join itself slightly, and blood was running down my neck and chest.
More concrete dust showered down on me as Buck skidded to a halt on the roof’s edge in time to see the end of my bike’s swan dive. I think I spoilt his enjoyment at seeing my bike smash through the roof of an old bus station by screaming a lot. He lit up a joint and dragged deeply.
‘A little help, please,’ I gasped. Buck looked down at me.
‘Oh yeah.’ He pushed the kickstand down with a cowboy boot, got off the bike and knelt down on the edge of the roof. He leant down and placed the lit joint in my mouth.
‘Thanks,’ I said around the joint.
‘Let’s talk,’ he said, grinning.
One of the Commancheros had been a medic on Lalande. I think I needed to get my own medic to follow me around.
‘Can you do anything without fucking yourself up?’ Mudge asked. I had to admit that Mudge’s sense of humour was beginning to get on my nerves. We were sat back in the concrete square. The right side of my body had been cleaned, the bits of clothing, roof and rad-proofed material picked out of the wound. The gel and the pak on my shoulder join had been reset and much of me was covered in new skin and medgel.
‘Hey, I won,’ I pointed out.
‘Almost beat me to the ground as well,’ Buck said, smiling. ‘Joe, give us a moment,’ he said to the medic once the guy had finished. The cyberbilly nodded at me and headed off. We were sitting round a jet-black muscle car with tinted windows. Air intakes stuck through the hood and the suspension was heavy duty and raised. The car belonged to Gibby judging by the way he fussed over it. Buck and Gibby were with us. Mrs Tillwater had gone back to rejoin Crawling Town after we’d assured her that we were going to play nicely. I sat on the bonnet despite Gibby’s complaints. Mudge sat on some rubble nearby with Rannu and Pagan. Morag seemed both worried that I’d hurt myself again and pissed off that I’d destroyed the bike. Buck was still sitting on his bike and Gibby had sat down on the ground with his back to one of the car’s polished wheels.
‘So let’s hear it,’ Mudge said.
‘What do you want to know?’ Gibby asked.
‘Where’s MacDonald?’ Mudge asked.
Buck looked at him as if he was an idiot. ‘How the hell are we supposed to know that?’ he asked.
‘Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ I said. I wanted to hear this from the start or maybe I just wanted to put off a decision I would have to make about Gregor. ‘Why were you ferrying Rolleston and the Grey Lady around?’ I asked.
‘They’d received intelligence that when the Ninjas went in they would try and infect at least one of the people they attacked,’ Gibby told us.
‘What did they infect them with?’ I asked.
‘You tell me,’ Buck said. ‘You saw as much as we did, more. Looked like they infected people with themselves.’ He was right.
‘Did Rolleston know why?’ Mudge asked.
Gibby shrugged. ‘There were a number of theories: some kind of disease-based warfare, to take them over, breeding… Who knows? There’s a reason we call Them aliens. I’m not sure we’re going to help you fellas.’
‘What did Rolleston want with an infected human?’ I asked. Buck answered me this time.
‘When they turn into puddles their genetic make-up is junked and they destroy themselves rather than be captured. Rolleston figured that if they infected a human then at least part of them would be intact-’
‘And they could study them,’ Pagan finished. Buck got up, went to the back of Gibby’s car and popped the boot.
‘Beer?’ he asked everyone. Even Rannu said yes.
‘I don’t get it,’ Mudge said when we all had our beers. ‘Why’d he ask a pair of degenerate cocksuckers like you to do his driving?’ I had to wonder about his interview technique – I mean professionally. as a journalist. I wasn’t really surprised that he’d never ended up interviewing celebrities or politicians.