Element Zero (31 page)

Calliope Flax—Alto Do Mundo Penthouse

The red-haired bitch flinched when I grabbed a fistful of her shirt and pulled her up onto her toes. In the corner of my eye, I saw the launch countdown drop below three minutes.

“How are you doing it?” I asked. “How are you controlling the satellite?” She just smiled, blood running from one nostril.

“Goddamn it, make it stop!” I screamed in her face.

“You’re going to die,” she said. “You’re all going to die now.”

“You’ll die too.”

“I don’t care,” she said. She’d started to cry. “I don’t care anymore. You killed my friend . . . my best . . .”

“Your friend had me cut open and tried to kill me,” I said. “Fuck her. However you’re doing it, stop the launch.”

“You killed—”

I slammed her back against the wall, and that woke her up a little.

“You’re going to kill everyone in this fucking city?” I said. My breath was coming fast now. The blood felt hot in my veins, and I felt a string of drool start to run over my bottom lip. The JZI flashed warnings as whatever it was inside me twisted in the back of my head. The counter was getting too low.

“Yes . . . ”

My fingers squeezed on her throat, and another fat drop of blood came out of her nostril.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” I said, “but I know you are.”

The bitch’s eyes started to roll as I kept up the pressure on her throat. Her pupils dilated, then relaxed.

“Last chance,” I said.

“Go to hell,” she gasped.

Bite . . .

I let go of her neck and put my palm over her mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned in and felt her scrawny neck under my lips. I could feel the big vein there throbbing, then the salt of her sweat on my tongue. My mouth opened, my lips peeling back like it was out of my control.

Do it...

I bit down, and she screamed. Greasy blood filled my mouth, and the warmth ran down my neck. Something inside me drove me, telling me to bite harder, deeper. It was all I could do to stop with that vein still pulsing under my tongue.

Do it . . .

I squeezed my eyes shut and shoved her away, down on her back onto the floor. Blood was running out of the bite mark on her neck, flowing down her chest and seeping into the dress she wore. She tried to say something but couldn’t, as she stared up at me in horror. She held out her hands, and they started to shake.

“N . . . no . . .” she gasped. I stomped her bony chest with the heel of my boot, knocking her back. I drew the knife again and took a step toward her. I swallowed blood, and even though it made me sick, my teeth still itched to bite again. Drool leaked out of the corners of my mouth.

“You ruined me,” I heaved. I closed the gap between us. “You motherfuckers ruined me. . . . ”

“I . . . lost him . . . ” she whispered. “I lost . . . him . . . ”

Kneeling down over her, I put the point of the blade under her chin. She didn’t react when it touched her. She didn’t look like she was seeing me anymore.

“You . . . will bring about . . . destruction . . . ” she wheezed. Her head lolled, and she fell back onto the concrete. I spit on the floor next to me and wiped my mouth.

In the corner of my eye, I saw the launch countdown had frozen.

Blood began to pool around the little bitch’s head. Her eyes went out of focus.

“You . . . save . . . my . . . life . . . ” she whispered. Then she let out a long breath and went still.

I moved the knife away and pushed myself back up onto my feet. My head spun and I leaned against the wall, leaving a smear of blood.

I turned and left the stairwell, letting the door slam shut behind me.

Nico Wachalowski—Heinlein Industries

An alarm bell went off as I shoved open a fire door and came out into the cold night air where the transmitter dish towered above me. In the distance, over the howl of the wind, I could hear the scream of jets. Shielding my face against the snow, I scanned the tarmac. Fawkes’s signature was close.

Wachalowski, this is Alice. The launch has been aborted. Repeat: the launch has been aborted. What’s your status?

I checked the countdown and saw it had stopped.

How?

They never reached Vaggot. He manually disarmed the satellite from inside on his own.

What about Zoe?

Unknown. What is your status?

I’m at the transmitter.

I squinted through the storm and switched to night vision. Sweeping the area, I spotted a group of figures in the distance. Two of them were carrying some kind of crate between them.

I’ve got Fawkes,
I told her.

Something hit me from my left, lifting my feet up off the ground. A large, meaty shoulder knocked the wind out of me, and I felt a big hand on my chest before I was shoved back. I landed on my side on the blacktop and slid a couple feet as a large figure moved toward me, its moonlit eyes glaring down.

I got my gun between us and fired a burst that tore across its chest. It staggered back a step, then recovered and reached down to grab me. I heard a loud snap over the sound of the wind and saw its hand split apart. The long blade thrust out from the gap, and it lunged.

I rolled as the tip of the blade thudded down onto the tarmac next to me, then stomped down on the side of the thing’s knee. Cartilage crunched as the joint bent at an odd angle and the revivor began to fall. It hit the ground, and I fired another burst into the back of its head, spraying black across the snow.

“Fawkes!” I shouted. One of the shapes in the distance turned.

Zooming in, I saw two of the remaining revivors with him quickly assembling some kind of tripod, while the third heaved a large, heavy cylinder from inside the crate, which was now open. I scanned the cylinder, and the computer isolated its shape through the snow. It was a surface-to-surface missile. He was going to try to blow the dish.

“Fawkes!”

I got to my feet and ran as the wind sheared over me, stinging my face and hands. I fired, and a bullet sparked off the launcher assembly.

One of the two at the launcher returned fire, while the second joined the third to help load the missile.

Faye, do you read me?

Yes.

I’m feeding you three revivor signatures; can you pull their IDs and connect to them from where you are?

Stand by.

Something struck the armor plate on my chest and knocked the breath out of me. I stumbled as I fired again, straining to spot Fawkes through the snow.

Nico, I’m in,
Faye sent.

I hooked into the stealth command-spoke package still resident in Faye’s system, and used it to open command links to all three of the remaining revivors. For a second, they were all being controlled by both Fawkes and me, but a second was all I needed. Before he could react to lock them down, I triggered the Leichenesser capsules in all of them.

The one carrying the missile dropped it and it hit the tarmac with a metallic thud before rolling in a slow semicircle. White mist began to shoot from the back of its neck, and it stumbled to one side.

The other two revivors tried to keep their footing as the flesh and bone inside began to dissolve. One fell back against the launcher’s tripod before it lost integrity, and I saw one arm slide from its sleeve and fall onto the ground next to it. The other went down on its hands and knees, then collapsed.

Fawkes saw what had happened and bolted away from them to avoid getting caught in the smoke himself.

Nico,
Faye sent,
the transfer has been initialized. The dish is sending.

I fired another burst at Fawkes and caught him in the leg. He lost his balance and fell, crashing down onto his side as I approached.

The lights from the transmitter lit his otherworldly face as he stared up at me. I took aim and was about to put a bullet in the side of his head when he pulled his shirt aside to show the mechanism strapped to his chest.

“Stop the transmission,” he shouted. “Or I will.”

I scanned the device. The explosives rigged to it were extremely powerful. They wouldn’t destroy the entire dish, but they’d knock it down, out of alignment.

“It’s a dead man’s switch,” he said. “If my signature ceases, it will go off.”

“It’s over, Fawkes.”

He lifted one hand and I saw the detonator. I fired a burst into his forearm and the flesh erupted in a splash of black blood. Sparks sprayed as the hand snapped apart to reveal the bayonet tucked inside, and the trigger spun off into the dark.

He recovered quickly; he got to his feet to go after it, but I’d closed the distance. I struck him in the chest with one shoulder and he pitched back down onto the ground.

He’d deteriorated a lot over the years, but he still had the strength of a revivor. He didn’t know pain or fear. He recovered and sprang back up from the ground. His moonlit eyes locked on me as he lunged with the bayonet.

I fired, and the bullet punched through one side of his neck. Blood pumped from the hole, but he kept coming. His cold left hand grabbed my shoulder as he thrust the blade into my gut. The armored weave took the brunt of it, but I felt the point bite through and warmth seep into the fabric.

I knocked his leg out from under him and shoved him back down onto the blacktop, coming down on top of him. He tried to stab at me with the bayonet again, but I pinned his arm under one knee and shoved the gun in his face. He tried to say something, but nothing came out. His teeth were stained black.

Agent, wait.

I shot him in the shoulder twice, and the arm stopped moving.

Agent, this is the only chance we will ever have to stop them forever. You’ve seen what I’ve done.

I saw it.

No one else needs to be hurt. No one else needs to die. This will level the playing field—nothing more. No more control; no more lies. People will be free, free to walk their own path. Free to govern themselves. Free to wake up each day and know that the events of the previous day were real, that they were true, and that their will and their consciousness are their own.

Vibrations sparked from the shoulder of my dead arm to its fingertips, and messages began to stream past in front of me. The nanoblood inside was responding to the transmission. Fawkes’s alien eyes widened as he realized it too.

You’ve doomed them all,
he said.

I took a sample of his signature and re-created the waveform on my JZI. When they synchronized, I used my field knife to slice through the straps of his vest. I pulled it off of him, and the LED began to flash an urgent red.

Before it could explode, I slipped it on and pulled it taut around my chest. The mechanism homed in on the signature I’d cloned, and the LED turned blue again.

You’ve doomed them all,
he said again.

I knelt down in front of him and grabbed his tie. I twisted it under his throat and forced him back onto the tarmac. The blade of my field knife flashed as I aimed the point at an angle toward his neck.

I guess the little mutant was right,
he said.

I jammed the blade in and twisted. The edge severed the connections between the revivor nodes and the brain stem.

His signature warbled, then snapped out of existence, and the moonlit glow faded from his eyes.

13

AFTERMATH

Zoe Ott—Heinlein Industries

The next thing I remembered, I was outside.

The city was gone, but it wasn’t destroyed. Instead of the wasteland, I was sitting on a blanket that was spread out over thick, green grass. The blanket was on a hill that looked out over a big, open space that was covered in patches of yellow flowers. The sun was low in the sky, and it was shady and cool.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Karen asked. She was lying on her back, looking up at me. Her face was clear and smooth. There were no bruises or scars. All of her teeth were still there. She looked happy as she closed her eyes and stretched.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Watch a movie?”

I pressed my hand into the grass. It was soft, and cool. I liked the way it smelled.

I’d never really seen grass before, not like that. Somehow, though, I knew what I was seeing wasn’t a vision. The thing Karen used to call my gift was gone, and I knew it would never come back again. I’d never have to see another vision. I’d never sense anybody’s consciousness or be able to change it. That thing that had haunted me my whole life . . . it was finally over. This was just a regular, run-of-the-mill dream.

Karen smiled and looked out over the field.

“We should probably get going,” she said. “It will be dark soon.”

“Just a little longer.”

We watched the sky turn dark blue, then shift to a mixture of orange and pink.

“Will it be okay?” she asked. “Being like the rest of us?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

I felt like losing that part of me should scare me, but it didn’t—it felt like a terrible weight was lifted. The knowing had been awful, but trying to change those things had been much worse. I didn’t want to know those things anymore. They had never once helped me. The money and the power—none of it made anything any better. It was all gone now, but I think it was the first time I’d ever really known peace.

“Better than okay.”

“Good,” she said. “It’s all over, then.”

A nagging doubt crept in when she said that. I couldn’t know, not like I used to, but I did remember certain things from before.

“One thing still kind of bothers me,” I told her.

“What?”

“A woman used to come to me in my visions,” I said. “I only met her twice in real life.”

“So?”

“She said we’d meet three times.”

Karen shrugged in the growing dark. I scratched the side of my neck.

“Maybe she was wrong.”

“Maybe.”

I scratched the side of my neck again, and felt a ringshaped scar there. That’s where that woman, Flax, bit me. I could remember her lips on my neck, then terrible, blinding pain. I’d fallen as hot blood pumped out of the wound. It spread out across the floor, and I’d lain there in it as the puddle grew. She’d walked off and left me, and as she turned the corner the world faded to black.

“She was a carrier,” I said.

Karen raised her eyebrows. “A what?”

“She bit me,” I said, half to myself. “She was a carrier.”

Karen didn’t answer. When I turned to look at her, she was gone and I was alone. The wind picked up and blew across the field, making the grass and flowers ripple, almost like water.

“Karen?”

System initialization complete.

The words appeared in the dark. I rubbed my eyes, but they didn’t go away. They floated in front of me for a minute and then they faded away.

“Karen?”

Are you awake?
The words appeared in front of me, then faded.

“What?”

Are you awake?

The air flickered in front of me and the field warped. The air turned cold for a second, and I felt it rush over bare skin.

Are you—

I opened my eyes. The field disappeared. I was staring down at my flat, bare chest, and my legs dangled beneath me. Wires or tubes were draped down the front and back of me, and I could feel other bodies close to mine. A large man’s hand with a vein that bulged across the back hung next to mine. Our fingers were touching.

Beginning system analysis . . .
The words appeared, then blinked out as random characters started to flow top to bottom in the corner of each eye.

What’s happening?
I tried to say the words, but nothing came out. Instead, they appeared in front of me, like the others.

You’re back.

I looked around to see who was sending the messages. I was hanging from somewhere near the ceiling of a large room, surrounded by other hanging bodies. Clusters of wires ran from the backs of their heads and down their spines. Many pairs of eyes stared into the darkness that surrounded us, casting a soft glow that created shadows. There must have been hundreds of us there. The wires trailed down like vines or webbing to the floor down below, which was covered with black splotches.

What is this place?
I asked. I waited for the fear to come, but it didn’t.

Here.
The message pulsed, then faded.

I looked between two of the hanging bodies and saw a nude woman maybe ten feet in front of me. Her body was scarred, and I could see the dark veins beneath her pale skin. Her hair and eyebrows were gone, and wires sprouted from her skull and spine, like the rest. Behind her, and between the bodies to her left, I could make out a sign mounted on the far wall:

SEMANTIC/EPISODIC MEMORY RECLAMATION FACILITY

Beginning memory analysis . . .
a new message said.

The dead woman’s eyes stared back at me. I knew her face. I’d seen it years ago, down in the old storage facility where Nico had brought me. Years later, I shot her in an alley and hoped that she was gone for good. But now I was no longer afraid. I didn’t feel any fear or jealousy or hatred.

What’s happening to me?
I asked her. The many eyes around us jittered, like they were all stuck in a dream. In the dim light they created, they seemed to sparkle.

As I watched them, I sensed another light. It was like a little star, or an ember that floated up from the dark. Below it was something like a field of lights, pinpricks in the dark that hung over a void. Instinctively, I knew they were my memories and that beneath them waited oblivion. It wasn’t like my visions. This was something different.

I focused on that single glowing ember, and when I did, it opened, like a portal. It showed me a memory, as crisp and clear as if it were on TV. Not a dream; not a vision. Just a memory.

I was sitting in a warm car with Nico. Snow was drifting down past the windshield outside. He was smiling at me from the driver’s seat, and the way he looked at me made me feel good. It seemed impossible that we were sitting there and he wanted to be there. He looked at me like I really was someone, not a weird curiosity or a joke. When he watched me, those pretty, iridescent lights shone from behind his eyes, like he was something out of one of my dreams.

“This is a lot,”
I said. My heart raced, like it had then. The whole thing had been overwhelming to me, but that smile of his helped put me at ease.

“I know.”

“Half the time I’m not even sure how much of it’s real.”

“It’s real,”
he said.
“The information the suspect provided was accurate, and after going over everything, I believe it’s real. I believe in you.”

And when he said the words, they had made me cry. But not anymore.

“I believe in you.”

The dead woman continued to stare at me, and I felt a connection form between us. An energy, almost, began to flow back and forth, and the scene in front of me blurred as my eyes began to move in time with hers.

“ . . . we will meet three times, before this is all over . . . ”

I remembered her words, and as I began to feel a strange sense of calm, the other shoe dropped.

“ . . . your chances of successfully navigating these encounters are, in percentages, respectively thirty, one hundred . . . ”

My time had come. The end was here. I watched her through the maze of wires, and felt those embers of memory begin to separate from the field of lights and stream into the void. They trickled away, down the hanging wires, and away.

“ . . . and zero . . . ”