The Electric Church Part 10

The porcine little eyes widened just a bit and then settled elastically back to half-mast. "A favor, Mr. Cates? Alima, honey, go do a credit check on Mr. Cates while he tells me his tale of woe."

A Middle Easternlooking woman sitting on the floor hoisted herself up with animal grace and disappeared into the interior of the hotel.

"I'm not suggesting there's no payoff for you," I said quickly, trying to maintain my smile, my calm, and my harda.s.s look all at once. It was exhausting. "But there's no immediate immediate payoff. Long-term, I'm willing to offer you a fair price. Double a fair price." payoff. Long-term, I'm willing to offer you a fair price. Double a fair price."

Marcel studied me. "Mr. Cates, your name is out there, so I believe you've got a big job on the hook. Okay. Let's stipulate you got a big payday coming. What do you need from me?"

I shrugged. "I need to get to London."

Marcel laughed. After d.i.c.k Marin's sudden barks, this sounded decadent and bottomless. His whole body jiggled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Oh, Mr. Cates," he said finally. "That's rich. Transport's normally expensive. In these unsettled times, it's f.u.c.king impossible. I don't care what you've got on the hook. You can't afford it."

I swallowed. "You've heard of me?"

Marcel shrugged, still giggling, wiping his eyes. "By reputation, Mr. Cates. A fair Gunner. Reliable. No Canny Orel, maybe, but competent."

Canny Orel again-he was becoming my patron saint. Rumored to have killed over a hundred contracts in his time and retired rich. His name had been out of circulation for a while. When they'd been active, Orel's organization had killed everyone-criminals, cops, politicians-with legen-dary impunity. You never knew with old stories like that, that tended to grow with the telling. But even if you subtracted three-fourths of what you heard as bulls.h.i.t, they'd still been a bunch of harda.s.ses I wouldn't want to mess with. Anyone who had any kind of legit link to the Dunmharu was instantly promoted to Chief a.s.skicker in the room. "You know my rep. You know I don't f.u.c.k around."

Marcel shrugged again, all the good humor draining from him. "A desperate man can forget his rep pretty fast."

The Middle Eastern woman re-entered the room, crossed to Marcel, and leaned in to whisper to him. Marcel's piggy eyes widened again. He looked at me for some time before speaking.

"Mr. Cates, your credit is good. I think I can get you on a flight tonight. We will have to arrange a price."

I blinked. "What the h.e.l.l did she find out?"

Marcel smiled. "Only that your credit is good, Mr. Cates. Our price?"

Thank G.o.d, I thought, for loose lips. Marcel must have heard my payday was huge. And very real. I flipped open a small notebook and tossed it to him. "Write down a number. I'll pay you when my work is done."

He paused for a moment, still studying me, and then began to laugh as he laboriously wrote numerals onto paper, with a schoolboy's care. When he tossed the book back to me, he was laughing full-strength again. "Mr. Cates, are you ready to impersonate someone very rich, someone very powerful, someone authorized to fly to London during a riot?"

I glanced at the number he'd written, struggled to hide my horror, and shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Marcel kept laughing, and soon his entourage joined him. "Ah, Mr. Cates, what will you do about your clothes?" Marcel finally exploded. "The n.o.bility is not accustomed to traveling through the sewers!"

I looked down at myself. I was caked in filth from head to foot.

I grinned back up at Marcel. "Well, f.u.c.k. It's a riot. riot. I'll steal some G.o.dd.a.m.n clothes." I'll steal some G.o.dd.a.m.n clothes."

XVII.

All Human Beings, Saved or Unsaved 01001.

It was about the time they served the coffee that I really started to freak out.

Marcel had come through in spades. He didn't just get me pa.s.sage, he got me first-cla.s.s first-cla.s.s pa.s.sage-handed over with a fake ID and a stern command to find myself some appropriate clothes and clean up a little. That part was simple enough. Night had fallen and the SSF was closing in methodically, not rushing things, probably because they were enjoying themselves too much. I followed a small band of merrymakers through the streets uptown and waited for them to sack an appropriate house. The owner was one of the foolish rich s.h.i.ts who'd decided to stay and defend his property; he popped up, silver-maned and wearing a silk smoking jacket, with a brand-new automatic Roon in each hand like he was Buffalo Bill or something. He nailed about four of the merrymakers before they stormed his windows, and the last I saw of him he was running down the street with his hair on fire. pa.s.sage-handed over with a fake ID and a stern command to find myself some appropriate clothes and clean up a little. That part was simple enough. Night had fallen and the SSF was closing in methodically, not rushing things, probably because they were enjoying themselves too much. I followed a small band of merrymakers through the streets uptown and waited for them to sack an appropriate house. The owner was one of the foolish rich s.h.i.ts who'd decided to stay and defend his property; he popped up, silver-maned and wearing a silk smoking jacket, with a brand-new automatic Roon in each hand like he was Buffalo Bill or something. He nailed about four of the merrymakers before they stormed his windows, and the last I saw of him he was running down the street with his hair on fire.

His house quickly followed, and the merrymakers scurried out like rats in twos and threes, bearing away anything that could be sold quickly. I waited until they were all gone, judged the fire, and then went in for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Rich people fireproofed their homes, which stopped fires altogether for a few years, and even when the antiflame compounds aged and started to break down it slowed a fire down considerably-it took hours for them to burn down, and I knew you could pack a bag and take a nap before a fire became a real concern. It was burning slowly but steadily when I emerged, shaved and rubbed pink by expensive towels, wearing one of the poor sap's suits.

I couldn't bring myself to wear his underwear, and the merrymakers hadn't left anything else of value.

It would have been nice to steal a hover and arrive at the airport in style, but the SSF had grounded New York and would have knocked me out of the air immediately, so I had to hoof it. The System Cops had the Madison Square AirPad under their control, so air traffic was still moving in and out for VIPs and necessary commerce. It was a long walk, but I was pa.s.sed through the gates by two bored Crushers-luckily, strangers to me-who were as polite to me as any had ever been, if still grouchy. They called me "mister" and told me to have a nice day after running yellow eyes over my ID. It was the clothes-no one saw much more than a clean guy in an expensive suit. If they looked closer they might notice the bad teeth, the scars, the accent-but they didn't look close. You could hand them a hand-written ID with the name spelled wrong and they'd pa.s.s you through if you looked rich. Looking rich was a skill any criminal worth his salt learned early.

Then it was straight onto the heavy-duty long-range hover, a comfortable seat behind an attractive, porcelain-skinned red-haired woman I recognized from the Vids, and a gla.s.s of beer pressed into my hand, all within the first five minutes. The seat was soft and supple. The air inside the hover was clean and crisp. The fabric of the poor sap's clothes was dry and sumptuous against my skin.

I began to freak out.

The woman, a few years older than me but gorgeous, twisted around to smile at me. I'd seen her reporting the news a few times, her face ten feet high, her smile permanent and frighteningly unchangeable. "Time to get out, huh? These people." She shook her head in dismay. "They're so ignorant. Burning down their own city. I think the System Police should just ship them all somewhere."

I swallowed anger. The fact that this rich b.i.t.c.h thought New York was my my city made me want to grab her by the nose and smash her head into the armrest. Instead I smiled. "It's the SSF's fault. They're too slack." city made me want to grab her by the nose and smash her head into the armrest. Instead I smiled. "It's the SSF's fault. They're too slack."

She nodded, but didn't seem to like my smile. It might have been my teeth, which hadn't had the benefit of a dentist. Ever. "Yes. I quite agree," she said, facing forward again without another word. I imagined I could smell the soap on her skin. Or maybe that was my my skin; I was so clean I itched. skin; I was so clean I itched.

The meal service started, brought soundlessly by human-looking Droids who smiled but couldn't speak, and my will to retire rich tripled. Rich was the only way to live in the System. When you were rich, the System Pigs called you sir and wished you a good day. When you were rich, they served you breakfast on the hover-real eggs, real bacon, and sweet lord, when the coffee came, hot and strong in a cup so white I had to squint at it, I lost all reason. I promised myself I would do anything it took to be rich. And then it occurred to me that I was already already doing whatever it took. doing whatever it took.

The flight to London was only two hours. After breakfast they dimmed the lights and put on the Vids, each of us getting a small but serviceable private Vid screen. Only the Legal Vid feeds, of course. In New York alone there were fifteen illegal underground Vid feeds I knew of providing news and such on a constant basis, beaming from Safe Rooms around the city. The difference between the legal and illegal feeds was startling. The legal feeds were certainly censored, but the illegal ones had their own agendas, so who knew what to believe. I was half-asleep, feeling exhausted and beaten, when the news came on and I sat up straight, startled. The anchor was the woman sitting in front of me; the caption read Marilyn Harper. She was reporting on the riots, standing blithely in the midst of the merrymakers as they looted a row of stores. She looked smart in a short suit, her hair up, her skin too white, too pale, too clean to be standing in New York in the middle of something like that.

She signed off and I was about to try to get some sleep, when the next news segment came on and I almost puked up my breakfast. It was the Marilyn Harper again. The caption underneath was: "BROTHER BARNABY DAWSON: Former SSF cop, now Monk, suspect in two a.s.saults." Former SSF cop, now Monk, suspect in two a.s.saults."

I gestured the volume up so violently it shrieked up to full blast, causing all the other pa.s.sengers to twist around in annoyance. I gestured it to a low hum and sat forward.

"-son, former captain in the System Security Force recently detained by Internal Affairs on charges of official misconduct, is now suspected in two a.s.saults on System citizens in New York City."

I stared at the file photograph. His crazy blue eyes seemed to dance even on the flat screen.

"The System Security Force has declined to comment on Captain Dawson. The Electric Church, in a statement issued from its London office, said only that, quote, 'No brother of the Church would ever be violent or seek to harm any other human being. The Electric Church regards all human beings, saved or unsaved, as its family, and seeks only to bring the entire human race into G.o.d's embrace.' Dawson, who served fifteen years in the SSF primarily in the New York area, reportedly identified himself several times while viciously beating-"

I gestured the sound off again. Dawson's face continued to stare at me from the screen for a few seconds as Harper wrapped up her report, and then it disappeared. I gestured the Vid off.

She twisted around again. In person, she looked older-more lines around the face-but they had that "smoothing" technology now and could make anyone look any age they wanted. "Scary, huh? First time ever a Monk is officially officially suspected of violent behavior. Guess it had to happen sometime. They start off as humans-and usually not the best kind of humans either." She studied me. "Don't I know you? You look familiar." suspected of violent behavior. Guess it had to happen sometime. They start off as humans-and usually not the best kind of humans either." She studied me. "Don't I know you? You look familiar."

f.u.c.king Vid reporter. I could have been seated behind some aristocrat, sneering at the riffraff they let onto flights these days, but I get someone who's had her nose in SSF databases all her life.

I shook my head. "No."

She studied me for a few more seconds, then made a big show of losing interest. "Must be tired. I've been knee-deep in s.h.i.tkickers burning their own houses down the last twenty-four hours. Sorry to bother you."

I stared at the back of her seat. This was s.h.i.t I didn't need. I knew she was going to remember my face and do some checking around. She wouldn't be a Vid reporter otherwise. I thought about Dawson, too. She was right; no Monk had ever been involved in or accused of a crime, and certainly not a violent one-not counting, I thought sourly, the millions of apparent murders they'd committed in their routine recruitment activities. Marin had told me that the Monks were controlled by a behavioral chip of some sort, that the human brain inside was probably screaming as it provided the basic operating system and motor control subroutines-not to mention the brainwave ID that kept the Monks citizens of the System. I considered the possibility that this control chip had malfunctioned somehow in Dawson's case. That he was maybe the same crazy f.u.c.ker I'd tried to kill, only now in a metal body, armed to the teeth, with access to the Electric Church's database and network. Under that that rock was the squirming, wriggling possibility that Dawson had been set loose on me on purpose, to kill me with plausible deniability for the EC. rock was the squirming, wriggling possibility that Dawson had been set loose on me on purpose, to kill me with plausible deniability for the EC.

It was certainly turning into a banner day for Avery Cates. I called for the attendant Droid and demanded a bourbon. It was brought to me immediately, a double in a crystal tumbler, frozen granite cubes instead of ice. I hadn't had decent liquor in a decade. It was smooth and perfect, and made me a little giddy. I thought to myself, If I live to pull this off, I'll probably go mad in a few years from all the meals, the booze, the f.u.c.king Droids tending to my every need-everything. If I live to pull this off, I'll probably go mad in a few years from all the meals, the booze, the f.u.c.king Droids tending to my every need-everything.

The landing was a little rough, the hover doing a straight vertical deadhead drop in the rain, winds tearing at it. The Droids moved up and down the aisle rea.s.suring us that everything was fine, that this was normal. It didn't bother me. I'd been through worse.

From behind her, I leaned to the right and watched what I could of Marilyn Harper. Some random jiggle of her cleavage reminded me that I hadn't been with a woman in a while, but I suppressed the thought. Too many mediocre crooks just like me had been gunned with their pants down. It was just too risky. I was convinced that she was going to mess with me. I knew she thought she recognized me from some SSF file she'd seen-lord knew I was in plenty-and she was probably thinking of ways to confirm without tipping her hand.

Without warning, she glanced over and noticed me leaning out into the aisle, and did a double take. Then she twisted around and smiled at me.

"There's a few things in that Dawson report I wasn't allowed to say, you know," she said brightly. "Since you seemed interested. The G.o.dd.a.m.n SSF got a JC order to suppress, and I couldn't put all the details on the air. The two people he beat up? One might actually still die; he's in SSF custody and they certainly don't give a s.h.i.t about him. Both were just two-bit hoods, known around a bar called Pickering's where all the little s.h.i.theel crooks hang out."

I kept my face impa.s.sive. "That's interesting."

She kept her bright green eyes on mine. "Both reported the same thing: Dawson was trying to beat information out of them. He was looking for someone, someone they were known to a.s.sociate with."

I wanted very badly to slap her. I licked my lips. "Really? Who?"

She smiled. "Some piece-of-s.h.i.t Gunner named Avery Cates. Brother Dawson told both of them he was going to find this Cates and tear him limb from limb."

With a hollow thud, we landed in London.

XVIII.

Or Someone Like Someone I'd Known 10011.

"Mr. Cates!" Milton-or maybe Tanner-shouted from outside the fence. "I do not much care for your friend."

Next to her, Gatz leaned against a trashcan and waved at me subtly, a slight lift of his hand. They stood with a small group of upright citizens waiting for pa.s.sengers, the two of them looking grubby and unmutual, probably the reason that a fat System Pig had taken up position a few feet away, ostensibly watching a handheld Vid. Stationed right by the gate in front of the crowd were two smiling Monks, welcoming everyone to London and asking politely if they wouldn't want to discuss their salvation for five minutes, since next time the landing might not be so smooth.

I walked right past my lamentable partners. Tanner-some unidentifiable sense told me it was Tanner-grinned, and they followed me. I went into the nearest restroom, swept through quickly, banging stall doors in to make sure it was empty, and waited. A moment later they swaggered in. Tanner was all grins. Gatz was his usual ebullient self, and stationed himself right inside the door in case someone tried to walk in, like a good soldier.

"How'd you know to meet me here?" I demanded.

"Gatz's buddy Marcel sent a message. d.a.m.n, you clean up nice, Mr. Cates."

I stared at her. "So you idiots thought you'd just show up here and meet me? s.h.i.t, I thought you girls were professionals. So in case Elias f.u.c.king Moje of the SSF got a decent look at either of you he could just connect the f.u.c.king dots dots and just arrest us all at the gate, walk us into a Blank Room, and shoot us each in the head? Is that it?" and just arrest us all at the gate, walk us into a Blank Room, and shoot us each in the head? Is that it?"

She stared at me, a smart-a.s.sed eyebrow raised. "Yeah, that's exactly what we thought. Look, Cates, I recently spent two f.u.c.king hours being bossed around by Wonderboy here," she jerked an angry thumb at Gatz, "and I haven't slept since. I f.u.c.king dream dream about Wonderboy now. And as much as I hate having that in my head now for the rest of my life, we got our a.s.ses over here-in a lot less style and comfort than you did, apparently-found each other, dug up your travel itinerary, and established a headquarters in Covent Garden that rivals the world record for c.r.a.ppiness. Ty waved his nose in the air and we're wired up, communications, power, video systems, a whole lab of s.h.i.t I've never seen before, or heard of. He also scavenged some security for us-just your basic movement-triggered turret systems and a couple of steel snap-doors in case we get invaded and need to slow someone down, simple stuff, that s.h.i.t's just lying around-and Sis and I got us some transport. We did our about Wonderboy now. And as much as I hate having that in my head now for the rest of my life, we got our a.s.ses over here-in a lot less style and comfort than you did, apparently-found each other, dug up your travel itinerary, and established a headquarters in Covent Garden that rivals the world record for c.r.a.ppiness. Ty waved his nose in the air and we're wired up, communications, power, video systems, a whole lab of s.h.i.t I've never seen before, or heard of. He also scavenged some security for us-just your basic movement-triggered turret systems and a couple of steel snap-doors in case we get invaded and need to slow someone down, simple stuff, that s.h.i.t's just lying around-and Sis and I got us some transport. We did our job, job, okay? So climb off the bulls.h.i.t wagon and let's get back to work. The sooner I get my paycheck and get Wonderboy out of my life forever, the better, okay?" okay? So climb off the bulls.h.i.t wagon and let's get back to work. The sooner I get my paycheck and get Wonderboy out of my life forever, the better, okay?"

Someone tried to walk into the bathroom, but Gatz turned, raised his gla.s.ses, and glanced at them. They went away.

I sat down on the sink. "Okay. Here's the news: New York almost burned to the ground, Barnaby Dawson's a Monk but I don't think it took, because he's beating the tar out of people and telling them he's looking for me. And a Vid reporter recognized me on the f.u.c.king hover and might be a problem."

"The redhead," Gatz drawled. "I recognized her."

"Oh, yeah." I grinned at Gatz. "The Teutonic f.u.c.k says h.e.l.lo."

Gatz did his best to grin back, which wasn't anything pleasant to see. "He still able to walk?"

"Yeah, but he won't ever breathe out that nose right again."

"Good. Teach the b.a.s.t.a.r.d to threaten to throw me me out the window." out the window."

"Blow each other later, okay?" Tanner said, putting her hands on the top of her head and wincing as if in sudden pain. I wondered suddenly if Milton was doing the same somewhere else, silently and maybe unconsciously mirroring her twin. "Your System Pig is a Monk Monk? But it didn't take take? And now yet another yet another person is trying to kill you? And we're going to see your face on the Vids?" She threw her hands into the air. "I'm following a person is trying to kill you? And we're going to see your face on the Vids?" She threw her hands into the air. "I'm following a child. child. Lord, take me now. I'm ready." Lord, take me now. I'm ready."

"Shut the h.e.l.l up."

A few moments of silence followed, during which someone else tried to get into the bathroom, only to run into Gatz. I ran a hand over my face and nodded. "All right. You did good. The gang's all here, huh? A base of operations and everything. That's great. Brother West?"

"Still with us. Sis and I are G.o.dd.a.m.ned bright chicks-we snagged an AbZero freighter unit, supposedly shipping nanotech. Too cold to open up, too cold to scan effectively, the Pigs couldn't open it. Kieth faked up the freight papers for us. Brother West traveled in comfort, and we picked him up at the hover pad easy as pie. Snagged us a brand-new hover, too. We spent a few hours going over it with a sledgehammer and a blowtorch, though, so now it looks like the original hover left over from biblical times." She grinned. "Your ride awaits, sir! Take care not to smudge your fine duds on anything as you alight the carriage."

The hover did did look like complete c.r.a.p, but ran smooth and steady. Tanner pulled up outside what appeared to be a completely respectable office building in a well-kept if largely abandoned business block, the sort of empty area with brand-new buildings that spoke of a recent cleanup of riot damage-which was more than you could say of New York, which had let most of its ruined areas rot. look like complete c.r.a.p, but ran smooth and steady. Tanner pulled up outside what appeared to be a completely respectable office building in a well-kept if largely abandoned business block, the sort of empty area with brand-new buildings that spoke of a recent cleanup of riot damage-which was more than you could say of New York, which had let most of its ruined areas rot.

"Haymerle Road!" she shouted. "End of the line."

I leaned forward. "This is where we're set up? Looks a bit too active for my liking."

She nodded. "Sure, that's what we all said. But Kieth insisted. Said that these office buildings get sealed up when no tenants are around, left in hibernation. No one comes around and checks on 'em because their security is handled by Droids connected to a private network, or some s.h.i.t. Anyway, he got us in-no big deal, three-year-old tech at best-and then Ty waved his nose at the network and took over. It's an old Droid factory. When the owners check its status, it looks like a typical day, complete with faked security footage." She grinned. "Meanwhile we got the Droids doing ch.o.r.es for us. I tell you, Cates, that Kieth is a genius."

We got out and I looked around. If you put a few hundred people in the streets it would have looked like some of the more prosperous sections of New York. I felt naked without people pushing and shoving at me, their dirty hands on me. Our flight over had revealed London to be half-empty, a dying city bereft of citizens. I wondered if the presence of the main hive of the Electric Church had anything to do with that.

"Where's the Abbey from here?"

She waved her hand northward. "See the spike?"

I saw, in the distance, a tall towerlike structure with a square top, a round, charred disc set in the middle. The whole thing was blackened from fire, sticking up over the very tops of the buildings on the horizon like a baleful reminder of the Riots.

"I'll get this off the street," Tanner said from within the hover. "Go on in with Wonderboy there. I'm sure Kieth can't wait to fill you in."

I followed Gatz to the door, which whisked open as we reached it. A faceless white and black Droid-humanoid torso on top of a wheeled cha.s.sis-c.o.c.ked its head and waved us in.

"Come in, come in!" its synthetic voice chimed. "Welcome to the House of Kieth. Mr. Kieth is currently in the a.s.sembly Room."

I glanced at Gatz. He shrugged as he followed the Droid in. "Kieth's got a weird sense of humor," he growled.

Inside, the building was dusty and abandoned, wires hanging out of the walls and holes gouged into the concrete where machinery used to be. A lot of factories and offices stood empty everywhere; landlords usually set up Droid armies like this to keep squatters and crooks out. The evidence of Kieth's work was everywhere: I could see the guns mounted quick-and-dirty on the walls, the steel plates ready to slam down and cut off any route into the building at the touch of a remote. I'd seen field setups in my day, and this one struck me as impressively complete and solid-looking, considering our resources and the time frame. The Droid led us along narrow corridors lit by cheap make-you-squint ambient lighting until we emerged into a huge cavern empty except for the small camp of equipment and too-bright floodlights set up at the far end like stark metal trees.

"Mr. Kieth! Authorized visitors! Mr. Kieth! Authorized visitors!"

Ty Kieth's bald head appeared over the rim of a large back cube, connected to smaller black cubes by endless cables. "Cates! Ty is glad to see you're alive!"

"Glad to find I was on the entrance list for the House of Kieth," I drawled. "Get a Vid in here, okay? We need to know what's going on." As we approached, I realized that one of the pieces of equipment was the Monk, standing perfectly still in the focus of the lights. Its face had been removed, and its torso remained exposed. "Is it . . . functional?"

Kieth glanced at it. "Sure is. We've been doing a lot of work with Brother West, Cates. I think you're going to be amazed." He glanced around. "Nice digs, eh? Between Ty and the Twins, we've rewired this whole thing and the suits that own this place don't know a d.a.m.n thing! Fully shielded: We could set the place on fire and the SSF satellites wouldn't know it for days. There are five Droids, by the way. Ty calls them Bob. Bob One, Bob Two, like that. This is where they used to a.s.semble Droids. You can see where the lines used to be."

I walked up to Brother West and stood in front of him. "What's up with him?"

Kieth sprang into animation, jumping up, wiping his hands on a rag, and running over to one of the black boxes. "He's fine, Mr. Cates, just fine. Ty's had a lot of time to dig around in there. Found the behavioral modification chip, learned how to selectively disable it. Want to see?"

I nodded. "Very much."

Although the back of its skull still looked normal enough, from the front the Monk looked totally inhuman, a ma.s.s of wires and boards for a face with two delicate cameras where the eyes should be. It stood ramrod straight. I wondered who West had been. The Electric Church seemed to draw most of its converts from the lower cla.s.ses, criminals and the working dest.i.tute. West might have been someone I'd known, or someone like someone I'd known. I wondered if he'd gotten what he wanted. Or deserved.

Kieth fiddled with his equipment and began punching into a small keyboard. "All right," he said, "meet Mr. West."

The Monk spasmed, twitched, and fell to its knees with a shriek. Its hands came up and began pounding on its skull violently.