The Electric Church Part 15

We ended up on a long wooden bench on the improbably named Pudding Lane that appeared to have been launched from a burned-out church during one set of riots or another. The bench was surprisingly unscathed, just sitting on the side of the street, remaining undisturbed by one of those twists of human nature that gave me little bursts of hope from time to time. The sun shone down weakly, making everyone seem faded and watery.

"It's a neurotoxin," Gatz said, his voice scratched and acid-pocked.

Orel raised an eyebrow and looked from Gatz to me. "Why, Cates, I swear I can't see your lips move or or your hand up his a.s.s. All right. We're shopping for a neurotoxin, digital video equipment, and, still, a gun for Mr. Cates. Meanwhile, the other members of Team Cates are out on their own mysterious shopping excursions, leaving that c.o.c.ksucking Kieth in sole possession of the Monk. I'm beginning to think I should have asked for some collateral." your hand up his a.s.s. All right. We're shopping for a neurotoxin, digital video equipment, and, still, a gun for Mr. Cates. Meanwhile, the other members of Team Cates are out on their own mysterious shopping excursions, leaving that c.o.c.ksucking Kieth in sole possession of the Monk. I'm beginning to think I should have asked for some collateral."

"Too late," I grunted. "Anyway, here's our man."

Jerry Materiel had been watching us from a second-floor window across the street for some time. I'd let him have his recon; h.e.l.l, I'd be nervous, too. Man disappears in the middle of a transaction, turns out to be the most famous crook in the System at the moment, then contacts you out of the blue to make another large transaction, then then shows up with a strange face. I'd sit tight a while, too, see if anything shook free. I noted Materiel's boys from the Dole Line stationed here and there on the street, trying to look casual and uninterested. Crowds of people wandered by, aimless and cranky, and if I hadn't seen Materiel's boys before they might've blended in. shows up with a strange face. I'd sit tight a while, too, see if anything shook free. I noted Materiel's boys from the Dole Line stationed here and there on the street, trying to look casual and uninterested. Crowds of people wandered by, aimless and cranky, and if I hadn't seen Materiel's boys before they might've blended in.

That was okay, too. I liked a man who took precautions, and anyone who could afford retainers was obviously doing well.

Jerry didn't emerge from the building he'd been watching from; I smiled in approval as he walked out of the one next door, smiling, looking for all the world like a man without enemies walking free and easy in the weak sun, ready to do business.

"Mr. Cates," he said, proffering a nondescript paper bag. "You absented yersef before I coul' deliver the deliverables, including a set o' blues I think you'll find intrestin'."

I took the bag cautiously and found, to my surprise, my lost gun order gleaming in its depths, along with a tattered set of schematics-paper, pre-Unification, looking ancient and delicate. Kieth could digitize them in no time. While I made a show of inspecting its contents, Jerry inspected Canny, trying to decide if we were still safe to deal with. Canny beamed back at him, pleased to be a disconcerting mystery.

"Excellent," I said, closing the bag and tucking it away. "Much appreciated, Mr. Materiel. We've got some more business for you, if you're up for it."

He studied Orel for another second or two, and then turned back to me, instantly breaking into a wide smile. "M'bizness, Mr. Cates? Certainly. What can ol' Jerry git f'you now?"

I glanced at Orel, and with a smirk he handed the slip of paper over to Jerry. On my other side, Gatz appeared to be sound asleep. Or dead.

Materiel's smile faded as he read through the list. "This is an intrestin' recipe, Mr. Cates. d.a.m.n dif'cult, too. This fir' part, fer example . . ."

I let my mind wander as he launched into the usual fence bulls.h.i.t: how hard everything was going to be to procure, how hot a commodity I was, and how he wasn't even sure it was wise to work with me, all leading up to the inevitable conclusion that this was going to cost me extra. I'd bought guns and other things off the black market a thousand times, and half the time it was a simple transaction, and the other half it was like being married to the f.u.c.king fence.

Something strange was going on in the street.

This stretch of city had been hit pretty bad in the Riots, but in a selective way. A lot of buildings were scorched and crumbling, left to rot these last fifteen or twenty years, but some of them were untouched, pristine. Rubble was piled, as far as I could see, exactly where it had settled twenty years before. Some of the empty lots had sprouted into wild jungles, ignored for decades. Men and women of a familiar type-sallow, skinny, penniless, and p.i.s.sed off-stood in small groups or moved along in slow, unhappy circles, scowling around. Occasionally a prosperous peasant would scurry by, slightly plumper and a little less desperate, but for the most part it was just people like me.

And, of course, the Monks.

They worked the street in gangs-I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not, but I thought there were more of them in one place than I'd ever seen before. I thought of d.i.c.k Marin telling me that the whole world would be Monked in a few years. On each corner one of the metal b.a.s.t.a.r.ds was standing on a box, arms raised, preaching the Mulqer Codex. Mulqer Codex. They spoke without pause or hesitation, all of it programmed in, automatic. Teams of the things moved up and down the street, smiling their fake smiles, leaving most of the people alone but pausing here and there to accost anyone who looked particularly hopeless and miserable, gently urging them to hand over their humanity for a chance at salvation. A lot of the hardcases on the street shut up and watched carefully when the Monks approached, but glowered menacingly after them when they pa.s.sed. When the Monks pa.s.sed near us, I looked down at the pavement. I was worried they would scan my face and come after me. The Electric Church had to know I was in London, but there was no margin in letting them know They spoke without pause or hesitation, all of it programmed in, automatic. Teams of the things moved up and down the street, smiling their fake smiles, leaving most of the people alone but pausing here and there to accost anyone who looked particularly hopeless and miserable, gently urging them to hand over their humanity for a chance at salvation. A lot of the hardcases on the street shut up and watched carefully when the Monks approached, but glowered menacingly after them when they pa.s.sed. When the Monks pa.s.sed near us, I looked down at the pavement. I was worried they would scan my face and come after me. The Electric Church had to know I was in London, but there was no margin in letting them know exactly exactly where I was. where I was.

As I watched, the street began to dry up. People faded into the shadows, into the buildings, walking away. I'd seen the phenomenon often enough in New York, and when I glanced at Canny I found him looking at me. He nodded, subtly, and I grimaced. It usually meant one thing: System Police were coming. I turned to Jerry Materiel.

"Cut the c.r.a.p," I said, standing up. "Can you fill the order or not?"

He scratched behind his ear, squinting at the list, his face made up entirely of folds of skin and stubble.

"Well, yea, I s'pose I ken-"

Canny was on his feet, too, urging Gatz up. I held up a hand to stop Jerry in midsentence.

"How much, then?"

He looked at me from under his eyebrows. "Won't be cheap, Mr. Cates. I ken ashur ya of that."

The street was clearing out, criminals disappearing like water down a drain. My whole body tensed, heart pounding, as I waited for the hammer to drop. But I kept my face calm-the act could never fail, even for a second, or the sharks would smell blood-and half an eye on Materiel's boys, who were starting to catch the scent of doom, but were still following orders and keeping their distance.

"Name a price."

It was agonizing, watching Materiel do calculations on the fly, precious seconds getting away from us. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see even the Monks packing it up and starting to drift off to greener pastures as word spread. The Electric Church might be the world's only religion in a few years, but at present the System Pigs were still at the top of the food chain.

Materiel smiled cunningly and quoted a number that made my hair stand up on my arms. I opened my mouth to protest the obvious gouging, but Orel put a leathery, curiously heavy hand on my arm.

"Done," he said to Materiel, holding out his credit dongle in the other hand. "I'm good for it."

Materiel ran Orel's credit and smiled, nodding. "Very well, then, gentlemen. Where shall I make delivery?"

I was already moving, Gatz and Orel on my heels. "We'll find you."

When we were a few feet away, Orel fell into step next to me. "Looks like a standard SSF hunt-and-gather."

I nodded, trying to have my eyes everywhere. "I'm getting tired of running from the f.u.c.king Pigs."

"Then you should be in another line of work, Mr. Cates." He gestured behind us. "They'll be coming from over there, I'm thinking, with a hover in the air over here to herd us."

"Right. Split up," I said, turning sharply away from them and heading for a ruined wall. It looked like a good prospect for a clear way out of the neighborhood. It was best to stay low; the SSF used air superiority ruthlessly. I had gone about four more steps when I heard Orel shout behind me.

"Run, you idiot!"

I turned in time to see Orel give Gatz a shove to get him moving as a huge hover, the biggest I'd ever seen, leaped into the air above the ruined church, the roar of its displacement exploding around us, a storm of noise. The few slow people who were still hanging around the street scattered like roaches in the light. I looked down, and a dozen or so System Pigs emerged from the church, guns drawn, moving fast toward us, a cloud of clumsy and unhappy Crushers around them.

Gatz ran with surprising speed and agility, but Canny stood his ground. Sweeping his coat back to reveal his twin Roons, shining in the dirty light, he drew each and released the custom, old-school safeties with an audible snick snick of metal on metal. of metal on metal.

"Mr. Cates," he yelled without looking at me. "You owe me twenty yen, yes?"

I kept backing away, entranced in spite of myself. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing doing?" I shouted, horror swamping my better judgment for a moment and rooting me to the spot. "Move your a.s.s!"

He shook his head. "Cainnic Orel does not run."

I whirled and thought to myself, Well, Christ, you're not Cainnic Orel, and f.u.c.k that Well, Christ, you're not Cainnic Orel, and f.u.c.k that-Avery Cates does.

XXV.

Has Definitely Been Your Lucky f.u.c.king Day 00101.

Immediately, there was a volley of shots behind me, like firecrackers. I ducked into the ruined lot behind the crumbling wall and pushed myself to run faster, chalky dust billowing up around me. But the f.u.c.king Pigs-despite a Cainnic Orel pretender slinging bullets at them, despite Kev Gatz scurrying away-within a few seconds I knew there were at least three hot on my trail. I tore my dark gla.s.ses off and yanked one of the guns from my sack, wondering if there was enough luck left in the universe for it to be loaded.

I didn't know anything about London-if there were Safe Rooms buried in these sagging, ancient buildings, where the sewers might lead me, if there were any friendlies nearby who might take me in. I didn't even know where to hide, and I cursed everything under my breath as I ran. I'd somehow slipped behind the curtain, and was running through a ruined section, all rubble and uncleared streets, staggered walls looking ready to collapse on top of me. To lighten the load and gain a fraction of speed, I tossed the bag with the rest of the guns and popped the clip from the old Roon 85 I'd selected-three lonely armor-piercing bullets shining inside it. Armor-piercers were rare; the cops themselves had stopped using them years ago due to their expense, and they were highly prized in the underground-Jerry must not have realized he had an extra hundred yen in profit sitting in this gun. With one in the chamber that made four shots. Three cops, four shots. It was the biggest break I'd gotten in a while, and it made me nervous.

The hover displacement in the air got louder; I knew they were trying to find me on the ground in order to guide the streetside cops. I ducked into the nearest doorway, instantly enveloped in stale, dusty dark-and blinded after the relative brightness of the day. I fumbled forward a few steps and then tripped, landing hard on a loose pile of sharp, uneven things. Instinct took over and I went still and silent, biting down on my tongue hard enough to draw blood, cutting off any noise. My breath whistling through my nose sounded thunderous. The only thing I could do was wait for my eyes to adjust and try to be ready.

It took the cops longer than I expected. After thirty seconds or so, I carefully rolled over onto my back and squinted at the faint outline of the doorway. I raised my gun just in time; a figure appeared, framed in the doorway. I pulled the trigger reflexively, the shot loud enough to bring the whole sagging structure down on me. The shadow crumpled.

I stared for a moment. Killing System Pigs was starting to be a habit with me, and yet I was still alive. I'd seen what the Pigs did to cop-killers, back in New York. They usually put the body on display once they were done with it, sometimes with an educational sign pinned to it. A few months ago I'd been sick with worry over one mistakenly killed SSF officer. Now I stared blankly and thought it likely I'd manage to kill a few more before fate finally caught up with me. No matter what I did, I was already marked for the rest of my life. The only good news was that my life was probably going to be pretty short.

I heard a sc.r.a.pe of boot on dust behind me, and like a wire snapping my body rushed back to me. I scrambled backward on my hands, cutting them on the broken rock, still staring at the dimly lit doorway where the cop had been.

"Cates!" an unfamiliar feminine voice shouted from somewhere within the building. "Colonel Moje sends his regards, and has a message for you: You didn't run far enough, rat. You didn't run far enough, rat."

I spun around onto my hands and knees and rolled until I hit a wall, then went limp. f.u.c.k it. Moje had p.r.o.nounced his death sentence on me already. Everybody in the f.u.c.king world wanted Avery Cates dead, and after twenty-seven years maybe it was time. I could remember my father, coming home from work-a real job-and being greeted by the men in our building, shaking hands, smiling. I could remember the world before, and knew this one wasn't worth fighting for.

All this in an instant, in a heartbeat. Then it was just me on the floor, staying low, rapidly losing my sight advantage, and two trained cops trying to kill me. And then I thought: I've already killed cops, I can kill as many as I want. f.u.c.k it, no more running. f.u.c.k it, no more running. The cops were about to find out what I was really capable of. The cops were about to find out what I was really capable of.

I closed my eyes and drew a long, deep, silent breath, calming my nerves. If I were a System Pig, capable, arrogant, healthy, and well-equipped, how would I go after Avery Cates? Keeping my eyes closed, I listened. There-over my left shoulder, creak of a leather boot. I pictured the room: three windows to my left, small squares of watery light over a low mound of rubble, and I imagined him there, third window, peering in from the outside.

Then-the smell of smoke, faint, off to my right. I could see him, coming in from another entrance. I strained and heard light steps. Too light for a man-this was a woman. She was prowling along the wall, feeling her way in the gloom, I imagined I could see the f.u.c.king cigarette dangling from her lips, eyes wide as she searched the darkness.

For a moment, I just imagined their orbits, moving slowly in a standard pattern around me, staying out of each other's crossfire, listening quietly to the data streams from the hover in the air and their fellow cops on the ground. I knew the moment I made any noise at all, I would have seconds before they gunned me down. I was going to have to make my three bullets count. So I stayed down, eyes shut, smelling the choking dust in the air and feeling the sharp corners of smashed masonry stabbing me in the back.

When I moved, they moved, instantly.

I took the guy at the window first-standing behind cover, peering into pitch black from the daylight, he would subconsciously imagine himself safe. I jumped up and spun, opening my eyes. There he was, a big black fat unshaven motherf.u.c.ker in a huge raincoat, the sort of cop I'd seen a million times shaking down wh.o.r.es and beating some poor kid who stepped the wrong way. Even as I brought the gun up he moved his own arm and ducked down. I tracked him and put the armor-piercing bullet through the wall, and was rewarded by a strangled cry. I could tell from the gurgling noise he made that it wasn't a kill-shot, but f.u.c.k it, he was out of the game for a moment. A moment was all I had anyway.

I ran.

Behind me, bullets popped new holes into the load-bearing wall, cement dust flowering and sparks flying, each just centimeters from paralyzing me for life. I didn't stop to admire them. I ran straight for the wall and threw myself into one of the empty windows, leaping with arms outstretched. I misjudged the opening and slammed my shoulder into the wall, which whipped me around. My feet got caught on the sill. I bent at the waist and slammed into the outside wall, cracking my skull hard enough to make my vision swim. I shook my head and pulled myself through, and was on the damp ground outside again.

A gurgle next to me made me scramble to my feet, gun ready. The first cop lay on the ground; to my light-shocked eyes the blood looked the same shade as his coffee-colored skin, as if he was melting into a puddle of himself. He moved his arms feebly and kept opening his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out but a wet sound, like he was swallowing his tongue. I decided that he wasn't much of a threat. My lungs hurt and my mouth was full of dust. I crawled to the wall and pushed myself against it, listening.

I didn't hear anything, except the wind and hover displacement. I risked a look up and couldn't see the SSF ship, but knew it wouldn't be long before it circled back and spotted me-maybe already had if they were equipped with infrared. Putting myself in the cop's shoes, I imagined what I would do, trying to feel their disdain for me, their arrogance. What would I do if hunting rats?

Staying low, I got down on my b.l.o.o.d.y, shredded knees and began making my way around to the back of the crumbling building. I breathed shallowly and steadily despite my aching chest, and I kept my gun up despite the trembling weariness of my arm. When I'd cleared the windows I stood up carefully, staying flat against the wall, and moved faster. I could almost feel our gravity, pulling us toward each other-and then I heard a faint rustle of fabric, and caught the same scent of smoke. I waited until the last moment, counting heartbeats, and then stepped away from the wall, gun up, a bullet to spare.

She was just around the corner. Plain-looking; dark hair, olive complexion, husky and formidable. When I popped into her field of vision, there was a split-second when our eyes met, hers a light green I'd never seen before. I saw the most remarkable thing. Fear.

I'd seen System Pigs laughing and carrying on conversations while they beat suspects to death, I'd seen them take down gangs of people while outnumbered and outgunned without breaking a sweat. I'd never seen one scared before.

Then she moved, and it was close-the deciding factor not skill, but my armor-piercing bullets. Dumb luck. She feinted left-just a facial tic and a ripple of air, but enough to get my gut going-and then dived fearlessly right, sc.r.a.ping herself on sc.r.a.p metal and jagged rocks, attaining the cover of a ruined wall.

I tracked her movement behind the wall and shot twice through it. When I crept around to the other side, she was just lying there, staring at me, eyes flat, chest torn open.

Weariness swept through me. My legs were soaked in blood from the knees down. My shoulder ached where I'd slammed it in the window. There was no time to contemplate or rest; I could hear the hover in the near distance, searching for me. I jammed my empty gun into my coat and started limping as fast as I could back to the black cop. I stood over him and stared down at him. Still gurgling breath in painful hitches of his chest, he stared back at me, his eyes pink and bloodshot and wide.

"If you live," I said slowly, panting, "tell Colonel Moje that Avery Cates says to come do his own dirty work."

For a second or two we stared at each other, and then I whirled at a noise, the sound of boots. .h.i.tting the rubble, as if someone had jumped down from a second story. Despite my exhaustion, amazement crackled through me, because d.i.c.k Marin was marching determinedly toward me, a wicked-looking gun stretched out before him.

He looked like he had that first night: a short, smiling man with pale, pale skin and wrap-around sungla.s.ses, dressed in an expensive suit and overcoat. His mirror-polished leather shoes glinted as he crunched over stone and debris. He held the gun out stiffly as he walked and f.u.c.king smiled at me. I had nothing left to fight him off with. If he tries to shoot me, I doubt I'll even have the energy to fall down. If he tries to shoot me, I doubt I'll even have the energy to fall down.

"Sorry, Mr. Cates," he said evenly. "But you're going to have to give that message to Colonel Moje yourself."

He stopped when he was standing directly over the gurgling SSF officer, and without pause or ceremony pumped two sh.e.l.ls into the Pig's face. The cop twitched once and then lay still.

Marin immediately looked at me, a sharp, sudden twitch of the neck. His grin widened.

"Smile, Mr. Cates. This has definitely been your lucky f.u.c.king day."

XXVI.

We Don't Go Easy, Do We?

00111.

I stared down at my coat as d.i.c.k Marin talked, mesmerized by the clean bullet hole that had appeared in the fabric near the hem. I hadn't even noticed.

"You have a very strange att.i.tude toward your subordinates, Director Marin," I said, my voice sounding far away. I wanted to just curl up on the rubble and take a nap.

He nodded without looking up. "I'm director of Internal Affairs, Mr. Cates, and I have full discretionary powers to investigate officers of the SSF and to take appropriate action once evidence of malfeasance is acquired." He looked up at me, a sudden, snapshot motion. "Once that evidence has been acquired, logged, and digitized, Mr. Cates, from that moment onward, the officer in question is completely under my authority. Understand? Once I have legally cla.s.sified them as having committed a crime while working as an SSF officer, they are forfeit to me and my office. This man," he gestured casually at the body he was leaning over, "is guilty of several felonies, including murder. I chose this moment to remove him from the force with predjudice. All very legal and completely within my powers."

I considered this. I considered what percentage of the SSF must be guilty of crimes, and were walking around with those smug, well-fed smiles, not knowing that if it served d.i.c.k Marin's purpose he would snuff them out-legally-in a moment. The thought cheered me.

Marin looked back down at the body.

"Elias Moje, may I someday get that c.o.c.ksucker in my sights, named you as the main suspect in the Harper kidnapping. He didn't give a s.h.i.t whether you actually did it: He knew you were in London, temporarily beyond his reach, so he threw your name out there in order to bring you back within his influence. He did this so he could mobilize the SSF against you." He cleaned his gun with a portable kit, moving with fast, efficient movements, not even looking at it as he worked. "You moved out of his sphere of influence and then you did the dumbest thing you could have done, taking that woman."

I blinked. "How-?"

Marin c.o.c.ked his head as if listening to someone very far away, whispering his name. "We are are the police, Mr. Cates. Contrary to your experience, we do more than accept bribes, murder innocent men, and strut about in stylish clothes. Ms. Harper filed a memo with her bureau chief in Geneva, noting that she thought she'd seen notable murderer, terrorist, and all-around Anticitizen Number One Avery Cates on a flight to London, and that she was going to poke around a little. As I think I mentioned when we first met, I engaged several others in similar previous and parallel missions, and they are all dead. I sometimes wonder how it is that of all the people I hired to attempt this job over the past few months, the police, Mr. Cates. Contrary to your experience, we do more than accept bribes, murder innocent men, and strut about in stylish clothes. Ms. Harper filed a memo with her bureau chief in Geneva, noting that she thought she'd seen notable murderer, terrorist, and all-around Anticitizen Number One Avery Cates on a flight to London, and that she was going to poke around a little. As I think I mentioned when we first met, I engaged several others in similar previous and parallel missions, and they are all dead. I sometimes wonder how it is that of all the people I hired to attempt this job over the past few months, you you are the one who has survived." are the one who has survived."

I shrugged. We were sitting in the ruined building with three dead cops around us, having a chat. Marin said the hover wouldn't bother us, and I saw no reason to not believe him. "I didn't have a choice," I said.

"Doesn't matter. Bad idea. Anyway, he names you, and suddenly every System Cop in the world is looking for you-sure, you're wanted for fifteen unsolved murders back in New York, Cates, but let's be honest for a moment. Kill all the n.o.bodies you want, and the SSF files your name for future reference. b.u.mp a person of quality on the sidewalk and the SSF will spare no expense in bringing you to justice."

I scrubbed my grimy face with my b.l.o.o.d.y, torn-up hands. "Are you watching out for me, Marin?"

He grinned, and then the grin shut off in a blink. "No. I came looking for you. It was pretty easy to find you by listening in on the SSF chatter." He paused, his hands coming to a sudden stop. "You've got to move. Soon. Tonight, tomorrow."

"What's going on?"

He racked a sh.e.l.l into the chamber and stood up, gathering his kit. "Just move." He looked around at the semicollapsed room. "Impressive, Mr. Cates. I have to admit I didn't think you'd still be alive. See if you can manage to stay alive for a few more days."

With a brilliant, snapshot grin vaguely in my direction, he began walking for one of the sunlit doorways. I just stared at him.

"G.o.ddammit, what's going on!?" I finally managed to shout.

He didn't turn back, and in a moment he'd escaped into the sunlight. The King Worm had come to personally shoot one of his own subjects and urge me into action. I slumped back against the wall and sat for a moment, speechless.

To a tinny serenade of Mr. Kieth! Authorized visitors! Mr. Kieth! Authorized visitors! Mr. Kieth! Authorized visitors! Mr. Kieth! Authorized visitors! I limped into the a.s.sembly Room. Moving past the hogtied and gagged Marilyn Harper as her red, angry eyes tracked me, I stopped in front of my team and looked from face to face, pausing on Canny Orel's, who looked like he'd spent the afternoon shopping for grooming supplies. He grinned at me, and it was such a natural, human grin after d.i.c.k Marin's insectlike mandibles that I almost felt affectionate toward him. I limped into the a.s.sembly Room. Moving past the hogtied and gagged Marilyn Harper as her red, angry eyes tracked me, I stopped in front of my team and looked from face to face, pausing on Canny Orel's, who looked like he'd spent the afternoon shopping for grooming supplies. He grinned at me, and it was such a natural, human grin after d.i.c.k Marin's insectlike mandibles that I almost felt affectionate toward him.

"What's your real name?" I asked. I didn't really expect an answer. He just smiled.