Abysm (19 page)

Claire:  Sandi, Drake, get on figuring out who this is, live and in the flesh. Markos, you and I are going to retrace their steps. What have they been touching lately?

The average Prevo made some sort of active contact with the Noesis hundreds of times a day—thousands if the Artificial involved was the dominant sort. Most of it was simply…life, meaningless from a security perspective. But sometimes it involved important things: credits, chimerals, hacks, war maneuvers or safe house security, for instance.

Markos:  They left a big impression three hours ago in a deep, dark corner they had no business being in. A Noetica corner.

Claire:  What’s the data? Show me.

Her mind dove along a weaving, spinning stream of virtual qubits. It felt like swimming through a sea teeming with life, which it mostly was.

As she neared the flagged area she began to see an increasing number of high-priority markers on the data. Devon Reynolds. Mia Requelme. Prevo security operatives. IDCC directives. Details about—

“Oh, bollocks.” She bolted upright on the floor and took a long swig of her drink. Since the Noesis was no bullshit bloody
compromised
, she sent a directed message.

PESSIMAL EXCL

Alex and the rest of the Noetica A-Team:

There’s a mole for Winslow in the Noesis, and they are successfully tracking Abigail Canivon’s protection detail.

Luck!

— Claire

ROMANE

“
Ebanatyi pidaraz
!”
No, please, not Abigail. Not now.
Alex honestly didn’t know if they were her thoughts or Valkyrie’s. Probably both.

Caleb swiftly reappeared from wherever he’d been brooding as she threw on her pullover.

She had wanted to get out there and
help
—help manage the riots and generalized OTS-engineered chaos. Help Devon and Mia and Morgan, because her conscience reminded her she was supposed to want such things. Caleb had wanted to help as well, yet somehow they’d still ended up arguing about
how
, which resulted in them doing nothing productive.

He’d retreated below to brood; she’d retreated into the ship.

“What happened?”

“We need to go. Abigail’s in trouble.”

She had to give him credit. Whatever else was going on, he instantly moved into Intelligence Agent mode, heading for the cabinet where their weaponry was stored with an intensity of purpose. “Okay. Go where?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” She stopped only long enough to grab her personal shield generator on the way to the airlock.

Alex:  Devon, tell me where she is. Now.

Devon:  314 Haliford Suites, Tevior and Stratford. I’m closer, though, and already on the way.

Alex:  I don’t give a damn if you beat us there as long as someone fucking gets there, yesterday.

Devon:  You think I don’t want the same thing?

Alex:  Then stop talking and run.

Caleb stopped her at the hangar bay exit long enough to clip her Daemon’s holster, gun secured in it, to her waistband. She’d neglected to grab it, what with being a little distracted. Then they hurried out.

“What’s the word from her security?”

Alex merely shook her head, and he seemed to understand.

Meanwhile Valkyrie fretted in her mind.
The security team is not responding. Something is wrong.

Wasn’t that just the understatement of the century.
Not something, Valkyrie. Everything. Everything is wrong.
And getting worse fast.

Devon sensed the Molotov sailing toward him ninety-eight microseconds before it arrived. He ducked but didn’t falter.

The night was eerily bright, lit by fires and floodlights, but it meant he didn’t need to enhance/filter his vision in order to move quickly through the increasingly chaotic streets.

Mia:  Devon, get your ass back to Headquarters! You’re going to get yourself killed out there.

Devon:  I’m closer than anyone. I’ll get there first. I’ll get there in time.

Mia:  Yes, then you’ll get killed by OTS assassins. Let the Rapid Response Force handle it.

He noted a large and rowdy crowd had congregated to wreak havoc in one of the open plazas to his left.
I think the RRF has its hands full. I’m almost there.

Mia:  Be careful.

It didn’t require a response, and she likely wouldn’t care for any response he did give.

Abigail’s security detail had gone offline three minutes earlier. Too long. No time for him to be stealthy.

Annie, get ready.

Go.

He loved her for being so damn awesome. Later he’d make sure and tell her that—even though simply by thinking it she likely knew it—
I do
—but right now he concentrated on bursting through the doors to the apartment building.

The lobby was empty and the lift disabled. But he’d downloaded the schematic for the building on the way and bolted to the right and down two hallways to the service lift.

Shouting echoed behind him; he ignored it.

Third floor. First hallway. Second left. Fifth door.

A guard lay sprawled outside the open door.
No pulse. No detectable life signs.
He leapt over the body and inside, straight into the turbulent sounds of a vigorous scuffle.

He burst into the living room as Abigail sank to the floor, her throat sliced open by a blade held in the hand of the man standing behind her.

In the eternal stretch of time where everything around him froze except for the slow fall of her body, he wanted to run to her, to hold her parts together and save her. It was why he was here, wasn’t it?

Annie’s voice echoed in his head, solemn, dark and painfully forceful.
She is already dead. If you try to help her, we will die, too.

But she fought. We heard it. She fought for her life.

I know. Honor her fight and let us not die as well.

Fine. Then let’s do this.

As Abigail’s arms followed the rest of her body to flop lifelessly upon the floor, the man holding the gamma knife looked at Devon, murderous intent in his eyes.

Devon didn’t have a weapon—or rather, he didn’t have any implement the attackers would recognize as a weapon. But he would kill them all nonetheless.

Four attackers. Killer -26
°
—eleven o’clock, 2.4 meters ahead. Second attacker two o’clock, 3.5 meters. Third to the rear in the kitchen, 4.2 meters and one wall. Fourth in the bedroom, door ahead 3.1 meters and to the right.

The killer was closest. He would die first. As such things should be.

Devon ducked as the man lunged forward and swung the blade toward his head, way too late. He tackled the man at the knees, driving him into another attacker emerging from the corner and in turn driving both of them into the wall.

As the man’s arm flailed around for him, seeking any flesh at this point, Devon grabbed a wrist. Bare skin was all he needed to deliver an overload of electrical charge into the man’s body.

Third attacker now 2.7 meters and closing, five o’clock.

He leaned away and bent the convulsing man’s arm down and back until the blade in the man’s hand plunged into the stomach of the cohort behind him. Then he shoved them both hard into the wall and lunged to the side, his hand finding the grid connection point embedded in the wall. He sent another surge of power into the circuitry lining the walls of the apartment.

The third attacker reached him, his fist pulled back, cocked to unleash a load of muscle into his face.

He jerked sideways.

The man’s fist impaled the wall, breaking through the insulating material and impacting the apartment’s internal wiring. Devon was already moving as the man shuddered and fell partway to the floor, his fist stuck in the wall and holding him halfway up.

A woman rushed out of the bedroom. She froze for a half-second on seeing all the bodies, then brought her Daemon up and fired.

The impact was point-blank as he crashed into her. His shield absorbed the energy, but it set his skin on fire as he barreled forward.

They landed against the outer bedroom wall. She fought to get the Daemon up between them.

He grasped her neck, wrapped his hand around it, and when his index finger met her ports he delivered a jolt directly to her cybernetics, killing her instantly. He stepped back and let the body drop to the floor.

All vicinity threats neutralized.

Emily had once said that, bravado aside, his heart was too gentle for him to ever really, genuinely, physically harm someone. Wouldn’t she be surprised as all hell if she could see him now?

He fell to his knees beside Abigail.

So much blood.

She was so long gone.

He cradled her head in his lap anyway. “I’m sorry, Abby. I was too late. I promised you that you would be safe, but I let you down….”

A gasp of horror echoed through the too-briefly silent room as Alex and Caleb burst into the apartment.

18

ROMANE

C
ALEB EVALUATED THE SCENE
with some dismay. Four dead terrorists, in addition to two dead guards.

And Dr. Canivon. Also dead.

He squeezed Alex’s hand, but it didn’t seem to register for her. Even in profile her eyes were frozen wide, and her hand began trembling in his—a response, but not to him. He wanted to draw her close and hug her, but he didn’t know if she’d notice. And the situation was very much in flux and exceedingly dangerous. More so each second.

He focused on Devon, who knelt on the floor beside Canivon’s body. “Did you take them out? All of them?” No one else was here, but it was a ridiculous notion. The Devon he remembered was a skinny, socially awkward nerd. The young man on the floor in front of him didn’t appear to be any of those things.

Devon looked up, irises darkened to plum and flaring angrily. “I did. Not that it matters. I was too late—
seconds
too late! Dammit, why—”

The sound of glass shattering on the street outside spurred Caleb into renewed action. “We need to move. Now.”

Devon frowned up at him. “Leave her here?”

“Yes. When the situation is under control we’ll come back and we’ll take care of her, but tonight this building is not safe. Neither are the streets, but we need to get through them and reach IDCC Headquarters, which is safe…er.” There at least the people he needed to protect would all be in one place, and he’d have some control over the field of battle. Small fucking favors.

Devon wavered for another second before nodding. He placed Canivon’s head tenderly on the floor, sneered at the bodies once, then approached the door while wiping blood off his palms onto his pants, probably not realizing they were already soaked through.

Caleb placed a hand on Devon’s arm as he passed. “Let me take the lead.”

Devon gestured nominal agreement as he crouched down, took a Daemon off the dead guard in the doorway and stuck it in his waistband.

Caleb began to head out of the apartment into the hall, then found himself jerked to a stop. He still held Alex’s hand, and she hadn’t moved with him. He tried to make sure his voice was gentle, but they had
no
time. “Alex, we need to go.”

No response. No movement.

He backed up to stand in front of her and brought his other hand up to her cheek. “Baby, I know this is hard, I swear I do, but we
can’t
stay here. We need to get to a safe place.”

Upon his urging, she slowly shifted her gaze to him. All the blood had drained from her too-pale face; her eyes held a kind of vacant desolation, as if she’d lost something valuable but couldn’t process the nature of it. She had, of course—as had Valkyrie. What must the Artificial be feeling?