Against Gravity (3 page)

“Erik, I don’t know why you’re here or what you want from me, but you should know I’m not happy at being discovered.” He kept his voice low as people wandered past
them on all sides, slipping in and out of brightly coloured 3D air projections that reached out from shop windows to dance and shimmer for their attention. The air was filled with the gentle
cacophony of sales jingles just barely on the edge of perception.

Whitsett shook his head. “I’m not here to blackmail you. I’m just hoping I can help you. Buddy sent me, and I don’t think you’ve forgotten
him
.”

“All right, you’ve got my attention. What do you want?”

“Have you heard about the deaths? All the deaths of Labrats?”

Kendrick opened his mouth, then closed it. There had been some news reports about the deaths of one or two who had testified many years before against the Wilber Regime, particularly against
Anton Sieracki, although that trial had been posthumous.

“I heard something about Adams and Gallagher, that they were murdered. Nobody knows who by, right?”

“That’s true, but there are others you might not have heard about: Perez, Sachs, Hauptmann, Stillwell – all dead.”

Kendrick studied Whitsett as he spoke. Small, rotund, with a full beard. He’d been little more than an inanimate shape in Kendrick’s memories, the next best thing to dead himself.
But here he was, alive and well, which gave Kendrick a sense of hope. If Whitsett could get better, then perhaps so could any of them.

“I remember them,” said Kendrick slowly, “but I hadn’t heard from any of them in years. Are you saying that somebody’s killed them?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But they’re not targeting all Labrats, just those from the same experimental programme you and I were placed in. Something’s
definitely happening.”

“You’re saying somebody planted that bomb in order to kill
me
?”

“I can’t see any other explanation, can you? So if you’ve been trying to lead an incognito life, maybe somebody’s noticed.”

“That doesn’t explain how you knew where to find me, Erik.”

“You’re still using the same contact details from the last time you saw Buddy, yeah?”

“So
he
told you where to find me.” Whitsett nodded. “But you should know that I haven’t seen Buddy for a few years. We don’t really keep in touch that much
any more.”

The sirens sounded very close now. The two men weren’t yet far enough from the Saint. By some unspoken agreement, they began walking again, side by side.

They cut down another alley and crossed over a wide street beyond, always moving in the general direction of the city centre. Kendrick had noted how Whitsett kept the collar of
his jacket pulled up high, a scarf wrapped tightly about his neck. It was a colder night than usual, but Kendrick suspected that Whitsett had other reasons for covering himself up so carefully.

“You and Buddy were both in Ward Seventeen, the same time as me. I barely remember any of it, so I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones.”

“The lucky ones were the ones that weren’t there at all. If you or Buddy think you know who would want to plant a bomb, it would be nice if you could tell me just who.”

“It’s— Ah, shit.” Lights flashed at the far end of the street and they watched as an unmanned police car cruised slowly past, its low upper surface bristling with lenses
and sensors. They kept to the shadows and moved on, quickly turning a corner and getting out of sight of the robot vehicle.

“What’s more important right now,” Whitsett continued, “is knowing you’re not the only one who’s been seeing strange things.”

“How do you—?” Whitsett stopped in a darkened doorway and unwrapped his scarf. Kendrick saw now the dozens of dark ridges reaching up from under the man’s shirt, like
shadowy branches converging towards the base of his skull. His chin and cheeks looked swollen, distorted.

How long Whitsett still had to live Kendrick couldn’t guess, but by the looks of things probably less than a year.

“Look, I’m sorry for what’s happened to you,” Kendrick said, the words coming not at all easily. “My augmentations have turned rogue too. I sympathize.”

Whitsett laughed with a low, throaty chuckle that shook his small frame. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry about that. I’ve had a long time to come to terms with
what happened to me – as we all have. What comes, comes. Look, maybe this isn’t the best place, so is there anywhere else we can buy ourselves a drink? There’s a lot we need to
talk about.”

“Maybe you can answer my question first. If you know – have
any
idea – who planted that bomb, then you need to tell me.”

Whitsett glanced around and shook his head. “All right. It’s almost certainly Los Muertos, but don’t take that as a definite.”

Kendrick laughed. “This far from the Maze? Why on Earth would they want—?”

“Look, perhaps this isn’t the best time and place to be discussing such things. Let’s say we arrange to meet some other time – and soon. How about tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

“Just maybe?”

“I don’t understand why Buddy couldn’t come and speak to me in person.”

Whitsett sighed, and produced his wand. “Look, before anything else I’d like to make sure we can get in touch, before any more of those cop cars come rolling by.”

Kendrick hesitated, then shrugged and produced his own wand. They keyed the devices, allowing them to link to each other and share communication details.

Whitsett was smiling, but his expression had become more guarded. He buttoned his coat back up, after carefully wrapping the scarf tightly around his neck. “I’m glad it’s cold,
or this would be a lot more difficult to hide. In answer to your question, Buddy’s got a lot on his mind, arranging . . .” He hesitated. “Things. I think it’s more a case of
. . . he’s surprised
he
hasn’t heard from
you
.”

Whitsett paused for a moment, then continued. “What did you see – in your visions?”

Kendrick paused, forming his reply. “I’m sorry, I’m just not ready to talk about that yet. I saw
something
. What does it matter?”

Whitsett persisted. “A green place, then? A winged—”

“Please. I’ll be happy to discuss it with you some other time, but not now.”

Kendrick wondered if the fear showed on his face. Whitsett studied him with calm eyes, making him feel like he was being judged in some way. After a moment Kendrick turned away.

“I’ll speak to you soon,” he said to Whitsett, the words sounding more abrupt than he intended. “Goodbye.”

Whitsett nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

Kendrick walked rapidly away, not wanting to turn back and see there was nobody there.

Going back to his own place wasn’t an option – at least, not for tonight. If Malky and Todd failed to wipe him from the Saint’s visual records, if somebody knew who he was and
wanted to kill him for some obscure reason, then simply heading home really wasn’t going to be a good idea. Kendrick slowed, realizing he had nowhere else to go.

After a moment, some instinct made him head for Caroline’s place. She might not be happy to see him, but where else was there? Besides, he now wanted someone familiar, someone who’d
been through the same experiences that he had.

After only half a block, he turned around and saw that Whitsett was gone. He studied the spot where they’d last spoken together, his fingers flexing unconsciously.
He’s real
,
he decided.
He’s real.

It took Kendrick thirty-five minutes to make his way by foot through the city centre, heading for Stockbridge. The brisk pace and the cold air helped to sharpen senses that
until now had been dulled by barely faded nausea. He palmed his wand and stepped up to the entrance of a refurbished tenement building in which Caroline Vincenzo owned a flat, on the top floor. The
entrance stairwell visible beyond the reinforced glass was brightly lit. He carefully, steadfastly ignored the voices in his mind, yelling out all the reasons why he shouldn’t be here.

He could use Caroline’s cryptkey – still stored, even after so long, in his wand’s memory – to gain access, but he didn’t think she’d react well to that.
Instead he touched the wand to his ear and waited for her to answer.

Pain flickered brightly in the back of Kendrick’s skull, sending him reeling and collapsing against the vestibule side-wall.

Not again
, he thought.
Not twice in one night
.

He started to hyperventilate, on the verge of panic, letting himself slide down until his back pressed against the door. Bright flashes now strobed and flickered at the edge of his vision as he
settled his buttocks onto cold concrete. Bile forcing its way to the back of his throat, he gagged.

Kendrick looked down at the wand nestling in the palm of his hand as it pinged faintly.
Come on
, he thought. Perhaps she simply wasn’t at home. Perhaps—

A tsunami of agony bore down on him and he yielded to it as the street around him disappeared from sight. Then the strangest thing happened . . . the pain was gone, in an instant.

He was somewhere else, a soft, warm wind buffeting his head. The air around him was as thick and sweet as honey. It was the same as before: a figure, born of some inner recess of his mind,
floating there in the breeze on wings that shone and glistened under golden light.

Its wings sprouted impossibly from the shoulders of a tiny homunculus figure, perhaps a hand-span in height. The wings were wide, shimmering things whose surfaces seemed to drift and flow as if
caught in some invisible current. Its blank face – so disturbingly human – gazed back at him with an expression of amused contempt.

Kendrick felt as if he had been reduced to a point of simple awareness, somehow suspended in the air as though his thoughts were trapped in some dense, liquid amber. The boy with the gossamer
wings suddenly appeared to grow bored – then darted away from him with shocking speed. Kendrick’s non-existent eyes stared after the tiny figure as it flew across a landscape born of
dreams.

He was now in some kind of garden that surrounded a group of low, office-like buildings whose pale walls glowed as if they radiated some inner light. Beyond and surrounding this garden were tall
trees. Above his head, on either side, the ground curved upwards to meet itself far overhead, so that he appeared to be trapped on the inside of a vast cylinder.

He had been here before, always in the throes of a violent seizure that tore at his body and his nerves, always leaving him feeling ruined, sick and distraught. He had seen the same
gossamer-winged boy before . . . and this strange garden, and the building it surrounded.

Kendrick could see the boy-creature, wings flapping lazily to carry it above the long untended grass.

He looked up, studying the walls encompassing his world, wondering why he would dream of this place of all places . . .

And then he was back in Edinburgh, the breath ragged in his throat, staring up into Caroline’s face, realizing in an instant that she must have dragged him inside from the vestibule to
where he now lay at the bottom of the stairs. Worry and anger warred with each other across her face as he closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to go away.

13 October 2096
Caroline Vincenzo’s flat, Edinburgh

Kendrick pulled the T-shirt over his head and studied his bare chest in Caroline’s bathroom mirror, noting the lines that traversed his hips, curving across his
ribcage, continuing under his left arm and around his back, and culminating near the base of his skull before burrowing even deeper into his flesh. They had been there since his days in the Maze
but, now that his augments had turned against him, there would soon be more – it was only a matter of time. The lines felt hard under his fingertips, as if steel cables criss-crossed beneath
his skin.

Next he touched two fingers to his wrist and found a pulse but, instead of the familiar rhythm he had known all his life, there was a steady throb more like that of a machine.

He leant closer to the mirror, studying the fine flush of red in his cheeks – he could see with far greater detail than any unaugmented human. Something was keeping his body going, keeping
the blood pumping through his arteries. But it wasn’t his heart. Not any more.

“Kendrick?” Caroline’s voice from outside the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”

“I’m fine.”

He pulled his T-shirt back on and walked into her living room. Not so long ago, it had been
their
living room, but that had all ended several months before. He watched as she rolled a
cigarette, an act of folly since her augs would sweep the active agent from her bloodstream before it got anywhere near her cortex. But for Caroline it was a carefully crafted eccentricity. She
told people she liked the taste.

Thick dark hair spilled in heavy curls down the back of her shirt. Kendrick noticed that she was still wearing a suit, and the eepsheets and papers scattered around the floor in wild abandon
suggested that she’d only just returned from meeting clients, and had been busy in locating suddenly necessary notes and reference materials.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he said.

Caroline shrugged lightly, an expression of cool distance on her face. She reached out with one foot that was still clad in an expensive low-heeled shoe, and hooked an ashtray lying near her on
the floor. Then she tapped ash into it. The cigarette was still her shield, its smoke a mask over her thoughts.

“I could have left you there, Kendrick, but you know how my neighbours are.” She sighed heavily. “What happened to you tonight?”

“I had another seizure.”

She shook her head. “So you came to me? What am I supposed to do?”

“It’s not that.” He then told her about the earlier events in the Armoured Saint.

“Christ,” Caroline muttered once he’d finished. “Did you have to speak to the police?”

“I left before they arrived.”

Kendrick sat down across from her and smiled halfheartedly. “The seizure only hit once I actually got here. It was the second one today, and the first hit a couple of hours ago.”