Beat (8 page)

I couldn’t dodge bullets and sizzling electrodes forever. Leaning into a hard left turn, I rocketed around a table and headed for the north end of Dev 6. There was a pretty straight shot from the north wall to the south wall of the lab, directly between tables and workstations.  Something hot sliced the skin where my right shoulder met my neck. Lances of white pain burrowed into my scalp and shot down my back.

I clenched my jaw, fighting away the aches all over my body. I felt blood drip down from the cut in my neck. More real bullets. They wanted me dead. But why?

The Enforsers had begun to fan out, leaving one person directly in front of each door, blocking the way. I dragged the cycle into a sliding turn, leaning back and squeezing the handgrips hard to keep from losing control. I turned the right handgrip forward a bit, and the propulsion units’ whine lowered into a growl.

I turned the throttle again, and the machine bucked under me, growling deeper. I pushed the handgrip forward but didn’t lean forward yet. The cycle bucked under me again. I gunned the throttle and leaned forward, immediately pulling the handlebars back a little.

I shot forward, straight down the narrow aisle that ran from the north to the south wall. I had maybe sixty meters ahead of me. The cycle lifted above the floor, gaining speed. I glanced to either side. The Enforsers had fanned out more and had stopped shooting so much. They looked like they were about to try something; their movements seemed coordinated.

The cycle was gaining altitude, but not fast enough. I looked up and saw the skylight. With the light in Dev 6 making the skylight opaque, it looked like I was planning to hit a block of solid black. I would have to circle at least once to gain enough altitude and get the right trajectory. Working my feet carefully, I angled the cycle into a right turn, still gaining altitude. I was way more than ten meters off the ground. Keeping my body forward, I pulled back, flying higher.

Pain flared in my calf as I got hit by a rubber bullet. I tightened my grip on the cycle and gave it more throttle, finding it harder to stay upright the higher I got. I guessed I was at fifteen meters, only five to go, when something slid across the back of my calves. Keeping my head low, I glanced down and back.

Bug me. I hadn’t known about
those
. Rojer had obviously planned to take the powered cycle on a flight. Stubby wings, maybe two feet long, had just finished extending from above each side of the rear propulsion unit.

I hoped the skylight wasn’t too narrow for me to fit through. I hoped the tempered glass would pop out or break easily when the cycle hit it. I hoped I could aim well enough to not splatter myself against the ceiling.

Or wrap myself around the girders that were now flashing by maybe three meters above my head.

I had to get this right. I wouldn’t get a second try because if I missed, I’d hit a girder and that would be it. No more Nik. No more rocket cycle.

The wobbling of the cycle had evened out when the wings deployed, so now I was able to take a tighter right turn. This was my final pass. I glanced down. The Enforsers had stopped shooting and were all running toward the west entrance. Some had already made it out. They must have guessed what I was about to do. I briefly hoped that all of them would go out, leaving the exit unattended—but no. Two stayed behind.

I refocused my attention on flying. Thirty meters left. I pulled the cycle into a slightly steeper climb. I found that if I was careful, I could fly just between two long girders in a sort of channel that led to the skylight. Pushing the throttle, I leaned forward, my chest and stomach flat on the body of the cycle. I had to be going fifty kilometers per hour, maybe more. This was going to hurt.

Ten meters. I gave it all the throttle I could and pulled up sharply. The cycle jerked once or twice and then responded, its nose angling up. I tucked my head down, wanting the front of the machine to take the brunt of the hit. Bracing for the horrible impact, I closed my eyes, clenching the cycle with every muscle in my body.

It was nowhere near as bad as I’d expected.

A huge bang, like two gigantic metal hands clapping once, deafened me. My ears popped at the massive noise. I felt a bone-jarring slam on the front of the cycle and slipped forward on the machine somewhat, but I was held in place by the nano-plastic Rojer had used to build the seat. I briefly imagined myself being splattered through girders, but after a second, I was in the cool, late night air of New Frisko.

Now I was slipping backward a little, still gaining altitude. I had to even out, had to get control. Even as I tried to pull myself into a better position, the cycle angled more steeply up. Not working. I had to change my direction, fast. Wind tore at my clothes, the hood of my zip. I pushed with my left foot.

My angle changed and I was suddenly able to see the ground over my left shoulder. I had to be eighty meters up. My heart stopped beating for a full second or two. I pushed up with my feet, stopping my turn but gaining a better hold on the cycle. I pushed the handlebar forward a little, finally slowing my ascent.

Angling myself toward the east edge of New Frisko, I eased the cycle out of its climb and then down so I was skimming above houses. I blinked against the wind as I carefully wiped one sweaty hand, then the other, against my zip. I felt practically every pulse, my veins and arteries expanding and contracting with every pump of blood. I’d never felt more alive, more free.

A shout exploded from my chest. Anger and grief and guilt conflicted with my relief and exhilaration. I was alive, free. I’d done it. I beat the Bug and the Enforsers. And I was flying: the most incredible sensation ever.

But Bren was dead, and I knew the Enforsers behind me would catch up fast. I screamed again, hurling exultant defiance at the artificial world that seemed so clear to me now. I had to keep this view. I had to stay in this new world. I could never go back, no matter what. Even if I was immune, I wouldn’t go back. I’d give them my blood, but that was all.

The sirens peeled back the momentary freedom I’d felt. I tossed a look over my shoulder. Lights flashed gold and scarlet on the Enforser pods. They were coming.

I knew the Enforsers’ pods were faster than me. And I still had my Papa, so I couldn’t very well hide or dodge effectively. The wrist-dad had to come off.

I angled the cycle down until I was coasting maybe a meter above the road that led past Green Rez and toward Hope Park. The Papa needed to come off, but if I stopped to cut the strap, the Enforsers would catch me. I’d have to be fast. Then a thought came to me: I could control my speed and direction with my body and feet, so I didn’t need to hold the handlebar the entire time.

I leaned back and angled myself into the mix of shadows thrown by the streetlights, steadying the cycle into a straight glide. I released the handlebar, going for my pocket with the nanocutter in it. The cycle’s whine immediately dropped pitch, and the machine slowed suddenly, lowering quickly until it was a fraction of a meter above the road surface.

I cursed Rojer’s carefulness. He’d told me he was going to build a safety mechanism into the machine and done it while I was at school. I leaned forward, noticing that when my Papa passed in front of a dark sensor on the left of the console, the sensor flashed and the cycle’s power came back. Thanks, Rojer.Now what?

I felt like the Enforser Pod would scream up behind me any second. No time! Two courses of action crystallized. I could cut the Papa off, drop it, and try to get as far away as possible on foot before they figured out what I’d done. Or I could remove the Papa, somehow attach it to the rocket cycle, and—

No, that wouldn’t work. The machine wouldn’t move without someone controlling it.

I pulled to a stop, circling around the back of a house. The cycle settled to the ground, two feet automatically deploying from either side and propping it up.

Pulling the nanocutter from my zip pocket, I looked up quickly. I’d made it maybe three or four kilometers away from the Enjineering Dome and only had a couple more blocks until I hit the edge of town. I could drop the Papa down a ravine and just go on foot at that point. The Enforsers wouldn’t be far behind me.

I placed the nanocutter over the strap on the inside of my wrist and tapped the configuration tabs on the cutter with my thumb. Breathing slowly, I willed my heart rate to slow. I had to be near 140 again. The strap on the Papa was made of rez-stik, and that was a preloaded setting in the cutter. That made it faster. I figured the strap was about three millimeters thick. I activated the cutter and held still.

The cutter warmed in my hand. “Come on.” I still couldn’t see the Enforsers, but I could hear the sirens on their pods. I wondered how many pods were on my trail.

I’d caused a lot of trouble tonight. They obviously were seriously angry. I thought of Bren, and wondered if his parents had been told yet. My Papa told me it was 03:40. Less than two hours had passed.

It felt like I’d been dodging Enforsers for days.

Now I saw the flashing lights. They were coming from several directions, but they were all converging toward me. Maybe half a kilometer away and not moving as fast as I would have expected. They must have noticed I’d stopped. They thought that I was trying to hide and that they could sneak up on me. They must’ve thought I was a bugging idiot. Like I was going to miss Enforser pods sneaking up on me.

The nanocutter softly beeped. Finally! A moment later, my Papa fell to the ground, taking the soggy wad of glue with it. The glue left a sticky residue behind. I rubbed at the sticky spot and bent to pick up the Papa. My wrist felt naked, cold, raw. I guessed the Papa would keep working even if I wasn’t wearing it, so I could use it to throw the Enforsers off my trail.

I had to get rid of the Papa fast.

I cast a fond glance at the rocket cycle, whispering thanks to Rojer. Something caught my eye and I peered closer. A word had been embossed on the left side of the machine in fancy letters.

CYJET

He must have done that after I’d gone to Fil’s station. I patted the CyJet and broke into a run, pocketing the cutter again. You never knew when a tool like that would come in handy. I stuck to the edge of the house I’d hidden the CyJet behind. I would throw the Papa as far as I could down the street and then make for the edge of town. Without the Papa, the odds would be evened out. If I found a good place to hide, they’d have to give up. Or something.

I took the Papa in my right hand and, giving it one final glance to say goodbye, wound up to toss it.

The cutter.

I fished the cutter out fast, goose bumps covering my neck as inspiration struck. I dashed back into the shadows near the house and crouched, peering through the gloom to see what I was doing. A soft blue light emanated from the nanocutter’s readout. It was just enough to see by.

I set the nanocutter for rez-stik again, guessing that the Papa’s case would be no more than a millimeter thick. I had to be fast. Luckily, the nanocutter hadn’t cooled down completely, so it beeped gently within twenty seconds of placing it on the side of the Papa. I kept the nanocutter activated as I tried to work the casing of the Papa open. No luck. I’d have to cut another side, maybe even two more.

It felt like forever before the nanocutter beeped two more times. I had an extremely shallow cut on three of the sides of the Papa’s casing, but the sirens were getting louder, the lights flashing brighter and brighter.

If this worked, I would need the Enforsers to be as far away from the CyJet as possible. I got moving, ducking behind the house and making my way through the yards, deeper into the city. After a few minutes, I hid behind another house. Holding the cutter’s handle in my mouth, I tried to direct the soft light at the Papa in my hands. I could just barely get a fingernail into the cuts I’d made, but wasn’t able to budge the case open at all. Had I cut it deeply enough?

No time to check. I needed something stiff and strong but very narrow. Pointy even.

No way. The spoke in my pocket. Pulling the bent spoke out, I worked one end carefully into a cut and wedged the casing slightly open. A little crack widened. I increased the pressure, thrilled. So far, so good.

An Enforser pod screamed overhead.

I ducked instinctively, dropping the spoke. I hit the ground on all fours, mentally screaming at myself, searching for the skinny metal bar. There! I propelled myself to my feet and tried to find a better place to duck into to give myself more time.

Nothing. Every yard was the same. Two trees and an eight-by-eighteen–meter yard of oxi-grass. I had to figure this out fast. I kept moving, peering into the tiny innards of the Papa. It was hard to keep my hands steady as I moved. Saliva dripped out my mouth around the handle of the nanocutter. I fought back the need to gag at having my mouth forced open for so long. I needed the light.

I had to be careful not to destroy whatever the CyJet was calibrated to sense so it would start. But that was secondary. There had to be a transmitter somewhere in the Papa. A tiny capsule caught my eye. That had to be the knockout. Using the spoke, I popped the capsule out and crushed it into the oxi-grass.

Two more Enforsers flew by overhead, much slower than before, spotlights probing the yard I was in. I hugged the house wall, forcing myself to focus. The only way to get away from them was to destroy or remove the transmitter. I knew what those looked like. I held the Papa closer to the light of the nanocutter, sweat and spit mixing into sticky drips that slid down my face and chin.

There would be an antenna of some kind. Maybe more than one. Using the spoke, I tapped each miniscule component. Needle. Slide that out, drop it. Heart rate monitor. Leave it. Several incredibly tiny chips and multiple rails of circuit. Leave those. On the edge of awareness, I heard several pods land in the street on the other side of the house. I scrubbed sweat from my eyes.

No time! My heart thundered loudly in my chest, distracting me. I swallowed around the cutter handle. I blinked. It looked like another needle, but it was pointing up. It had to be the transmitter. I prodded at it; it wiggled a little. I poked at the solder around its base, scraping it away. I wanted to keep the transmitter intact. I prayed it had its own power source, guessing that it must have some kind of failsafe battery.

It was finally loose. I gingerly eased it out of the Papa. I heard voices as I stepped away from the house wall. Commands and shouts. Lights flashed from several directions. I took the cutter in my left hand, which still held the Papa. I ran across the yard and headed toward the house whose back wall faced this house’s rear. This was going to work. “Come on,” I said. A grunt escaped me as I flung the tiny transmitter, so light I could barely feel it in my palm.

No time to wait and see where it had landed. I took off, praying nobody would come around the house I’d been hiding behind. The shouts were suddenly louder. They’d seen the transmitter signal moving. Or they thought I was making a break for it. Either way, I had to
move
. I ran hard, ducking around the east side of a house on the street behind the road the Enforser pods had parked on. Then I ran like crazy, trying to stay in the shadows.