Hammerjack (6 page)

Cray turned around and saw the two agents approaching him, the fury they had unleashed in the terminal still evident in their eyes. The leader signaled what was left of his team—one more agent who had fanned out ahead of them. “The mark is moving past checkpoint six,” he said. “We’ll move to intercept at the hub. You can hook up with us there.”

He ordered the airport proctorate officers to retract the barricade. The wall slid back open, but Cray stood in the way.

“Move aside,” the agent ordered him.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Cray shot back. “Maybe if your guy had tried to take her alive like I said, his brains wouldn’t be leaking out of his ears.”

The agent leveled his pulse rifle at Cray’s chest. “Move aside,” he repeated, “or I’ll carve you up right now.”

“That also part of Yin’s orders?”

The agent’s breathing shortened, his hands tightening their grip around the rifle. Cray knew he was dangerously close to getting aired out—but he didn’t want to give this Neanderthal prick the satisfaction of thinking he was scared.

“Just doing your job, right?” Cray said, then stepped out of the way.

Cray waited for them to get past, giving them a few meters before slipping a tiny electronic device out of his pocket—a microface integrator he had designed himself. The touch screen lit up, showing him a series of controls that he had used to jack into the agents’ communications. It also had the capability to send out an augmented hyperband pulse, which Cray adjusted to maximum output. Its range was extremely limited—but Cray was more than close enough.

Without hesitation, he mashed down on the
TRANSMIT
button.

The effect was instantaneous. Small clumps of blood and bone erupted from the left side of each agent’s head as their implants overloaded and popped with the force of small-caliber bullets.

Both of them collapsed.

The three proctors who manned the gate watched Cray with surprise as he stepped over the two heaps of armor spread out across the floor. They bled out from the holes in their heads, camochrome fading to a dull maroon as their bodies ceased to function. At least they hadn’t felt any pain—which was more than he could say for all those people back in the terminal.

It was all the pity he could muster for them.

“Seal up the gate,” he ordered the proctors. “Nobody in or out but the emergency crews.”

One of them lit up a cigarette. “What about these two?” he asked, motioning his head toward the prone agents.

“Let the Zone Authority sort it out,” Cray told him, and was on his way.

Following Zoe was impossible in the crowd. Panic had begun its deliberate swell through the airport, and everybody was headed for the nearest exits.

Cray had left himself deaf as well as blind. The hyperband pulse had fried the components in his MFI, cutting him off from all airport and agent communications. Without the portable jack, he couldn’t use the airport security cameras to track Zoe’s movements. It also meant he had no way of knowing where the last agent was, or if the man had signaled for help—a situation even more dangerous than a runner pumped up on speedtecs.

Cray knew she didn’t have long. Zoe had already stretched herself beyond the limits of human endurance, and as long as she was running she wasn’t cooling off. If he didn’t get to her soon, she was headed for a total meltdown. It was something Cray had only seen once, and it had haunted him ever since. He didn’t want to see it again.

But even if you find her before that agent does, what makes you think she’ll surrender? She’s using those tecs because she knows getting captured means a death sentence. What do you think you’re saving her for?

Cray didn’t know. He had sent runners back to the Collective before, knowing full well what would happen to them after the flash they were carrying was extracted. He was as guilty as the two men he killed back in the terminal.

But this was
his
intercept.

And after how hard she fought, Zoe didn’t deserve to die at the hands of agents.

He headed down the long corridor that led to the hub, reasoning—like the agents had—that Zoe would be looking for a less obvious exit. There were plenty of service entrances and exits there, easy access to transportation and plenty of places to hide. As she had discovered, the crowd offered her no protection. Staying out of sight was her only chance.

The last agent knew that, too. And he would be waiting.

Getting there was like swimming against the tide. A steady stream of people forced Cray to move against the wall, panic filling his ears in twenty different languages. Five minutes stretched into ten, during which it was impossible for him to tell if he was making any progress at all. Finally, the emergency crews opened up a hole so they could move equipment into the damaged terminal, giving Cray a straight line toward the hub. He flashed his Collective creds, and after making a few threats he was allowed through.

The relatively open space of the hub was a deliverance. The center of commerce at the airport, it rose five levels from the ground floor and was capped off by a huge, transparent dome and observation deck that looked upon the city of Singapore. The rest of the floors were devoted to exchange, where you could buy and sell tecs, hard currency, recreational stims—the usual menu of stuff that was only legal inside the Zone. It was filled with tourists and businessmen, who hadn’t yet decided whether to evacuate with the others or close their deals first.

Cray spotted a dozen or so proctors, who stood guard and watched for looters—but no agents. If the Zone Authority knew what was happening, they hadn’t responded yet. That still only left the one agent for him to deal with.

Come on, you bastard. Where are you?

Level two, in front of one of the franchise outlets where Sony hawked experimental neuropatches. Cray caught the glint of his body armor as it morphed from silver to black.

The agent was doing the same thing he was—searching.

This one’s smarter than the others,
Cray observed. The agent had given himself the high ground and wasn’t trying to make himself obvious. But his rifle was still out, its barrel moving with his eyes, ready to shoot. It was a given that the agents back in the terminal had relayed him an image of Zoe as soon as they made a positive identification. It was also a given that he knew the rest of his team were dead.

But where’s Zoe?

Cray followed the business end of the agent’s weapon, looking across the hub toward the twin glass elevators that rose up to the observation deck. One of them was just stopping on the ground floor, not more than twenty meters away from Cray’s position. Through the transparent wall, he saw the doors open and several riders spill out. Only one person was waiting to take it back up.

The crowd in between blocked Cray’s view. But when the elevator started to rise, he spotted her.

Zoe was headed for the top floor. Cray swung back over to the second level to see if the agent had made her—but the man was already on the move, heading for the elevator shaft. When Zoe shot past the second floor, the agent halted and locked his rifle.

He took aim at the elevator.

Cray’s fingers clamped down on the MFI in his jacket pocket, but the thing was useless. There was nothing he could do but watch.

He felt the heat of the beam when the agent fired.

It was just a single burst, but at full power it was more than sufficient. Raw energy slammed into the lift column that ran the length of the shaft, vaporizing metal and blowing the elevator car loose from its magnetic bonds. Cray caught a glimpse of Zoe grabbing the handrail inside the elevator, holding on while she plummeted toward the floor; but then she disappeared behind a curtain of pulverized glass, shards exploding outward as the car collapsed in on itself.

The hub fell on an unnatural quiet, as if everyone’s heart had stopped beating at the same time. It was only broken by the voice of the agent, who shouted as he bounded down the stairs.

“Get out of the way!”

Nobody offered resistance. They were too stunned to do anything but obey. Cray, transfixed by the destruction, shuffled toward the wreckage. By the time he got there, the agent was pushing aside the heavy debris. He had his kill, and now meant to have his trophy.

“Back off, Alden,” the agent warned him, not even bothering to look back. “You know the way this works. I don’t get the full contract unless I produce a body.”

“Just that easy,” Cray seethed, getting his anger back. “So how much did Yin put up for this job, anyway?”

“More than he’s paying
you.
” The agent shook his head in disgust. “Goddamn Collective spooks. You guys think you know everything.”

“Yeah? So did your buddies back in the terminal.”

“
Just keep talking, asshole!
” the agent shouted as he whirled around, assuming a combat stance. “Don’t think I’m going to forget what you did back there. Your bosses may think you’re untouchable, but to me you’re just meat.”

He locked eyes with Cray for a while longer, looking for fear—and finding none. Cray knew that if he showed even a glint of hesitation, the agent would make good on his threat. Instead, Cray turned it right back on him, holding his breath as he did.

The agent backed off, returning to his dig with renewed vigor. “Okay, bitch,” he said, kicking aside the pile of glass and warped metal. “Where
are
you?”

The pile came alive and answered him.

Hands shot up to meet the agent’s face, the sudden burst blinding him with pixel dust and a smear of precise motion. Then Zoe appeared—bones broken, every visible patch of skin matted with blood—but she still knew where to strike first. She knocked the rifle off the agent’s shoulder and spun him around, securing the fingers of her left hand around his throat. Her right hand went for the agent’s arm, jerking it behind his back so hard that it popped loose from his shoulder with a painful snap.

The agent howled.

Zoe’s breaths came fast, hyperventilating. Her eyes darted back and forth, settling on nothing for more than a quarter of a second before moving on. The muscles of her arms and legs rippled beneath her secondskin as if they were liquid. The speedtecs had saved her life in the crash—but now they were breaking her down.

“Zoe,” Cray said. “Zoe, look at me.”

His voice was low, steady, assured. He didn’t care if it saved the agent’s life. Bringing her back was his only concern.

“Come on, Zoe.”

It got her attention. She zeroed in on that island of calm, but it did not alter her physical state. Adrenaline was still feeding the speedtecs, her heart dumping the drug into her system too fast for her to control.

“Good girl,” Cray told her. “I know you’re still up there, but we’re going to bring you down, okay?”

“You . . .” Zoe forced out in between breaths. “Pretty good. Nobody ever spooked me like that before.”

“You weren’t easy to find.”

She found another smile for him.

“You should have been a hammerjack.”

“Got any openings?” he asked. “I’m available.”

Zoe relaxed a bit. She held fast to the agent’s throat, but that frenzied look was draining from her eyes.

“We got off to a bad start here,” Cray continued. “You know how these guys are. But I promise you—I won’t let that happen again, Zoe.”

“I know the rules,” Zoe panted. “No deals for runners.”

“Maybe I can change that,” Cray offered, not certain at all if it was the truth. “Maybe I can’t. But it’s better than dying out here, isn’t it? That flash isn’t worth your life. Trust me on this.”

That made her laugh. Between her rasping breaths, the sound was alien.

“If you only knew,” Zoe said.

Her voice had the tone of resignation, and Cray prepared himself for the worst. Instead, she relaxed her grip on the agent’s neck, allowing him to take a step toward his release.

As soon as he was loose, it started.

A coiled spring beneath the agent’s armor released, pushing out two long, jagged blades just above his left hand. He swung his arm around in a tight arc, focusing all his power against the side of Zoe’s head.

Senses heightened by the speedtecs, Zoe saw the blades well before the blow could land. She ducked, the agent’s arm swiping through open air as he missed his target.

Zoe closed in.

She wrapped both of her arms around the agent’s chest, her hands locking together like a vise. With a scream, she started to squeeze—and the agent’s screams joined her own. A hard, cracking sound splintered the air as the protective suit compressed, then a wet snap as the occupant inside was crushed. The agent writhed and contorted, trying to free himself from her grip, but Zoe held on. Even as muscles bubbled through the surface of her skin, she held on.

They both collapsed into a crimson fugue.

Blood sprayed into Cray’s eyes. He fell to his knees, clawing his face in a panic, his imagination supplying the images he could not see. When sight returned, he found Zoe and the agent, still locked in a fatal embrace. The agent’s body was bent at an unnatural angle, nearly broken in half. Zoe, meanwhile, lay against the lift column—upright, with eyes closed, as if she had fallen asleep there. Her form was remarkably intact, in spite of the meltdown. But as Cray drew closer, he knew it was mostly illusion. The secondskin, which had been so tight against her body, was now loose, the fabric draped over bare bone and the remains of her musculature.