Metal Fatigue (26 page)

"Then, in 2046, a group of high-ranking generals rebelled. They programmed a handful of CATIs to kill the President and her Chiefs of Staff. The rebellion itself failed, but the assassination was a complete success. This prompted the VP's emergency government to order the recall and destruction of C-Brigade."

"And ... ?"

"The records suggest that all were killed."

"But one of them survived."

"It looks like it. Or saved on purpose." She couldn't keep an edge from her voice. The possibility that someone —
something
— like Cati was roaming the streets unchecked made her feel both frightened and angry. "And now someone's found the control code. Someone with access to the old RSD files."

"Wait — you're going too fast. Why RSD? Wasn't this information pulled from O'Dell's datapool?"

"Most of it was — the top-secret parts — but not all." She flicked to a new page. "I found this in the Mayoralty archives. It's all that remains of a file concerning the operation of the old CATI network. The rest was lost in the solar storm of '66."

The page was an excerpt from an instruction manual, with Cybernetic Augmentation Technology Inc's logo in the top right-hand corner. She waited while Roads skimmed through the text until he reached the part that had caught her eye:

"For a list of control codes, including [CYPHER] and [PROTOCOL], see Appendix 7-2 ..."

"When I checked the data from the States," she said, "their version was abbreviated. Only Kennedy had the file with the appendix."

"You think there was a complete copy of the file somewhere else in Kennedy?"

"I'm sure of it. It's the sort of thing RSD would have stored away in its own datapool."

"But it's not there?"

"Erased. I checked the access dates for that section. Someone took it six weeks ago."

Roads brushed his singed moustache with the back of a finger. "Someone with access to RSD archives and the authority to erase historical data."

"Obviously."

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. The ramifications of the discovery were only slowly sinking in. "He'd make the perfect assassin."

"My thought exactly. That's why I bet myself Cati would be among the people who attacked you."

"I didn't see him there. I don't think I'd be here now if he had been." Roads rubbed at the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "And if he wasn't there, then he and the Mole must be working separately — unless whoever I'm getting close to didn't want to use Cati, for some reason. Maybe he thought the assassination would fail, and didn't want to waste both valuable assets on one operation ..."

"Maybe." She turned back to the screen. "But there's one thing I haven't told you."

"More bad news?"

"I'm afraid so. The CATI company was founded by a Dr Marcus Schonberg in 2024, two years after his previous company, Boston CyberKinetic, folded."

"So?"

"BCK was the company that designed the berserkers. Cati is a later and improved version of the same model."

"Christ." Roads' glassy eyes zoomed in on her face. "Without the control code, we'll never catch him."

"I know." Again the memory of Kennedy's last berserker sprang to mind. She had never forgotten Roads' description of the berserker's naked blood-lust, its apparent invincibility. And Cati was a
superior model
. "He scares the crap out of me, Phil. Promise me you won't go after him alone."

"If you want an invite, I'll have to ask first — "

"Don't joke about it. I'm serious."

"Okay." His face looked haggard in the dim light of the screen. "It's Roger's case, and therefore Roger's problem. I'll just stand back and watch, if that makes you feel better."

"Thanks. I'm not sure I believe you, but it's better than nothing."

His hand emerged from beneath the sheet and stroked her back. "Did you find anything else?"

"Only one thing worth looking at now: a reference to 'EPA44210'."

He blinked. "You did? Where?"

"In O'Dell's file, on an invoice of goods that General Stedman will be bringing to town tomorrow."

"What are they?"

"Batteries; very powerful, very compact batteries."

"Manufactured by the Reunited States ..." Roads looked puzzled. "Why would they be in one of Morrow's hideaways?"

"More importantly, why would the Mole want them?"

"Well, that's easy enough to explain. His cloak of invisibility, or whatever it is, must require heaps of power. Any mobile source will do, I suppose, but the EPAs would be better than anything we've got." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "And it also explains why he waited so long before taking them: he didn't move on Old North Street until his power supply was running out." His hand moved up her back, to her neck. "At least that's one mystery explained."

"One of many, unfortunately." Barney grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I'm tired. Let's hit the sack."

"Are you sure? Don't you have anything you want to ask me first?"

"Plenty, but we can talk about it in bed."

"'We'?"

"Of course. I've only got one mattress." Her eyes grew warm. "And you don't really think I'd let you out of my sight again, do you?"

He shook his head. "At least let me see what else you found, first."

She sighed. Suddenly she didn't want his explanation. It made things too complicated, too fraught with contradictions. He was Phil Roads, not some sort of berserker to be feared or reviled, like Cati.

"Please, Barney."

"All right." Turning reluctantly back to the terminal, she retrieved the last of the three word-matches.

It was an old army record: facial and profile photos compressed from 3-D, plus a few biographical notes, a brief list of commendations and a genetic fingerprint.

The name on the top was: Major Philip Geoffrey Roads, Third Mobile Battalion.

The last two lines in the file read:

»Missing In Action, presumed dead.«
»Dishonourable Discharge effected posthumously.«

"Hello soldier," said Roads softly, eyes fixed on his frozen image.

"Another long story, right?"

"Very long. But you need to hear it. I want you to understand — "

"Okay." She turned off the terminal and helped him to his feet. "But make it quick. We don't have all night."

At shortly past four in the morning, Barney woke from an unusually peaceful sleep to find Roads beside her, clad only in the sheet. Unused to sharing her bed with anyone, she lay still for a while, listening to him breathing; his every sound, no matter how faint, was amplified by the darkness until it almost seemed to echo.

When she finally tired of the situation, pleasantly novel though it was, she rolled to fit her body to his and put an arm across his chest.

He was instantly awake, grunting a half-intelligible inquiry.

"You brute," she whispered into his ear.

"Me, Barney? What have I done now?"

"Nothing. I fell asleep and you didn't wake me up."

"That's right; you were tired. So?"

"Did you finish the story?"

"More or less. The best bits, anyway."

"Oh." She tried to remember, but was still too sleep-fogged to recall more than the odd detail: something about Philadelphia, and blood. She was uncertain exactly how much of it was real, and how much the product of her dream. Or whether she really wanted to think about it just then.

Raising her hand in front of his face, she asked him: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

He made no sound as his eyes shifted automatically, found the correct spectrum. "Two."

"Now?"

"Four."

Mischievously: "Now?"

"Ah ... Does that count as a finger?"

"Not really, I suppose."

"None, then. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Definitely not, but I'll let you close your eyes."

"I'd rather not."

"If you don't, I'll be forced to turn on the lights."

Giving in, he rolled to embrace her. Her hand stayed exactly where it was, for a while longer.

8:00 a.m.

A call came at eight that morning. Barney took it while Roads listened in from the neighbouring room, where the terminal's lens would not pick up his image. Even though he was unable to see the screen, he instantly recognised the voice.

It was Margaret Chappel. Barney was in charge of a crowd-control squad during the parade later that day, and although the two of them discussed it briefly, Roads could tell it wasn't the real reason for Chappel's call. Sure enough, she soon turned the subject to the ruin of his building, and the operation that was still searching through it.

A total of fourteen bodies had been found: three out the front, nine inside, two at the back. Roads was still missing, which wasn't news to him or Barney — or, it seemed, to Chappel herself.

"If Phil's there with you," she said, "I need to talk to him urgently." When Barney hesitated, she continued: "I can assure you that this conversation is strictly off the record; it isn't being monitored or recorded, and there's no-one in my office but me. I'm calling as a friend, like last night, not as head of RSD. Just tell him to call me as soon as possible, if you see him."

"I'm not sure — "

"It's okay, Barney." He stepped into the room and came forward to face the terminal. "I have to appear eventually, I suppose. Hello, Margaret."

"Phil, your little vanishing act had even me worried."

"Really? I never knew you cared."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be calling now." Her face hardened. "What happened?"

He quickly brought her up to date on everything that had occurred between his leaving Barney's house the previous night and the explosion.

"So
the Mole
killed them ..." She frowned. "That's a different story to the one going around HQ."

"Which is?"

She shook her head, dismissing the question. "There's a meeting in my office in two hours. I suggest you be here."

"How bad is it?"

"Let's just say it would have been worse if you'd died last night."

"I see." He understood perfectly; there was only one thing better than a scapegoat, and that was a
dead
scapegoat. "I'll be there. Thanks for the warning."

Chappel raised a hand. "One thing more before I go."

"Yes?"

"I strongly advise that you wear your contact lenses. Barney has obviously taken the news well, but I can't guarantee that the others will."

"Point taken. See you in two."

Chappel killed the line, and Roads turned back to Barney.

She was staring at him oddly. "She knew?"

"From day one. Her father was expelled from the city under the Humanity Laws when she was a child, and she's never forgotten. She helped me get a job when I arrived in '58."

"Anyone else?"

"Martin O'Dell guessed. He ran a comparison between old Missing In Action files and the most recent Kennedy census; my name came up on both lists. And Keith Morrow knows, of course."

"Why didn't you tell
me
long ago? You should've trusted me."

"I know, but ..." He turned away. Even now, he retreated from telling her the real reason. The instinct for secrecy that had kept him safe through the last four decades was hard to break. "Look, tell me how you felt when you first found out."

"Shocked, mainly, and a little as if you'd betrayed me."

"It didn't bother you?"

She looked uncomfortable. "Well, yes, but I'm getting used to it."

"Are you sure?" He turned back to her, but she didn't meet his eyes. "Would you have felt that way about your own father?" he asked. "He was like me, an ex-army officer drafted into security after the War. We shared the same secret."

Barney opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her eyes moistened.

"I never knew," she eventually said.

"No. He made me promise not to tell you until after he died and his body had been cremated. But then, when I had the chance, I couldn't do it. You'd learned the lessons in school too well: that biomods were evil and anyone who had them was a perversion. If I'd told you then, you wouldn't have wanted to know."

Barney shook her head. "You're right. I wouldn't have believed it. Not of Dad."

"And I couldn't tell you about myself, either, without telling you about him. You were a teenager when he died. I'd known you since you were a small child. I never guessed we'd be in this situation, where my failure to tell you might threaten ..." he shrugged "... whatever it is between us."

"But you stuck around," Barney said softly. "You took care of me. You've always
been
there, Phil, unchanging and reliable whenever I needed help. And I rely on you so much. How could I not have trusted you?"

"I know, I know." Roads nodded. "And I
do
feel like I've betrayed you — "

"Don't be stupid. I would have suspected years ago, had you been anyone else. The only reason I didn't is because I wouldn't let myself." She put a hand on his arm. Her face was still serious, but at least her eyes met his again. "It's not your fault your body ages at a slower pace than mine. God knows, you'll probably outlive me by decades — "

He smoothed her forehead with a fingertip, trying to erase the frown'. "Don't think that far ahead, Barney. You've got plenty of other stuff to worry about. Right now, I need a shower and a change of bandages. And then I'll show you my box of tricks."

"That sounds ominous," she said with the slight beginnings of a smile. "Is it?"

He smiled back. "That depends whose side you're on."

The injury to his shoulder was healing nicely, although full movement had not yet returned to the arm. The wound was filling with a mass of pinkish cellular material that would later migrate and specialise to become dermal, muscular and nervous tissue, guided by shepherd machines as small as red corpuscles. Within a week, he guessed, his shoulder would be as good as new.

His ribs were still tender, however. Bones were more difficult to mend than flesh, even for his modified system.

After Barney had cleaned away the dried blood that had leaked overnight, and rebound the joint, Roads dressed in the clothes he had rescued from his house. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he wiped away the years of dust ingrained on the leather case, then opened it.