Perion Synthetics (43 page)

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the low
light.

On the floor in front of the altar, a body
lay face down, a pool of liquid surrounding it.

Gantz took his steps slowly.

“Padre?” he asked.

As he got closer, he noticed half of the
figure’s skull was gone, removed by some explosion or blunt force. Gantz
thought of Yates’ assistant, Truman, the altar boy who wasn’t programmed to
hurt a fly. How could he have done such a thing?

“Is that you, Robert?”

Gantz swung around as Yates stepped out of a
darkened confessional.

“Thank God,” said Gantz.

“No, thank Remington,” said Yates, pulling a
shotgun out from behind him.

As he approached, Gantz identified the
weapon as a Versa Max with oversized bolt release and extended choke tube.

“Impressive,” said Gantz, holstering his
9mm. “What’s a man like you doing with a gun like that?”

Yates clicked the safety on and leaned the
shotgun against a pew. “It’s like I’ve always said. Put your faith in God, but
always have a backup plan.”

Gantz shook his head. “You’ve never said
that.”

“Haven’t I, Robert?”

“You alright, Padre?”

Yates nodded and sat down. “Today, a
synthetic I’ve known and trusted for years started asking me where you were. I
told Truman I didn’t know. He didn’t believe me, so I had to put a shell
through his brain.”

“Been there,” said Gantz.

“Then you know what it’s like. And you know
this can’t go on.”

Echoes of Holmes’ speech replayed in Gantz’
head.

“I know. I’m trying to stop it.”

“Even if you do, people may not feel safe
here anymore. I know I wouldn’t. How do we go about our business knowing these
things can just turn on us at any moment with no regard for laws or morality
or… or anything.” He sighed. “I’m done with this, Robert. For good.”

“You won’t be the only one,” said Gantz. “I
think a lot of people are going to walk as soon as it’s safe.”

“You should come with me.”

Again, Gantz shook his head. “My place is
here with Joe.”

“Does he mean that much to you?”

Gantz looked at the floor. Now was not the
time to be answering that question.

“Hey, Chief,” said Cyn, from the door. “I
could use your help.”

“What?” asked Gantz. “I’m in the middle of
something.”

“Joe’s gone next door. I guess he got tired
of waiting for you.”

“Goddammit,” said Gantz.

Yates made the sign of the cross and then
waved Gantz away. “Go, my son. Help your friend.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course. I have all the protection I
need.” He stood and collected his shotgun. As he walked back to the
confessional, he said, “If I don’t see you again, it has been a pleasure. Peace
be with you, my son.”

“And also with you, Padre.”

Gantz turned and hurried down the aisle
towards the door. Cyn led him down the steps and through a small garden. At the
back door of the dealership, they found Joe tearing down a barricade.

“Joe, someone put that there for a reason,”
said Cyn.

Joe paused and put his hands on hips. “The
helipad gives us the best vantage point. If you have any other ideas, I’m all
ear.” He tapped the side of his head in demonstration.

“Alright, calm down,” said Gantz. “Here, let
me help.”

The flashlight on the end of Gantz’ gun did
little to beat back the darkness inside Southpoint. He went in first, trailed
by Cyn. She walked to his right, holding the shotgun on her hip. If anything
jumped out of the adjoining offices, it would be answered by a simultaneous
blast of 9mm bullets and shotgun shells.

Gantz inched along the hallway. It was
quiet, but every now and then he thought he heard shuffling in the distance,
like shoes scraping along the carpet. Something was moving in the shadows, but he
couldn’t get close enough to see it.

Finally, they came to a set of double doors.
The sign above it said
SHOWROOM
in blue on white lettering. Gantz put
his hand out, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Up there,” said Cyn, pointing to the two
deadbolts at the top of the doors.

Gantz nodded and reached up.

“Don’t!” cried a voice.

Gantz turned and focused his light on a man
standing just inside one of the offices. At the sight of the gun, the man’s
hands shot up.

“Please, don’t shoot!” he screamed, ducking
his head to avoid the expected gunfire.

“Who are you?” asked Gantz. He tried to size
the man up, but there was something off about the finely pressed, navy blue
suit he wore and the wild hair sitting atop his bruised face.

“Maddox,” he replied. “I work here.”

“What happened to you, Mr. Maddox?”

“Oh, this.” He touched the purple splotch on
his cheek. “The synnies have gone nuts. I came by earlier to lock the place up,
you know, to keep more of them from getting out. Barricaded the back door, but
when I went around to the front, the place looked empty, so I came inside.”

“There was a straggler?” asked Joe.

“Yes, Mr. Perion. A floor model,
assisted-living imprint.” He tried to chuckle. “She really wanted out of here.”

“You got beat up by a girl,” said Cyn,
snickering.

Maddox nodded several times. “Like you
wouldn’t believe. I got caught between her and the barricade. My only choice
was to lock myself in here.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” asked Gantz.

“I did.” He pointed to the badge around
Gantz’ neck. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

In all of the confusion, he had forgotten to
take it off.

“No, Mr. Maddox,” said Gantz. “We’re not
here to save you. We need to get up to the roof.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll have to get past Amanda
first.”

“Not a problem,” said Cyn, racking the
shotgun. She pulled one of the deadbolts down and slipped through the door.

Maddox stepped closer, staring after Cyn.
“Is she a synthetic?” he asked. “Like a bodyguard or something?”

“Yeah,” said Gantz. “Augmented prototype.
Built for organic damage. Powered by a state-of-the-art Ayudante biochip.”

“I didn’t even know we were integrating with
biochips yet.”

“She’s an Umbra-class,” said Joe, playing
along. “She’s new.”

“God help us,” said Gantz.

By his count, there were over two hundred
synthetics standing guard in the Victoria Perion Memorial Plaza. They stood in
ranks five feet apart and their heads swiveled back and forth, scanning for
targets. The usual tables and chairs had been moved, arranged purposefully in a
ring of debris to make a thick but not impassable perimeter. The Spire’s
support beams on the northwest and northeast corners hid whatever forces might
be guarding the front of the building, an entire army perhaps, just waiting to
see which side would be attacked first. With those numbers, fighting their way
in would be nothing but a suicide mission. They could drop six, maybe a dozen
synthetics before being overwhelmed.

If ever there was a need for divine
intervention…

The wind whipped over the edge of the roof
at Southpoint Synthetics, swirling around the helipad and creating enough
turbulence to force Joe Perion to a knee. Beside him, Cyn stood with one foot
forward and her weight centered over her back leg. She hugged herself,
occasionally reaching out to rub away some hurt on her forearm. She had come
out of the fight with Amanda without a scratch, or so she had claimed.

“You guys aren’t going in there, are you?”
asked Maddox.

Cyn snorted. “You’re a manly man, aren’t
you, Tank?”

“That’s the problem. Man against machine
isn’t a fair fight,” he replied.

“Yes, Mr. Maddox. We
are
going in
there.” Gantz bent a knee next to Joe. “What are you thinking, boss?”

“That used to be my home,” said Joe. “And
now we’re trying to break into it.” He shook his head. “The Spire shouldn’t be
a fortress.”

“Yeah,” said Gantz.

Joe had it wrong though. The Spire wasn’t a
fortress, the city was. James Perion had built it to keep out Vinestead and
anyone else who might steal his inventions. And for all of the work and
preparation he had put into securing the city, the real threat had come from
within, from the old man himself.

Gantz cleared his throat. “Your dad lost
sight of the dream, but you can put it back on track. And if Kessler tries to
get in our way…”

“No.” Joe locked eyes with Gantz. “No one
else dies, you hear me? I don’t care if Gilbert Reyes
was
working for The
White Line; he didn’t deserve to die for it.”

Heartburn raced up Gantz’ chest.

“And we need to find out what happened to
Mr. Gray. If he’s been killed, then Ms. Kessler will answer for that too.”

“Don’t lock down the final body count just
yet,” said Cyn. “There’s no way we’re getting through that crowd without losing
one of you.”

“Hey,” said Maddox.

“She’s right.” Gantz stood and shook a cramp
out of his leg. “The odds of making it past that many synthetics are low. We’ll
have to find another way in, maybe the garage again.”

“Or create a diversion,” said Joe. “If we
can draw them away from the Spire, you guys could sneak in.”

“
Us
guys?” asked Gantz.

Joe stood up. “Look, we both know you and
Cyn are the only ones prepared for this. Dad taught me a lot of things, but
gunplay and karate weren’t exactly high priorities. You’re a badass,
she’s
a badass. Mr. Maddox and I will create a diversion; you two get into the Spire
and carry out the plan. You have my permission to take down any synthetic who
stands in your way.”

“But not Kessler?” asked Gantz.

“No more human loss. Consider it an order.”

“But what if she attacks us?”

“Then
I’ll
take the bitch out,” said
Cyn. “A girl’s got a right to defend herself.”

Joe stared at her for a moment before
turning to Maddox. “Do you have a car?”

“Yeah, it’s parked out back. Why?”

“I need to borrow it.” Joe looked to the
Spire again, at the silhouettes occupying his mother’s plaza. “Set your watch,
Chief. Twenty minutes. You’ll know when it happens.”

Gantz wanted to ask more questions, but all
he could do was extend his hand. When the scion took it, he said, “Good luck,
Mr. Perion.”

“You’re the one who needs the luck.”

“I won’t let you down.”

Joe nodded and turned away. “Come on, Mr.
Maddox.”

Gantz watched them disappear into the
rooftop lounge; the light from the elevator filled the small room for a few
seconds before the door shut once more.

“I still say we should have picked up more
weapons,” said Cyn. “A grenade or two would really come in handy.”

“This isn’t the MX,” replied Gantz. “You
can’t just wander into a convenience store and buy high explosives.”

The only place to find ordinance like that
was in the armory, and the armory was in the Spire.

“Come on,” said Gantz. “We need to get into
position.”

Cyn followed him to the elevator, all the
while flicking the dual firing pins of the shotgun with her fingernails. They
rode down to the ground floor and made their way through the darkened offices.
Joe and Maddox had already cleared out, so Gantz led Cyn back the way they had
come, past the WG, to Holmes’ car. It was still sitting undisturbed at the
curb.

“What do we need the car for?” asked Cyn.
She pointed to the Spire. “It’s like three blocks away.”

Gantz stood for a moment examining the front
bumper of the Civic. “I was thinking battering ram. Holmes won’t notice a few
more dings on this piece of shit.”

“Can I drive?”

Might be her last opportunity, thought
Gantz.

“Sure, why not?”

He made her drive slowly and without
headlights. Cyn guided the car along the empty streets until finally she turned
into a pedestrian thoroughfare on Yager Lane. From there, they had an
off-center view of the plaza. At ground level, the synthetics stacked up,
making their ranks appear thicker.

“If we’re lucky, Joe will get a good number
of synnies away from the plaza. If you can get through that opening in the
fence, you can drive us right up to the doors.”

“And if they’re locked?”

“Since when have glass doors ever truly been
locked?”

Cyn nodded. “Roger. Property destruction
approved.”

“Once inside, we’ll need to get through the
lobby to the executive elevator. We can ride it all the way to the top.”

“And if there are more synthetics in the
lobby?”

Gantz chuckled. “You ask a lot of questions,
princess. What are you afraid of? Either your augments are worth the price you
paid for them or we’re gonna die slow, horrible deaths.”

“Balls to that shit,” said Cyn.

Headlights broke out on the left; a car with
its blinders on barreled down Harris Parkway, its radio blaring some Trip-Hop
throwback, the bass hits accentuated by the sounding of a horn. Hundreds of
synthetic heads turned in unison and focused on the incoming threat. As it
neared, the Automated Guards began taking their first steps, breaking into a
slow jog simultaneously, as if joined at the synapse.

“What the hell?” asked Gantz.

It looked like Joe was going for his own
battering ram attack.

Instead of plowing into the crowd, the car
turned at the last moment, clipping half a dozen Scorpios and sending them
cartwheeling over the roof of the smallish coupe. He drove tangential to the
crowd, darting in to run down the occasional outlier. Joe pulled their
attention to the opposite side of the plaza, turned his brake lights to the
mob, and sped away. He disappeared around a corner with the synnies still in
pursuit.

“I guess that’s our—”

A tremor tore through the car and
surrounding buildings as a fireball erupted behind an apartment complex just
off Epoch Avenue. Before Gantz could even consider whether Joe had just met his
maker, Cyn slammed on the gas.