Shadowboxer (38 page)
“If it’s still there when we arrive,” said Thumbs sourly, shielding his face from the hot winds and billowing smoke of the burning motorcycle. Another explosion shook the sky, the wild cracks spreading outward, resembling white lightning against the black ocean beyond.
“
Oui, mon ami,
” agreed Emile solemnly. “If any of us are still alive by then.”
Alarms howling, every sonar screen in the Old Dome Defense Center was covered with moving blips. People were scurrying madly for their seats before the consoles, where they began to throw switches and tap commands with practiced speed.
“More pirates in Sector Nine!” called out a gunnery from his console.
“West range torps, ready!”
“North range torps, ready!”
“City subs on the alert and moving in from the south and north!”
“Surface battleships not, repeat, not, in the umbrella position! We have no roof!”
Stoic, Shawn Wilson stood amid the chaos, watching the sonar screen and the murky view screens, the density of the water distorting the visual pickup of the telephoto vidcams. Subs of different sizes were closing in on the bubblecity in a four-on-four scissor formation. Jym suits were raining out of the ocean above them, and HK torpedoes were spiraling in. The lasers had stopped the first wave, but had not put the fear of hell into the buccaneers, as they’d hoped.
Removing the toothpick from his mouth, Wilson said, “All missiles and APTs, launch at will.” The words echoed throughout the bustling room. “Repeat, launch at will! Bring down the invaders!”
* * *
Thunder and lightning filled the domed sky with the fury of warring gods as the four shadowy riders on sleek motorcycles rode steadily up the darkened spiral of stairs encircling the exterior of the granite mesa. Many stories below was the stygian expanse of Low Dome, the cityscape horribly illuminated by the flashes from outside.
Suddenly, there was a landing before them, and standing there was a lone City Guard with nightgoggles holding a massive Barret rifle. Bouncing up and onto the landing, Thumbs revved his engine to the max, hit the brakes, twisting sideways. The Guard swung the big barrel of the rifle about, trying to track him, but got slammed by the back fender of the rice-rocket. With a cry, he dropped the rifle and went tumbling over the chain railing and out of sight.
Braking his bike, Delphia grabbed the dropped rifle and the Barrett and checked the cigarbox-sized magazine. “Ten in the clip, one up the pipe,” he said, working the lever-action bolt, ejecting a tremendously large brass cartridge. “Emile, know how to work this?”
“
Oui,
point and pull the trigger,” answered Emile calmly.
“Yar, but don’t forget to brace yourself,” added Thumbs. “That ain’t no caseless rapid-fire with gas vents to neutralize the recoil. This baby fires big, old fashioned bullets. It’s louder than a grenade, and kicks like a combat bike riding the wire.”
“But it hits like an express train,” finished Delphia. “The Barrett has a live range of a klick.”
“Most acceptable,” Emile replied, slinging the huge ungainly rifle over a shoulder, forming a cross with his wand. “This Colt revolver offers scant protection in any serious firefight.”
“And I seriously question the accuracy of these fender-mounted weapons,” he added, patting the Hyundai. Grand purred agreement.
Delphia handed him an extra round, and Emile tucked it into a breast pocket. “An emergency spare,” he said. “Besides, I dislike bouncing wildly with a live round under the hammer.”
“Bouncing is done,” Silver called out softly from a pool of blackness. “The elevator is over here!” Something hit the dome and spread in a wash of underwater flame, casting the decker, her bike, and the elevator doors into harsh blue light
for a single heart beat.
“How long for you to subvert the locks?” asked Delphia, climbing off his Hyundai and pushing it forward.
Silver chuckled. “The gleeb left the passcard in the slot. Probably to give himself a fast escape route should pirates arrive.”
“Lucky us,” said Thumbs happily, leaning forward on the handlebars.
“I distrust luck,” said Emile, kicking down the stand of his bike.
With a musical ding, the double doors parted, emitting a blaze of light that bathed them in harsh visibility. The two City Guards inside cursed at the sight of them and clawed for the Mossberg SMGs over their shoulders.
A deafening roar ripped apart the night. It was followed by a finger of flame reaching out from the landing, going past the team and into the cages as the chest of the first Guard violently exploded and the other behind him slammed into the wall with most of his face gone. As the bodies dropped, a hole as big as an orange appeared in the back of the elevator.
“Yes, most satisfactory,” said Emile, working the bolt on the Barrett, ejecting the spent cartridge. “I may keep this for my personal collection.”
“Arctic,” said Thumbs wheeling in his Hyundai, along with the others. He kicked down the stand on his bike, then appropriated the Mossbergs and ammo clips. “But from now on, warn me before you shoot that fragging bazooka, will ya?”
“Is a change of undergarments needed?” asked Delphia politely, smashing the ceiling EverBright with the barrel of his Manhunter.
“Damn near,” grumbled Thumbs, stuffing clips into his pockets as the double doors closed with a hiss.
* * *
Some minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto a reception area: potted ferns in the corners, plush carpeting underfoot, indirect lighting, synthwood paneling. There was an electronic board on the wall for showing who was where, but at the moment it was turned off.
“Very nice,” said Thumbs, twitching a cheek muscle. “We are definitely not in Low Dome anymore.”
“And the air smells infinitely superior,” stated Emile, breathing deeply. “Yes, much better.” Grand looked around curiously with his sharp, bright eyes.
“Where next?” asked Delphia, checking down the side corridors, both his weapons out and ready.
“How should I know?” retorted Silver, looping her shoulder bag across her throat to keep it from sliding down her arm when she moved. “I couldn’t get into the system to find a map.”
“Emile?”
“Sorry, but I never did show up for my official tour of the facilities.”
Delphia eased open a door, which turned out to be a supply closet filled with cleaning supplies and mops. “Great. We don’t even know what building we’re in!”
“Come on, I have an idea,” said Thumbs. He grabbed the Hyundai and began pushing the bike down the carpeted corridor and toward the carved wooden doors at the end.
Going past a security checkpoint with a scanner but no Guards, the team came to a short flight of stairs and onto the sidewalk outside the building.
The street was dark, the street lamps not working. The noise of the battle was louder here, the dome closer and smaller, with much less room for the sounds to be absorbed in the distance.
“No sign of security cams or snipers,” said Delphia, slipping on his sunglasses and checking out the windows above them. The lintel on the building they had come out of was turned off and unreadable. “Where the hell is everybody?” Just then, several City Guard vehicles screeched around a corner and leveled out, racing for someplace else. A deafening boom sounded from above, and a concussion slammed hot air over the team.
“Whatever we’re gonna do, do it fast,” Thumbs shouted over the noise. “I don’t know who’s winning out there, but those yahoos are fragging serious!”
Silver gestured at the departing vehicles. “Follow them?”
“No,” called out Emile. He took Grand off his shoulder, then tucked the ferret inside his jumpsuit and velcro’d the front halfway shut. “Follow me,” he called out, revving the bike.
Rolling over the curb, the Hyundai hit the street and hummed away, taking a corner so close and so low the elf nearly lost a knee. The others took off after him, and soon caught up a couple of blocks away.
“Just like Miami, right?” asked Thumbs with a grin, riding dangerously close. However, the elf did not flinch or pull away. Delphia bracketed him on the other side.
“Correct,” said Emile, giving a little nod. “The Harvins like to inhabit the tallest building in the city, smack dab in the middle, so they can look down on their little kingdom and gloat. Every hour on the hour.”
Rolling down the streets, the team encountered other bikes, mostly with City Guards riding escort to semis and small limos. Sirens sounded from somewhere, a security vehicle streaked by, a car alarm wheeped constantly, and then an explosion sprayed glass from a building across the street. They wheeled the bikes onto the opposite sidewalk to avoid the shards on the ground.
Humming down the main drag of the dome, passing crowds of frightened people and darting vehicles, the four bikers received many strange looks, but nobody stopped to question them or open fire. Indeed, one truck full of Guards gave them a game thumbs-up and moved out of their way, allowing them passage.
“Did you do something?” asked Delphia suspiciously, one hand still holding his Manhunter.
“Yes,” said Emile, long blonde hair whipping in the wind.
“Download us,” shouted Thumbs.
“We are City Guards, wounded and bleeding,” said Emile.
“Arctic. That should get us into Harvin’s office.”
“
Oui
.” Emile grinned.
Watching the building come closer and closer, the team angled around a corner and came upon the monolith thrusting up into the darkness like the head of a spear. Frantically, they wheeled about into an alleyway, careening off a wall and racing right back onto the next street over.
“Keep moving!” shouted Deiphia, tilting his sunglasses. “It looks clear, but they might come after us yet!”
“Just how desperate are we to get this run done and go home?” said Silver, hunched low over the handlebars. “Are we totally zoned? Brains to the wall? Are we fragging gonzo, mad dog, zoombalas?”
“Rock and roll!” howled Thumbs enthusiastically.
Running parallel, Delphia and Emile slowed their bikes.
“Perhaps we should discuss this course of action before committing irrevocably to—”
Black hair streaming in the wind, Silver leaned way back in her saddle and popped a wheelie. “Stay close!” she screamed. “We’re going sonic!” Her bike engine whined with power as she twisted the rheostat handle to the max setting and shot away as if jet-propelled.
The runners and Emile pulled up their bikes in front of one of the emergency medical centers they’d seen scattered throughout the bubblecity. A muted gray in the dim light of the dome, the building was etched in streams of bright light escaping through the cracks of windows ancf doors. Along the ground, a score of armored vans sat waiting in garage bays, motors humming quietly.
“This is a medical rescue operation run by Gunderson itself,” said Emile.
“Exactamundo.” Silver kicked down the stand and climbed off the hot hog. “And furthermore—”
The magnified sound of ice dropping into hot water came as the dome overhead cracked in a million directions, the noise making the four of them stare in abject horror. Vague shapes on points of flame moved for the center of the spiderweb pattern but detonated prematurely as the shimmering lasers of the bubblecity fanned the water like a searchlight destroying everything they touched.
“That was very close to a full breach,” said Emile, tying his long hair back behind his head. “All of this may be for nothing if the pirates win.”
“Don’t think about that,” said Delphia, wiping his sunglasses. “Concentrate on the job, nothing else.”
“Besides,” Silver panted. “The pirates are to our advantage. Once we get inside her office, it’s cake. The coldframe is kinda busy now, and won’t be able to spend too many bytes trying to get rid of me.”
“As you say,” relented Emile, withdrawing Grand from inside his jacket and placing the creature on the ground. The ferret raced around his shoes for a bit, then sat up on his hind legs and yipped.
Studying the front door, Delphia gestured and drew his pistol. Emile recoiled from the act, his eyes bulging. His mouth opened to speak, but he only chewed air for a tick, before relaxing.
“One thing,” said Delphia, screwing on a silencer to his weapon. “I’m not going to ace medics just to finish this run. If anybody in there gets brave and refuses to play, I’ll try for a wound, but I’m not killing any healer.”
“No prob,” grinned Thumbs, brandishing a gnarled hand. He curled it into a fist and audibly cracked his giant knuckles. “I’ll just reason wid ’em.”
“I also specialize in defensive conjures,” said Emile, caressing his wand. “Although my own humble sleep spells may not be as impressive as Sir Thumbs here.”
“Tanks.”
Emile studied the building across the street for a moment, then he gestured with hand and staff. The two guards at the front door yawned widely and slumped to the ground.
“Excellent,” said Delphia, holstering his Manhunter. “Let’s go.” Abandoning the bikes to the shadows, they started for the complex.
“We can’t go directly to her office,” said Thumbs, holding his Mossberg behind his back.
